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THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
SELECTIONS
FROM
ADDISON AND STEELE
-ff\
Copyright, 1921, by
CBi^RLES SCRIBNER'S SONS A
m I ! 1921
THE SCRIBNER PRESS
©CI.A614675
/
1 CONTENTS
The Tatler
No. 1. Tuesday, April 12, 1Y09. SteeU .
No. 11. Thursday, May 6, 1709. SteeU .
No. 25. Tuesday, June 7, 1709. Steele
No. 41. Tuesday, July 14, 1709. Steele .
No. 42. Saturday, July 16, 1709. Steele .
No. 132. Saturday, February 11, 1709-10. Steele
No. 155. Thursday, April 6, 1710. Addison .
No. 158. Thursday, April 13, 1710. Addison .
No. 161. Thursday, April 20, 1710. Addison .
No. 163. Tuesday, April 25, 1710. Addison .
No. 181. Tuesday, June 6, 1710. Steele
No. 229. Tuesday, September 26, 1710. Addison
No. 249. Saturday, November 11, 1710. Addison
No. 271. Tuesday, January 2, 1710. Steele .
The Spectator
No. 1. Thursday, March 1, 1711. Addison .
No. 2. Friday, March 2, 1711. Steele .
No. 3. Saturday, March 3, 1711. Addison .
No. 7. Thursday, March 8, 1711. Addison .
No. 10. Monday, March 12, 1711. Addison .
No. 13. Thursday, March 15, 1711. Addison .
No. 28. Monday, April 2, 1711. Addison .
vi CONTENTS
The Spectator (Continued)
No. 35. Tuesday, April 10, 1711. Addison . . 76
Wednesday, March 7, 1711. Steele . . 80
Saturday, March 10, 1710-11. Addison . 84
Tuesday, March 20, 1710-11. Steele . . 88
Wednesday, March 21, 1710-11. Addison 92
Friday, March 20, 1711. Addison . • 96
Wednesday, April 4, 1711. Steele . . 100
Monday, April 9, 1917. Addison . . 103
Thursday, April 12, 1711. Addison . . (l07.
Saturday, April 14, 1711. Addison . . Ill
Wednesday, April 18, 1711. Addison . 115
Friday, April 20, 1711. Addison . . 118
Tuesday, April 24, 1711. Addison . . 124
Thursday, April 26, 1711. Steele . . 128
Tuesday, May 8, 1711. Addison . . 131
Wednesday, May 9, 1711. Addison . . 136
Thursday, May 10, 1711. Addison . . 141
Wednesday, May 16, 1711. Steele . . 144
Monday, May 21, 1711. Addison . • 148
Wednesday, May 23, 1711. Addison . . 154
Friday, May 25, 1711. Addison . . 157
Saturday, June 2, 1711. Addison . . 163
Friday, June 22, 1711. Addison . . 167
Monday, July 2, 1711. Addison . . 171
Tuesday, July 3, 1711. Steele ... 175
Wednesday, July 4, 1711. Addison . . 178
Thursday, July 5, 1711. Steele ... 181
Friday, July 6, 1711. Addison ... 185
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81. |
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98. |
No. 106. |
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No. 107. |
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No. 108.' |
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No. 109. |
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No. 110. |
CONTENTS vii
The Spectator (Continued) p^^j.
No. 112. Monday, July 9, 1711. Addison . . 189
No. 113. Tuesday, July 10, 1711. Steele ... 192
No. 114. Wednesday, July 11, 1711. Steele . . 197
No. 115. Thursday, July 12, 1711. Addison . . 201
No. 116. Friday, July 13, 1711. Addison . . 204
No. 117. Saturday, July 14, 1711. Addison . . 210
No. 118. Monday, July 16, 1711. Steele ... 213
No. 119. Tuesday, July 17, 1711. Addison . . 217
No. 120. Wednesday, July 18, 1711. Addison . 220
No. 122. Friday, July 20, 1711. Addison . . 224
No. 123. Saturday, July 21, 1711. Addison . . 228
No. 125. Tuesday, July 24, 1711. Addison . . 233
No. 126. Wednesday, July 25, 1711. Addison . 237
No. 127. Thursday, July 26, 1711. Addison . . 241
No. 130. Monday, July 30, 1711. Addison . . 244
No. 131. Tuesday, July 31, 1711. Addison . . 248
No. 132. Wednesday, August 1, 1711. Steele . 251
No. 135. Saturday, August 4, 1711. Addison . 255
No. 159. Saturday, September 1, 1711. Addison . 259
No. 165. Saturday, September 8, 1711. Addison . 264
No. 170. Friday, September 14, 1711. Addison . 267
No. 174. Wednesday, September 19, 1711. Steele . 273
No. 235. Thursday, November 29, 1711. Addison . 277
No. 251. Tuesday, December 18, 1711. Addison . 281
No. 269. Tuesday, January 8, 1711-12. Addison . 285
- No. 275. Tuesday, January 15, 1711-12. Addison . 28^/
No. 280. Monday, January 21, 1711-12. Steele . 292 ^
No. 281. Tuesday, January 22, 1711-12. Addison . 296
viii CONTENTS
The Spectator (Continued) „,^„
PAGE
No. 295. Thursday, February 7, 1711-12. Addison 296
No. 317. Tuesday, March 4, 1712. Addison
No. 323. Tuesday, March 11, 1712. Addison .
No. 329. Tuesday, March 18, 1711-12. Addison
No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. Addison .
' No. 383. Tuesday, May 20, 1712. Addison .
No. 517. Thursday, October 23, 1712. Addison
304 308 313 317 321 324
The Freeholder
No. 22. Monday, March 5, 1716. Addison . . 327
No. 44. Monday, May 21, 1716. Addison . . 332
No. 45. Friday, May 25, 1716. Addison . . 336
No. 47. Friday, June 1, 1716. Addison . . 340
INTRODUCTION
The eyes of readers of the first number of the Tatler on April 12th, 1709, fell upon a line from Juvenal,
"Quicquid agunt homines — nostri est farrago libelli,"
which may be freely translated,
"Whatever men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme."
A little farther down the page came this satisfying passage, "which shall be the end and purpose of this my paper, wherein I shall, from time to time report and consider all matters of what kind so ever that shall occur to me, and publish such my advices and reflections every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday in the week, for the convenience of the Post." And so on, as may be read in that memorable first number.
Here was something to delight the reader of that democratic century. And it came almost as a prophecy of the kind of prose, which would ever characterize the century that was about to produce the personal essay, the novel and the best letter-writers of which England has record.
Within the scope of a brief introduction, it would be impossible to set forth completely the causes which led to the first number of the Tatler, or even to sketch the outline of the lives of the two men, who carried it through and inaugurated its more famous successor, the Spectator. Perhaps it is better so, for nothing reveals so clearly the interesting life of the time as the pages
X INTEODUCTION
of the Tatler and Spectator themselves. We shall con- sider our part well performed if we can but introduce some sympathetic reader to pages which picture so graphs ically the doings and manners and tastes of an era which seems more nearly modern than any period besides our own.
However, convention requires that we set down, if only for the sake of reference, the outstanding facts in the lives of Steele and Addison and the incidents which led to the successful venture in the field of a new form of prose expression. Eichard Steele was bom in Dublin in 1672, of English parents and was educated at the Charter- house, where Addison was at the same time a pupil. In 1690 he matriculated at Christ Church, Oxford, but, without taking a degree, left college and entered the army as a cadet. Later he obtained the rank of captain and was ever afterward familiarly known as Captain Steele. Between 1701 and 1722, he wrote several plays, "The Christian Hero,'' "The Funeral," "The Lying Lover,'' "The Tender Husband," and "The Conscious Lovers," chiefly noteworthy to-day for their prevailing dullness and mawkish sentimentality. For a time Steele held a seat in Parliament, served as manager of Drury Lane and as Commissioner in Scotland. Nevertheless, throughout his life Steele was at war with fortune. His hopefulness was inexhaustible, but he seemed to learn no lesson from experience and his recklessness brought upon himself innumerable embarrassments and upon his family want of the common necessities of food and lodging. Of his most famous contributions, the Tatler and the Spec- tator, a brief account will be found a little farther on in this introduction. In 1718, Steele lost his wife, whom he loved ardently, and some years afterwards his only remaining son. Broken in health and fortune, he retired to his property in Wales and died there in 1729, at the age of fifty-seven.
Joseph Addison was born in 1672, the same year as Steele, at Milston, in Wiltshire. He was educated at
INTRODUCTION xi
the Charterhouse, where he entered upon his memorable friendship with Steele. Thence in 1687, at the age of fifteen, he went to Queens College, Oxford. A few months later, on account of his Latin verses, he gained a scholar- ship at Magdalen, of which college later he became a fellow. A pension of £300 a year enabled him to travel in order that, by gaining a knowledge of French and Italian, he might be fitted for the diplomatic service. One of the best known incidents relating to English literature is the good fortune which befell Addison when, on request, he wrote "The Campaign" to celebrate the distinguished services of the Duke of Marlborough, at the Battle of Blenheim. In 1713, his play, "Cato," with its stately rhetoric and cold dignity, was produced and had a run, remarkable for those days, of thirty-five nights. Unlike Steele, he rose to positions of eminence in the State. Without much loss, his contributions to govern- ment and literature besides the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian may be disregarded. In 1716, he married the Countess of Warwick. According to tradition, this union was not a happy one and is said to have driven Addison "to the consolations of the tavern.'' He died in 1719 and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
Although their lives spanned the same interesting Queen Anne period and their friendship continued almost unbroken from the memorable day when young Richard and Joseph met at the Charterhouse, nevertheless it would be difficult to name two contemporaries more dif- ferent or two whose varied characteristics proved more mutually helpful. To-day after two centuries, they are always mentioned together and students of the period delight in praising one to the disadvantage of the other. We can only be grateful that they so completely supple- mented each other, and each recognized and appreciated the qualities of the other.
Keeping in mind the tendency of Macaulay to draw characters in broad lines and the disposition of Thackeray to give way to his most generous impulses, every student
xii INTEODUCTION
of Englisli literature may well profit by reading the descriptions which these eminent writers of the nineteenth century have left of their worthy predecessors in the eighteenth century.
In a review of Lucy Aikin's ^T.ife of Joseph Addison,'' Macaulay wrote: "But, after full inquiry and impartial reflection, we have long been convinced that he deserved as much love and esteem as can be justly claimed by any of our infirm and erring race. Some blemishes may un- doubtedly be detected in his character; but the more care- fully it is examined, the more will it appear, to use the phrase of the old anatomists, sound in the noble parts, free from all taint of perfidy, of cowardice, of cruelty, of ingratitude, of envy. Men may easily be named, in whom some particular good disposition has been more conspicu- ous than in Addison. ^ But the just harmony of qualities, the exact temper between the stern and the humane vir- tues, the habitual observance of every law, not only of moral rectitude, but of moral grace and dignity, distin- guish him from all men who have been tried by equally strong temptations, and about whose conduct we i>ossess equally full information." /
Of Steele he wrote:
^Tffe was one of those people whom it is impossible either to hate or to respect. His temper was sweet, his affections warm, his spirits lively, his passions strong, and his principles weak. His life was spent in sinning and repenting; in inculcating what was right, and doing what was wrong. In speculation, he was a man of piety and honor ; in practise he was much of the rake and a little of the swindler. He was, however, so good-natured that it was not easy to be seriously angry with him, and that even rigid moralists felt more inclined to pity than to blame him, when he diced himself into a sponging house, or drank himself into a fever.^'
In his English Humorists, Thackeray described Addi- son in this wise:
"Looking at that calm fair face, and clear countenance
INTRODUCTION xiii
— ^those chiseled features pure and cold, I can't but fancy that this great man — in this respect, like him of whom we spoke in the last lecture — ^was also one of the lonely ones of the world. Such men have very few equals, and they don't herd with those. It is in the nature of such lords of intellect to be solitary — they are in the world, but not of it — and our minor struggles, brawls, successes, pass under them.
"Kind, just, serene, impartial, his fortitude not tried beyond easy endurance, his affections not much used, for his books were his family, and his society was in public; admirably wise, wittier, calmer, and more instructed than almost every man with whom he met, how could Addison suffer, desire, admire, feel much? I may expect a child to admire me for being taller or writing more cleverly than she ; but how can I ask my superior to say that I am a wonder when he knows better than I ? In Addison's days^ you could scarcely show him a literary performance, a sermon, or a poem, or a piece of literary criticism, but he felt he could do better. His justice must have made him indifferent. He didn't praise, because he measured his compeers by a higher standard than common people have."
And of Steele he said :
"The great charm of Steele's writing is its naturalness. He wrote so quickly and carelessly that he was forced to make the reader his confidant, and had not the time to deceive him. He had a small share of book-learning, but a vast acquaintance with the world. He had known men and taverns. He had lived with gownsmen, with troopers, with gentlemen ushers of the Court, with men and women of fashion, with authors and wits, with the inmates of the sponging-houses, and with the frequenters of all the clubs and coffee-houses in the town. He was liked in all company because he liked it; and you like to see his en- joyment as you like to see the glee of a boxful of children at the pantomime. He was not of those lonely ones of the earth whose greatness obliged them to be solitary; on the contrary, he admired, I think, more than any man who
xiv INTEODUCTION
ever wrote; and full of hearty applause and sympathy, wins upon you by calling you to share his delight and good-humor. His laugh rings through the whole house. He must have been invaluable at a tragedy, and have cried as much as the most tender young lady in the boxes. He has a relish for beauty and goodness wherever he meets it. He admired Shakespeare affectionately, and more than any man of his time: and according to his generous expansive nature, called upon all his company to like what he liked himself. He did not damn with faint praise: he was in the world and of it; and his enjoyment of life presents the strangest contrast to Swift's savage indignation and Addison's lonely serenity."
For an understanding of the years of the reign of Queen Anne we have no better source of information than the Tatler and the Spectator, and, conversely, if we wish to read intelligently the pages of those interesting maga- zines, we should try to know something of the social and political history of the period. Let us at the outset re- member that what we call modern civilization was new then, that all the particulars which make life comfort- able to-day were either not known then or were as new as the telephone or the automobile are to us. And we have this advantage, that we are accustomed to inventions and that new wonders soon become commonplace to us.
London was, even more than to-day, the center of En- glish life, politically and socially. The city was a me- tropolis very different in size, as well as in many other of its characteristic qualities, from the London of our day. Many of the outlying districts were then divided from the city by wide expanses of meadows and gardens. The streets were ill-kept, insufficiently lighted at night, infested by bands of ruffians, who often committed brutal assaults on unoffending people, whom they met in the street. It was not until 1736 that anything in the way of street-lighting was at all common. The ordinary hackney-coach was a jolting, uncomfortable vehicle, sel- dom furnished with lamps. The sedan-chair was be-
INTEODUCTION
XV
coming a regular institution, and the "chair/' as it was soon called, came to have something of the popularity of the modern taxicab. There was no regularly organized police force to guard the metropolis or regulate the street traffic. Although we may well believe that common report grossly exaggerated the individual acts of ruffianism and barbarity, yet it is beyond doubt that the night life of London often witnessed scenes which would have been a disgrace even in a less civilized era. The age was in many ways gross, but it was working with all possible zeal for better things and it sought aid from every di- rection.
The reader who likes to know something of the past will soon discover that in the Queen Anne period there was an institution which, although it had existed before the eighteenth century, flourished with great variety in that time when social intercourse was the supreme object of existence, namely, the coffee-house. Everywhere in the city sprang up these public houses, which welcomed anybody who could pay the price of a cup of coffee, usually a penny. Hither came the men of London of all classes and professions, each group attracted to its own house. A particular coffee-house came to be known as the seat of some worthy master. Dryden held forth at Will's, Addison at Button's, the Whigs met at St. James, the Tories at the Chocolate House or the Cocoa Tree, the merchants at Jonathan's, the scholars at the Grecian, and so on, ad infinitum. The coffee-house was so much the center of the social, political and literary life of the age that we may largely credit to it not only the origin of such magazines as the Tatler and Spectator but also the movement towards a broadening of intelligence and an extension of democratic principles and practises. There men gathered for talk and discussion and England never produced better talkers than from 1700 to 1770. Thus it came about that the literary life could scarcely be lived at all away from London with its politics and varied discussion, and hardly any great author was to be found
xvi INTRODUCTION
working in solitude. The writing of every author of the time shows how the city atmosphere told upon litera- ture itself, determining its form, enlivening its spirit, giving it intelligibility and virility. So poetical expres- sion became prosaic and prose became perfect.
A word of the forerunners of the Tatler may not be out of place here. Toward the close of the seventeenth cen- .tury, there were published occasional pamphlets, giving accounts of extraordinary events. The first daily news- paper. The Daily Courant, was begun in 1702, and lasted until 1735. This was simply news sheets. In 1690 John Dunton commenced the Athenian Mercury in which ques- tions, put to the editor by his readers, were answered. This continued until 1711. However, the only paper which had any real influence on the formation of the Tatler was Defoe's Review, which first appeared in 1704 and continued until 1713. As stated by Defoe, its object was "to set the affairs of Europe in a clearer light, to form a complete history of France and to pursue truth, regard- less of party." The Review was very popular. During its existence, it was greatly changed both as to title and content. It treated of political and economic questions in a simple and practical way quite new, with frequent observations on the follies and vices of the time. In itself it would never have commanded the attention or respect of future centuries but it may to-day be recognized as a possible precursor of the more popular periodicals, which soon appeared.
Tradition furnishes us with pleasing accounts of the origin of the Tatler, but, if we knew the truth, we should probably find that the conception of the Tatler was, like most inventions, the combination of several circumstances which were just waiting for the proper hand to fix them into a definite mould. The first number of the Tatler appeared on Tuesday, April 12th, 1709, and was published on post days, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. The ordinary copies, consisting of one folio leaf, were sold at one penny, but after the 25th number, copies were printed
INTEODUCTION xvH
with a sheet left blank for correspondence; for these a charge of three halfpence was made. The first four num- bers were given away. The last number of the Tatler appeared January 2, 1711. Of the 271 numbers, Steele wrote 188, Addison 42, and about 36 were written by them together. Even Addison was not aware of the author of the Tatler until he read in the sixth number some remarks on Vergil, which he remembered as the re- sult of a discussion, which he had had with Steele years before. Addison's first contribution was the eighteenth. Swift wrote one entire paper and a few letters and short articles. The contributions from others were almost negligible.
For any one unacquainted with the purpose and con- tents of the Tatler, the best method is to read the papers themselves. It was published, as Steele said, "for the use of the good people of England." The tastes of all classes were to be considered and the nature of the topic was indicated by the name of the place from which the article was supposed to have come, as may be seen in the first number. The early papers contained short contributions from several of these addresses, but, as the periodical progressed, it became more usual to confine the number to one subject and the article of news dropped out en- tirely. It was a new note to have Steele define his rela- tion to the people in these words, 'We have all along informed the public that we intend to give them our advice for our own sakes, and are laboring to make our lucubrations come to some price in money, for our more convenient support in the service of the public."
The aim in spirit and content of the enterprise could scarcely be better stated than in the characteristic sen- tence where he refers to a letter of a country correspond- ent, "As for my labors, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single vice, or give a morning's cheerful- ness to an honest mind ; in short, if the world can be but one virtue the better, or in any degree less vicious, or
xviii INTRODUCTION
receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent diversions, I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life to have been spent in vain/^
The first number of the Spectator appeared on March 1, 1711, with this announcement, "To be continued every day,'' and the pledge was kept until December 6th, 1712. Addison revived the paper for a time in 1714, but in that continuation Steele had no share. Of the 555 numbers, Addison wrote 274, Steele 236, leaving 45 for Budgell, Hughes, Pope, and a few occasional contributors. The purpose, which was constantly kept to the front, may be read in the first number.
Addison was at his best in the Spectator, while Steele found in the T a tier opportunity for the sense of freedom and freshness, which were lacking in the more stately successor. The remarkable achievement was that with two such different personalities the two men were able to fashion a work which would allow full scope to the activi- ties and capabilities of each and would together redound to the fame of both. It is pleasing to hear Steele say, "I remember when I finished the ^Tender Husband,' I told him there was nothing I so ardently wished as that we might at some time or other publish a work written by us both, which should bear the name of The Monument,' in memory of our friendship."
The Tatler had started the fashion; the Spectator profited by that popularity and its fame spread rapidly and widely. Everybody who pretended to be or to know anything was expected to display an acquaintance with it, to quote from its essays and to argue about its dis- cussions. Over 20,000 copies of the paper were sometimes sold in a single day and we may assume that this implied at least 100,000 readers. This was a marvelous achieve- ment, properly taking a place among the greatest in- ventions, when we remember that there was before the eighteenth century nothing that can be called a reading public. Aside from its social and literary significance, the story of the Spectator forms one of the most delight-
INTEODUCTION xix
ful and most important chapters in English literature.
The Tatler and Spectator may be considered as typify- ing, perhaps more accurately than any other work, the characteristics of the English people. The seventeenth century had witnessed one of the greatest civil tragedies, a clash of ideals and prejudices. The conflict of Cavaliers and Puritans had left its mark on English civilization. The king had been driven out, but the idealism of the Puritans had fallen into unloveliness. By 1700, the English race was exhausted by a century of passionate striving and all that seemed to be left of the idealism of society and letters were licentiousness and shameless sensuality. On the surface, however, there was a delight in respectability and good manners. Here was an op- portunity for the young moralist, Steele — he was only thirty-seven in 1709 — to set forth his creed in a form more definite and more appealing than in his plays, which had met only a half-hearted reception. Although the Tatler began as a newspaper, it was soon transformed into a censor of morals, which fitted well into the temper of the Englishman's desire for fixed standards of respect- ability. Soon Isaac Bickerstaff of the Tatler found his limitations and the Spectator essayed the censorship. Nothing could have been more happy than this transition from a rather vague figure with no well defined personal characteristics into the very definite observer and cor- rector of all the foibles common to the human race. It was a time for preaching. How much more palatable it was to have the preachment come from this nameless, shy and whimsical humorist than from the more formal and censorious theologian, incrusted with dogma! Here was the opportunity to reveal or conceal according to the caprice of the writer. The sketch of the Spectator in the first papers was largely fictitious but the character was maintained throughout with real consistency.
The reader in our day, who for the first time happens upon these papers, is, indeed, to be envied. They should not be read as a task but should lie on the table to be
XX INTEODUCTION
tasted as Bacon, the first English essayist, properly sug- gested, day by day according to the manner of publica- tion. Then they will not only please but satisfy. For such a reader, England will live again, the country with its well-to-do squires, its devotees of the chase, its con- tented servant class living by the grace of a well estab- lished aristocracy. For such a reader, London will be- come a city of folk, gathered at the theater, in the coffee houses, in the streets and on the river, talking and argu- ing, observing and gossiping of the fads and foibles, of all the big and little things that make the world an inter- esting place in which to live.
It is possible to make many kinds of selections from the varied papers that comprise the Tatler and the Spec- tator. This is but one, brought together, one paper here, another there, others more closely associated, to convey something of the variety and richness of the range and imagination of the two men who knew so well the com- posite life of which they formed a conspicuous part. We are not so much interested in passing a judgment upon these two distinguished men or in singling out their respective merits or defects. Rather we wish to leave them to the sympathetic curiosity of him who, to para- phrase the words of an eminent nineteenth century critic, wishes to read some of the best things that have been thought and said in the world.
Will D. Howe. March 81, 1921.
SELECTIONS FROM ADDISON AND STEELE
[Tatler No. 1. Tuesday, April 12, 1709. Steele."!
Quicquid agunt homines v^
nostri est farrago libelli.^
-— Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86.»
Though the other papers, which are published for the use of the good people of England, have certainly very wholesome effects, and are laudable in their particular kinds, they do not seem to come up to the main desiga of such narrations, which, I humbly presume, should be principally intended for the use of politic persons, whe are so public-spirited as to neglect their own affairs to look into transactions of state. Now these gentlemen, for the most part, being persons of strong zeal, and weak intellects, it is both a charitable and necessary work to offer something, whereby such worthy and well-affected members of the commonwealth may be instructed, after their reading, what to think; which shall be the end and purpose of this my paper, wherein I shall, from time to time, report and consider all matters of what 'kind soever that shall occur to me, and publish such my advices and reflections every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday in the week, for the convenience of the post. I resolve to have something which may be of entertainment to the fair sex, in honor of whom I have invented the title of this
^ Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream; Our motley Paper seizes for its theme.
2 ADDISON AND STEELE
paper. I therefore earnestly desire all persons, without distinction, to take it in for the present gratis^ and here- after at the price of one penny, forbidding all hawkers to take more for it at their peril. And I desire all per- sons to consider, that I am at a very great charge for proper materials for this work, as well as that, before I resolved upon it, I had settled a correspondence in all parts of the known and knowing world. And forasmuch as this globe is not trodden upon by mere drudges of business only, but that men of spirit and genius are justly to be esteemed as considerable agents in it, we shall not, upon a dearth of news, present you with musty foreign edicts, and dull proclamations, but shall divide our rela- tion of the passages which occur in action or discourse throughout this town, as well as elsewhere, under such dates of places as may prepare you for the matter you are to expect in the following manner.
All accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment, shall be under the article of White's Chocolate-house ; ^ poetry under that of Will's Coffee-house ; ^ Learning, un- der the title of Grecian ; ^ foreign and domestic news, you will have from St. James's Coffee-house; and what else I have to offer on any other subject shall be dated from my own Apartment.
1 once more desire my reader to consider, that as I can- not keep an ingenious man to go daily to Will's under two-pence each day, merely for his charges; to White's under six-pence ; nor to the Grecian, without allowing him some plain Spanish, to be as able as others at the learned table; and that a good observer cannot speak with even Kidney^ at St. James's without clean linen; I say, these
^ White's Chocolate-house was in St. James's-street.
2 WiU's Coffee-house was on the north-side of RusseU-street in Covent Garden, where the wits of that time used to assemble, and where Dryden had, when he lived, been accustomed to pre- side.
' The Grecian was in Devereux-court in the Strand ; probably the most ancient coffee-house in London. In 1652 an English Turkey merchant brought home with him a Greek servant, who first opened a house for making and selling coffee.
* Kidney was one of the waiters at St. James's Coffee-house,
ADDISON AND STEELE 3
considerations will, I hope, make all persons willing to comply with my humble request (when my gratis stock is exhausted) of a penny apiece; especially since they are sure of some proper amusement, and that it is impossible for me to want means to entertain them, having, besides the force of my own parts, the power of divination, and that I can, by casting a figure, tell you all that will happen before it comes to pass.
But this last faculty I shall use very sparingly, and speak but of few things until they are passed, for fear of divulging matters which may offend our superiors.
[The Tatler. No. 11. Thursday, May 5, 1709. Steele.]
Of all the vanities under the sun, I confess that of being proud of one's birth is the greatest. At the same time, since in this unreasonable age, by the force of pre- vailing custom, things in which men have no hand are imputed to them; and that I am used by some people, as if Isaac Bickerstaff, though I write myself Esquire, was nobody: to set the world right in that particular, I shall give you my genealogy, as a kinsman of ours has sent it from the Heralds office. It is certain, and observed by the wisest writers, that there are women who are not nicely chaste, and men not severely honest, in all families ; therefore let those who may be apt to raise aspersions upon ours, please to give us as impartial an account of their own, and we shall be satisfied. The business of heralds is a matter of so great nicety, that, to avoid mis- takes, I shall give you my cousin's letter verbatim, without altering a syllable.
"Dear Cousin,
"Since you have been pleased to make yourself so famous of late, by your ingenious writings, and some time ago by your learned predictions: since Partridge of immortal memory is dead and gone, who, poetical as
4 ADDISON AND STEELE
he was, could not Tinderstand his own poetry; and philo- matical as he was, could not read his own destiny: since the Pope, the King of France, and great part of his court, are either literally or metaphorically defunct: since, I say, these things (not foretold by any one but yourself) have come to pass after so surprising a manner ; it is with no small concern I see the original of the Staffian race so little known in the world as it is at this time; for which reason, as you have employed your studies in as- tronomy, and the occult sciences, so I, my mother being a Welsh woman, dedicated mine to genealogy, particularly that of our own family, which, for its antiquity and num- ber, may challenge any in Great Britain. The Staffs are originally of Staffordshire, which took its name from them : the first that I find of the Staffs was one Jacobstaff, a famous and renowned astronomer, who (by Dorothy his wife) had issue seven sons, viz,, Bickerstaff, Longstaff, Wagstaff, Quarterstaff, Whitestaff, Ealstaff, and Tipstaff. He also had a younger brother, who was twice married, and had five sons, viz,. Distaff, Pikestaff, Mopstaff, Broom- staff, and Eaggedstaff. As for the branch from whence you spring, I shall say very little of it, only that it is the chief of the Staffs, and called Bickerstaff, qvuisi Biggerstaff; as much as to say, the Great Staff, or Staff of Staffs ; and that it has applied itself to astronomy with great success, after the example ol our aforesaid fore- father. The descendants from Longstaff, the second son, were a rakish disorderly set of people, and rambled from one place to another, until, in the time of Harry the Sec- ond, they settled in Kent, and were called long-tails, from the long-tails which were sent them as a punishment for the murder of Thomas-a-Becket, as the legends say. They have always been sought after by the ladies; but whether it be to show their aversion to popery, or their love to miracles, I cannot say. The Wagstaffs are a merry thoughtless sort of people, who have always been opinion- ated of their own wit ; they have turned themselves mostly to poetry. This is the most numerous branch of our
ADDISON AISTD STEELE 5
family, and the poorest. The Quarterstaffs are most of them prize-fighters or deer-stealers : there have been so many of them hanged lately, that there are very few of that branch of our family left. The WhitestafFs ^ are all courtiers, and have had very considerable places. There have been some of them of that strength and dexterity, that five hundred ^ of the ablest men in the kingdom have often tugged in vain to pull a staff out of their hands. The Falstaffs are strangely given to whoring and drink- ing: there are abundance of them in and about London. One thing is very remarkable of this branch, and that is, there are just as many women as men in it. There was a wicked stick of wood of this name in Harry the Fourth's time, one Sir John Falstaff. As for Tipstaff, the young- est son, he was an honest fellow; but his sons, and his sons' sons, have all of them been the veriest rogues living : it is this unlucky branch that has stocked the nation with that swarm of lawyers, attorneys, sergeants, and bailiffs, with which the nation is over-run. Tipstaff, being a seventh son, used to cure the king's-evil; but his rascally descendants are so far from having that healing quality, that by a touch upon the shoulder they give a man such an ill habit of body, that he can never come abroad afterwards. This is all I know of the line of Jacobstaff : his younger brother Isaacstaff, as I told you before, had five sons, and was married twice : his first wife was a Staff (for they did not stand upon false heraldry in those days) by whom he had one son, who, in process of time, being a schoolmaster and well read in the Greek, called himself Distaff, or Twicestaff. He was not very rich, so he put his children out to trades ; and the Distaffs have ever since been employed in the woollen and linen manufactures, ex- cept myself, who am a genealogist. Pikestaff, the eldest son by the second venter, was a man of business, a down- right plodding fellow, and withal so plain, that he became
* An allusion to the staff carried, as an ensign of his office, by the First Lord of the Treasury.
* The House of Commons.
6 ADDISON AND STEELE
a proverb. Most of this family are at present in the army. Eaggedstaff was an unlucky boy, and used to tear his clothes in getting birds' nests, and was always playing with a tame bear his father kept. Mopstaff fell in love with one of his father's maids, and used to help her to clean the house. Broomstaff was a chimney-sweeper. The Mopstaffs and Broomstaffs are naturally as civil people as ever went out of doors; but alas! if they once get into ill hands, they knock down all before them. Pilgrim- staff ran away from his friends, and went strolling about the country: and Pipestaff was a wine-cooper. (These two were the unlawful issue of Longstaff.)
"N.B. The Canes, the Clubs, the Cudgels, the Wands, the Devil upon two Sticks, and one Bread, that goes by the name of Staff of Life, are none of our relations. I am. Dear Cousin,
Your humble servant,
D. Distaff."
From the Heralds Office, May 1, 1709.
[The Tatler No. 25. Tuesday, June 7, 1709. Steele.]
A letter from a young lady, written in the most pas- sionate terms, wherein she laments the misfortune of a gentleman, her lover, who was lately wounded in a duel, has turned my thoughts to that subject, and inclined me to examine into the causes which precipitate men into so fatal a folly. And as it has been proposed to treat of subjects of gallantry in the article from hence, and no one point in nature is more proper to be considered by the company who frequent this place than that of duels, it is worth our consideration to examine into this chimer- ical groundless humor, and to lay every other thought aside, until we have stripped it of all its false pretences to credit and reputation amongst men.
But I must confess, when I consider what I am going about, and run over in my imagination all the endless
ADDISON AND STEELE 7
crowd of men of honor who will be offended at such a discourse; I am undertaking, methinks, a work worthy an invulnerable hero in romance, rather than a private gentleman with a single rapier: but as I am pretty well acquainted by great opportunities with the nature of man, and know of a truth that all men fight against their will, the danger vanishes, and resolution rises upon this sub- ject. For this reason, I shall talk very freely on a custom which all men wish exploded, though no man has courage enough to resist it.
But there is one unintelligible word, which I fear will extremely perplex my dissertation, and I confess to you I find very hard to explain, which is the term "satisfac- tion.'' An honest country gentleman had the misfortune to fall into company with two or three modern men of honor, where he happened to be very ill-treated; and one of the company, being conscious of his offense, sends a note to him in the morning, and tells him, he was ready to give him satisfaction. "This is fine doing,'' says the plain fellow; "last night he sent me away cursedly out of humor, and this morning he fancies it would be a sat- isfaction to be run through the body."
As the matter at present stands, it is not to do hand- some actions denominates a man of honor ; it is enough if he dares to defend ill ones. Thus you often see a com- mon sharper in competition with a gentleman of the first rank; though all mankind is convinced, that a fighting gamester is only a pickpocket with the courage of an highwayman. One cannot with any patience reflect on the unaccountable jumble of persons and things in this town and nation, which occasions very frequently, that a brave man falls by a hand below that of a common hang- man, and yet his executioner escapes the clutches of the hangman for doing it. I shall therefore hereafter con- sider, how the bravest men in other ages and nations have behaved themselves upon such incidents as we de- cide by combat; and show, from their practice, that this resentment neither has its foundation from true reason
8 ADDISON AND STEELE
or solid fame; but is an imposture, made of cowardice, falsehood, and want of understanding. For this work, a good history of quarrels would be very edifying to the public, and I apply myself to the town for particulars and circumstances within their knowledge, which may serve to embellish the dissertation with proper cuts. Most of the quarrels I have ever known, have proceeded from some valiant coxcomb's persisting in the wrong, to defend some prevailing folly, and preserve himself from the ingenuousness of owning a mistake.
By this means it is called ^%iving a man satisfaction," to urge your offense against him with your sword; which puts me in mind of Peter's order to the keeper, in The Tale of a Tub: ^^if you neglect to do all this, damn you and your generation for ever: and so we bid you heartily farewell." If the contradiction in the very terms of one of our challenges were as well explained and turned into downright English, would it not run after this manner? "Sir,
"Your extraordinary behavior last night, and the lib- erty you were pleased to take with me, makes me this morning give you this, to tell you, because you are an . ill-bred puppy, I will meet you in Hyde-park, an hour hence; and because you want both breeding and human- ity, I desire you would come with a pistol in your hand, on horseback, and endeavor to shoot me through the head, to teach you more manners. If you fail of doing me this pleasure, I shall say, you are a rascal, on every post in town : and so, sir, if you will not injure me more, I shall never forgive what you have done already. Pray, sir, do not fail of getting everything ready; and you will in- finitely oblige, sir, your most obedient humble servant, etc."
ADDISON AND STEELE 9
[The Tatlhr. No. 41. Thursday, July 14, 1709. Steele.]
Gelebrare domestica facta.*
There is no one thing more to be lamented in our na- tion, than their general affectation of everything that is foreign; nay, we carry it so far, that we are more anx- ious for our own countrymen when they have crossed the seas, than when we see them in the same dangerous condition before our eyes at home: else how is it pos- sible, that on the twenty-ninth of the last month, there should have been a battle fought in our very streets of London, and nobody at this end of the town have heard of it? I protest, I, who make it my business to inquire after adventures, should never have known this, had not the following account been sent me inclosed in a letter. This, it seems, is the way of giving out orders in the Artillery-company; and they prepare for a day of action with so little concern, as only to call it, ^^An Exercise of Arms.'^
"An Exercise of Arms of the Artillery-company, to be performed on Wednesday, June the twenty-ninth, 1709, under the command of Sir Joseph Woolfe, knight and alderman, general; Charles Hopson, esquire, present sher- iff, lieutenant-general; Captain Richard Synge, major; Major John Shorey, captain of grenadiers; Captain Wil- liam Grayhurst, Captain John Butler, Captain Robert Carellis, captains.
"The body marched from the Artillery-ground, through Moorgate, Coleman Street, Lothbury, Broad Street, Finch Lane, Cornhill, Cheapside, St. Martin's, St. Anne's Lane, halt the pikes under the wall in Noble Street, draw up the firelocks facing the Goldsmiths' Hall, make ready and face to the left, and fire, and so ditto three times. Beat to arms, and march round the hall, as up Lad Lane,
^ "To celebrate domestic deeds."
10 ADDISON AND STEELE
Gutter Lane, Honey Lane, and so wheel to the right, and make your salute to my lord, and so down St. Ann's Lane, up Aldersgate Street, Barbican, and draw up in Eed Cross Street, the right at St. Paul's Alley in the rear. March off lieutenant-general with half the body up Beech Lane: he sends a sub-division up King's Head Court, and takes post in it, and marches two divisions round into Eed Lion Market, to defend that pass, and succor the division in King's Head Court; but keeps in White Cross Street, facing Beech Lane, the rest of the body ready drawn up. Then the general marches up Beech Lane, is attacked, but forces the division in the court into the market, and enters with three divisions while he presses the lieutenant-general's main body; and at the same time the three divisions force those of the revolters out of the market, and so all the lieutenant-gen- eral's body retreats into Chiswell Street, and lodges two divisions in Grub Street: and as the general marches on, they fall on his flank, but soon made to give way: but have a retreating-place in Eed Lion Court, but could not hold it, being put to flight through Paul's Alley, and pur- sued by the general's grenadiers, while he marches up and attacks their main body, but are opposed again by a party of men as lay in Black Eaven Court; but they are forced also to retire soon in the utmost confusion, and at the same time, those brave divisions in Paul's Alley ply their rear with grenadoes, that with precipitation they take to the route along Bunhill Eow: so the general marches into the Artillery-ground, and being drawn up, finds the revolting party to have found entrance, and makes a show as if for a battle, and both armies soon engage in form, and fire by platoons."
Much might be said for the improvement of this sys- tem; which, for its style and invention, may instruct generals and their historians, both in fighting a battle, and describing it when it is over. These elegant expres- sions, ''ditto — and so — ^but soon — ^but having — ^but could not — ^but are — ^but they — finds the party to have found,"
ADDISON AND STEELE 11
etc., do certainly give great life and spirit to the relation. Indeed, I am extremely concerned for the lieutenant- general, who, by his overthrow and defeat, is made a de- plorable instance of the fortune of war, and vicissitudes of human affairs. He, alas! has lost, in Beech Lane and Chiswell Street, all the glory he lately gained in and about Holborn and St. Giles's. The art of subdividing first, and dividing afterwards, is new and surprising; and according to this method, the troops are disposed in King's Head Court and Eed Lion Market: nor is the conduct of these leaders less conspicuous in their choice of the ground or field of battle. Happy was it, that the greatest part of the achievements of this day was to be performed near Grub Street, that there might not be wanting a sufficient number of faithful historians, who being eye-witnesses of these wonders, should impartially transmit them to posterity! But then it can never be enough regretted, that we are left in the dark as to the name and title of that extraordinary hero, who com- manded the divisions in Paul's Alley; especially because those divisions are justly styled brave, and accordingly were to push the enemy along Bunhill Bow, and thereby occasion a general battle. But Pallas appeared in the form of a shower of rain, and prevented the slaughter and desolation, which were threatened by these extraor- dinary preparations.
Hi motus animorum, atque haec certamina tanta Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.
"Yet all those dreadful deeds, this doubtful fray, A cast of scatter'd dust will soon allay."
[The Tatler No. 42. Saturday, July 16, 1709. Steele.]
It is now twelve of the clock at noon, and no mail come in; therefore, I am not without hopes that the town will
12 ADDISON AND STEELE
allow me the liberty whicli my brother news-writers take, in giving them what may be for their information in another kind, and indulge me in doing an act of friend- ship, by publishing the following account of goods and movables.
This is to give notice, that a magnificent palace, with great variety of gardens, statues, and water-works, may be bought cheap in Drury-lane; where there are likewise several castles, to be disposed of, very delightfully situ- ated; as also groves, woods, forests, fountains, and coun- try-seats, with very pleasant prospects on all sides of them; being the movables of Christopher Rich,^ Esquire, who is breaking up housekeeping, and has many curious pieces of furniture to dispose of, which may be seen be- tween the hours of six and ten in the evening.
THE INVENTORY
Spirits of right Nantz brandy, for lambent flames and apparitions.
Three bottles and a half of lightning.
One shower of snow in the whitest French paper.
Two showers of a browner sort.
A sea, consisting of a dozen large waves ; the tenth big* ger than ordinary, and a little damaged.
A dozen and half of clouds, trimmed with black, and well-conditioned.
A rainbow, a little faded.
A set of clouds after the French mode, streaked with lightning, and furbelowed.
A new moon, something decayed.
A pint of the finest Spanish wash, being all that is left of two hogsheads sent over last winter.
A coach very finely gilt, and little used, with a pair of dragons, to be sold cheap.
A setting-sun, a pennyworth.
* Drury-lane playhouse was shut up about this time by a& order from the Lord Chamberlain.
ADDISON AND STEELE 13
An imperial mantle, made for Cyrus the Great, and worn by Julius Cassar, Bajazet, king Harry the Eighth, and signor Valentini.
A basket-hilted sword, very convenient to carry milk in.
Eoxana's night-gown.
Othello's handkerchief.
The imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once.
A wild boar killed by Mrs. Tofts and Diocletian,
A serpent to sting Cleopatra.
A mustard-bowl to make thunder with.
Another of a bigger sort, by Mr. D s's ^ directions,
little used.
Six elbow-chairs, very expert in country-dances, with six flower-pots for their partners.
The whiskers of a Turkish Pasha.
The complexion of a murderer in a band-box; consist- ing of a large piece of burnt cork, and a coal-black peruke.
A suit of clothes for a ghost, viz, a bloody shirt, a doublet curiously pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet-holes upon the breast.
A bale of red Spanish wool.
Modern plots, commonly known by the name of trap- doors, ladders of ropes, vizard-masques, and tables with broad carpets over them.
Three oak-cudgels, with one of crab-tree; all bought for the use of Mr. Pinkethman.^
Materials for dancing; as masques, castanets, and a ladder of ten rounds.
Aurengezebe's scimitar, made by Will Brown in Pic- cadilly.
A plume of feathers, never used but by (Edipus and the Earl of Essex.
There are also swords, halbards, sheep-hooks, cardinals' hats, turbans, drums, gallipots, a gibbet, a cradle, a rack,
^ John Dennis, the critic.
3 A low comedy actor and manager of a traveling company.
14 ADDISON AND STEELE
a cart-wheel, an altar, an helmet, a back-piece, a breast- plate, a bell, a tub, and a jointed baby.
These are the hard shifts we intelligencers are forced to ; therefore our readers ought to excuse us, if a westerly- wind blowing for a fortnight together, generally fills every paper with an order of battle; when we show our martial skill in every line, and according to the space we have to fill, we range our men in squadrons and battalions, or draw out company by company, and troop by troop; ever observing that no muster is to be made, but when the wind is in a cross-point, which often happens at the end of a campaign, when half the men are deserted or killed.* The Courant is sometimes ten deep, his ranks close: the Post-boy is generally in files, for greater exactness; and the Post-man comes down upon you rather after the Turkish way, sword in hand, pell-mell, without form or discipline; but sure to bring men enough into the field; and wherever they are raised, never to lose a battle for want of numbers.
[The Tatler No. 132. Saturday, February 11, 1709-10.
Steele.]
Habeo senectuti magnam gratiam, quae mihi sermonis avid itatem auxit, potionis et cibi sustulit.^ — Tull. de Sen.
After having applied my mind with more than ordi- nary attention to my studies, it is my usual custom to relax and unbend it in the conversation of such, as are rather easy than shining companions. This I find par- ticularly necessary for me before I retire to rest, in or- der to draw my slumbers upon me by degrees, and fall
^ A sneer at the ridiculous miUtary articles published in the newspapers of those days, irtroduced perhaps with a view to insinuate that the news articles in the Tatler were most to be relied upon of any then published.
^ I am much beholden to old age, which has increased my eagerness for conversation in proportion as it has lessened my ap- petites of hunger and thirst.
ADDISON AND STEELE 15
asleep insensibly. This is the particular use I make of a set of heavy honest men, with whom I have passed many hours with much indolence, though not with great pleasure. Their conversation is a kind of preparative for sleep: it takes the mind down from its abstractions, leads it into the familiar traces of thought, and lulls it into that state of tranquillity which is the condition of a thinking man, when he is but half awake. After this, my reader will not be surprised to hear the account, which I am about to give of a club of my own contempo- raries, among whom I pass two or three hours every eve- ning. This I look upon as taking my first nap before I go to bed. The truth of it is, I should think myself unjust to posterity, as well as to the society at the Trum- pet, of which I am a member, did not I in some part of my writings give an account of the persons among whom I have passed almost a sixth part of my time for these last forty years. Our club consisted originally of fif- teen; but, partly by the severity of the law in arbitrary times, and partly by the natural effects of old age, we are at present reduced to a third part of that number: in which, however, we hear this consolation, that the best company is said to consist of five persons. I must con- fess, besides the aforementioned benefit which I meet with in the conversation of this select society, I am not the less pleased with the company, in that I find myself the greatest wit among them, and am heard as their ora- cle in all points of learning and difficulty.
Sir Jeoffrey Notch, who is the oldest of the club, has been in possession of the right-hand chair time out of mind, and is the only man among us that has the liberty of stirring the fire. This our foreman is a gentleman of an ancient family, that came to a great estate some years before he had discretion, and run it out in hounds, horses, and cock-fighting; for which reason he looks upon him- self as an honest, worthy gentleman, who has had mis- fortunes in the world, and calls every thriving man a pitiful upstart.
16 ADDISON AND STEELE
Major Matchlock is the next senior, who served in the last civil wars, and has all the battles by heart. He does not think any action in Europe worth talking of since the fight of Marston Moor ; and every night tells us of his having been knocked off his horse at the rising of the London apprentices; for which he is in great esteem among us.
Honest old Dick Reptile is the third of our society. He is a good-natured indolent man, who speaks little himself, but laughs at our jokes; and brings his young nephew along with him, a youth of eighteen years old, to show him good company, and give him a taste of the world. This young fellow sits generally silent ; but when- ever he opens his mouth, or laughs at anything that passes, he is constantly told by his uncle, after a jocular manner, ^^Aj, ay. Jack, you young men think us fools; but we old men know you are."
The greatest wit of our company, next to myself, is a Bencher of the neighboring Inn, who in his youth fre- quented the ordinaries about Charing Cross, and pre- tends to have been intimate with Jack Ogle. He has about ten distichs of Hudibras without book, and never leaves the club until he has applied them all. If any modern wit be mentioned, or any town-frolic spoken of, he shakes his head at the dullness of the present age, and tells us a story of Jack Ogle.
For my own part, I am esteemed among them, because they see I am something respected by others; though at the same time I understand by their behavior, that I am considered by them as a man of a great deal of learning, but no knowledge of the world; insomuch, that the Major sometimes, in the height of his military pride, calls me the Philosopher: and Sir Jeoffrey, no longer ago than last night, upon a dispute what day of the month it was then in Holland, pulled his pipe out of his mouth, and cried, 'What does the scholar say to it?"
Our club meets precisely at six o'clock in the evening; but I did not come last night until half an hour after
ADDISON AND STEELE 17
seven, by which means I escaped the battle of Naseby, which the Major usually begins at about three-quarters after six: I found also, that my good friend the Bencher had already spent three of his distichs; and only waited an opportunity to hear a sermon spoken of, that he might introduce the couplet where *^a stick" rhymes to "ecclesi- astic." At my entrance into the room, they were nam- ing a red petticoat and a cloak, by which I found that the Bencher had been diverting them with a story of Jack Ogle.
I had no sooner taken my seat, but Sir Jeoffrey, to show his good-will towards me, gave me a pipe of his own tobacco, and stirred up the fire. I look upon it as a point of morality, to be obliged by those who endeavor to oblige me; and therefore, in requital for his kindness, and to set the conversation a-going, I took the best occasion I could to put him upon telling us the story of old Gant- lett, which he always does with very particular concern. He traced up his descent on both sides for several gen- erations, describing his diet and manner of life, with his several battles, and particularly that in which he fell. This Gantlett was a gamecock, upon whose head the knight, in his youth, had won five hundred pounds, and lost two thousand. This naturally set the Major upon the account of Edge Hill fight, and ended in a duel of Jack Ogle's.
Old Eeptile was extremely attentive to all that was said, though it was the same he had heard every night for these twenty years, and, upon all occasions, winked upon his nephew to mind what passed.
This may suffice to give the world a taste of our inno- cent conversation, which we spun out until about ten of the clock, when my maid came with a lantern to light me home. I could not but reflect with myself, as I was going out, upon the talkative humor of old men, and the little figure which that part of life makes in one who cannot employ his natural propensity in discourses which would make him venerable. I must own, it makes me
18 ADDISON AND STEELE
very melanclioly in company, when I hear a young man begin a story; and have often observed, that one of a quarter of an hour long in a man of five-and-twenty, gathers circumstances every time he tells it, until it grows into a long Canterbury tale of two hours by that time he is threescore.
The only way of avoiding such a trifling and frivolous old age is, to lay up in our way to it such stores of knowl- edge and observation, as may make us useful and agree- able in our declining years. The mind of man in a long life will become a magazine of wisdom or folly, and will consequently discharge itself in something impertinent or improving. For which reason, as there is nothing more ridiculous than an old trifling story-teller, so there is nothing more venerable, than one who has turned his ex- perience to the entertainment and advantage of man- kind.
In short, we, who are in the last stage of life, and are apt to indulge ourselves in talk, ought to consider, if what we speak be worth being heard, and endeavor to make our discourse like that of Nestor, which Homer compares to the flowing of honey for its sweetness.
[The Tatler No. 155. Thursday, April 6, 1710. Addison.]
Aliena negotia curat, Excussus propriis, — Hob.
From my own apartment, April 5.
There lived some years since within my neighborhood a very grave person, an upholsterer, who seemed a man of more than ordinary application to business. He was a very early riser, and was often abroad two or three hours before any of his neighbors. He had a particu- lar carefulness in the knitting of his brows, and a kind of impatience in all his motions, that plainly discovered
ADDISON AND STEELE 19
he was always intent on matters of importance. Upon my inquiry into his life and conversation, I found him to be the greatest newsmonger in our quarter; that he rose before day to read the Post Man; and that he would take two or three turns to the other end of the town before his neighbors were up, to see if there were any Dutch mails come in. He had a wife and several chil- dren; but was much more inquisitive to know what passed in Poland than in his own family, and was in greater pain and anxiety of mind for King Augustus's weKare than that of his nearest relations. He looked extremely thin in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himself in a westerly wind. This indefatigable kind of life was the ruin of his shop; for about the time that his favorite prince left the crown of Poland, he broke and disappeared.
This man and his affairs had been long out of my mind, till about three days ago, as I was walking in St. James's Park, I heard somebody at a distance hemming after me : and who should it be but my old neighbor the upholsterer? I saw he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain shabby superfluities in his dress: for notwith- standing that it was a very sultry day for the time of the year, he worse a loose greatcoat and a muff, with a long campaign- wig out of curl; to which he had added the ornament of a pair of black garters buckled under the knee. Upon his coming up to me, I was going to inquire into his present circumstances; but was prevented by his asking me, with a whisper, Whether the last letters brought any accounts that one might rely upon from Ben- der? I told him, None that I heard of; and asked him, Whether he had yet married his eldest daughter? He told me. No. But pray, says he, tell me sincerely, what are your thoughts of the king of Sweden? (for though his wife and children were starving, I found his chief concern at present was for this great monarch). I told him, that I looked upon him as one of the first heroes of the age. But pray, says he, do you think there is any-
20 ADDISON AND STEELE
thing in the story of his wound? and finding me sur- prised at the question, Nay, says he, I only propose it to you. I answered, that I thought there was no reason to doubt of it. But why in the heel, say he, more than in any other part of the body? Because, says I, the bullet chanced to light there.
This extraordinary dialogue was no sooner ended, but he began to launch out into a long dissertation upon the affairs of the North; and after having spent some time on them, he told me, he was in a great perplexity how to reconcile the Supplement with the English Post, and had been just now examining what the other papers say upon the same subject. The Daily Courant, says he, has these words, "We have advices from very good hands, that a certain prince has some matters of great impor- tance under consideration." This is very mysterious; but the Post Boy leaves us more in the dark, for he tells us, "That there are private intimations of measures taken by a certain prince, which time will bring to light." Now the Post Man, says he, who used to be very clear, refers to the same news in these words; "The late con- duct of a certain prince affords great matter of specula- tion." This certain prince, says the upholsterer, whom they are all so cautious of naming, I take to be — upon which, though there was nobody near us, he whispered something in my ear which I did not hear, or think worth my while to make him repeat.
We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three or four very odd fellows sitting together upon the bench. These I found were all of them politicians, who used to sun themselves in that place every day about dinner-time. Observing them to be curiosities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I sat down among them.
The chief politician of the bench was a great assertor of paradoxes. He told us, with a seeming concern, that by some news he had lately read from Muscovy, it ap- peared to him that there was a storm gathering in the
ADDISON AND STEELE 21
Black Sea, which might in time do hurt to the naval forces of this nation. To this he added, that for his part, he could not wish to see the Turk driven out of Europe, which he believed could not but be prejudicial to our woollen manufacture. He then told us, that he looked upon those extraordinary revolutions which had lately happened in these parts of the world, to have risen chiefly from two persons who were not much talked of ; and those, says he, are Prince Menzikoff, and the Duchess of Miran- dola. He backed his assertions with so many broken hints, and such a show of depth and wisdom, that we gave ourselves up to his opinions.
The discourse at length fell upon a point which sel- dom escapes a knot of true-born Englishmen, whether in case of a religious war, the Protestants would not be too strong for the Papists? This we unanimously deter- mined on the Protestant side. One who sat on my right hand, and, as I found by his discourse, had been in the West Indies, assured us, that it would be a very easy matter for the Protestants to beat the pope at sea; and added, that whenever such a war does break out, it must turn to the good of the Leeward Islands. Upon this, one who sat at the end of the bench, and, as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the company, said, that in case the Papists should drive the Protestants from these parts of Europe, when the worst came to the worst, it would be impossible to beat them out of Norway and Greenland, provided the northern crowns hold together, and the Czar of Muscovy stand neuter.
He further told us for our comfort, that there were vast tracts of land about the pole, inhabited neither by Protestants nor Papists, and of greater extent than all the Roman Catholic dominions in Europe.
When we had fully discussed this point, my friend the upholsterer began to exert himself upon the present negotiations of peace, in which he deposed princes, set- tled the bounds of kingdoms, and balanced the power of Europe, with great justice and impartiality.
22 ADDISON AND STEELE
I at length took my leave of the company, and was going away; but had not been gone thirty yards, before the upholsterer hemmed again after me. Upon his ad- vancing towards me, with a whisper, I expected to hear some secret piece of news, which he had not thought fit to communicate to the bench; but instead of that, he de- sired me in my ear to lend him half-a-crown. In com- passion to so needy a statesman, and to dissipate the con- fusion I found he was in, I told him, if he pleased, I would give him five shillings, to receive five pounds of him when the Great Turk was driven out of Constanti- nople; which he very readily accepted, but not before he had laid down to me the impossibility of such an event, as the affairs of Europe now stand.
This paper I design for the particular benefit of those worthy citizens who live more in a coffee-house than in their shops, and whose thoughts are so taken up with the affairs of the allies, that they forget their customers.
[The Tatler No. 158. Thursday, Aprh. 13, 1710.
Addison.]
Faciunt nae intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.^ — Teb.
Tom Folio is a broker in learning, employed to get together good editions, and stock the libraries of great men. There is not a sale of books begins until Tom Folio is seen at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer. There is not a subscription goes forward in which Tom is not privy to the first rough draught of the proposals; nor a catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the press. He is an uni- versal scholar, so far as the title-page of all authors;
^ While they pretend to know more than others, they know nothing in reality.
ADDISON AND STEELE 23
knows th© manuscripts in which they were discovered, the editions through which they have passed, with the praises or censures which they have received from the several members of the learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Hor- ace. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a panegyric upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account of an author, when he tells you the subject he treats of, the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or if you draw him into farther particulars, he cries up the goodness of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, and is transported with the beauty of the letter. This he looks upon to be sound learning, and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fineness of style, and the justness of thought, or describe the brightness of any particular passages ; nay, though they themselves write in the genius and spirit of the author they admire; Tom looks upon them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts.
I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned ideot, for that is the light in which I consider every pedant, when I discovered in him some little touches of the cox- comb, which I had not before observed. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowl- edge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not be- lieve in all points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me a thought of a certain author upon a passage of Virgil's account of the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper. This thought hath taken very much among men of Tom's pitch and understand- ing, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader with it, I found, upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future state of rewards and punishments, because ^neas, at his leaving the empire of the dead, passed through the gate of ivory, and not through that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not sense
24 ADDISON AND STEELE
enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that I might avoid wrangling, I told him "that Virgil possibly had his oversights as well as another author.'^ "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Hein- sius's edition. I have perused him myself several times in that edition," continued he; "and after the strictest and most malicious examination, could find but two faults in him; one of them is in the ^neids, where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis; and another in the third Georgic, where you may find a semicolon turned upside down." "Perhaps," said I, "these were not Vir- gil's faults, but those of the transcriber." "I do not de- sign it," says Tom, "as a reflection on Virgil; on the con- trary, I know that all the manuscripts declaim against such a punctuation. Oh ! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "what would a man give to see one simile of Virgil writ in his own hand?" I asked him which was the simile he meant; but was answered, any simile in Virgil. He then told me all the secret history in the commonwealth of learn- ing; of modem pieces that had the names of ancient au- tTiors annexed to them; of all the books that were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of many amendments which are made, and not yet published, and a thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory burdened with for a Vatican.
At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly ad- mired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learn- ing, he took his leave. I know several of Tom's class, who are professed admirers of Tasso, without understand- ing a word of Italian : and one in particular, that carries a Pastor Fido in his pocket, in which, I am sure, he is acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character.
There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Eolio's impertinences, hath greater superstructures and embellishments of Greek and Latin; and is still more in- supportable than the other, in the same degree as he is
ADDISON AND STEELE 25
more learned. Of this kind very often are editors, com- mentators, interpreters, scholiasts, and critics; and, in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. These persons set a greater value on themselves for hav- ing found out the meaning of a passage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it; nay, will allow the passage itself not to have any beauty in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest men of the age, for having interpreted it. They will look with contempt on the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any of their contemporaries; but will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth to- gether, to correct, publish, and expound such trifles of antiquity, as a modern author would be contemned for. Men of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the grav- est professions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet, that is originally in Greek or Latin; give editions of the most immoral authors; and spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. All that can be said in excuse for them is, that their works sufficiently shew they have no taste of their authors; and that what they do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or lasciviousness of temper.
A pedant of this nature is wonderfully well described in six lines of Boileau, with which I shall conclude his character :
Un Pedant enyvre de sa vaine science, Tout herisse de Grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance. Et qui de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot, Dans sa tete entassez n'a souvent fait qu'un sot, Croit qu'un livre fait tout, and que sans Aristote La raison ne voit goute, and le bon sens radote.
Brim-full of learning see that pedant stride, Bristling with horrid Greek, and puff'd with pride! A thousand authors he in vain has read, And with their maxims stuff 'd his empty head; And thinks that, without Aristotle's rule, Reason is blind, and common sense a fool.
26 ADDISON AND STEELE
[The Tatler No. 161. Thursday, April 20, 1710. Addison.]
Nunquam Libertas gratior extat
Qu£Lm sub rege pio.^
I was walking two or three days ago in a very pleas- ant retirement, and amusing myself with the reading of that ancient and beautiful allegory, called "The Table of Cebes.'' I was at last so tired with my walk, that I sat down to rest myself upon a bench that stood in the midst of an agreeable shade. The music of the birds, that filled all the trees about me, lulled me asleep before I was aware of it; which was followed by a dream, that I impute in some measure to the foregoing author, who had made an impression upon my imagination, and put me into his own way of thinking.
I fancied myself among the Alps, and, as it is natural in a dream, seemed every moment to bound from one summit to another, until at last, having made this airy progress over the tops of several mountains, I arrived at the very center of those broken rocks and precipices. I here, methought, saw a prodigious circuit of hills, that reached above the clouds, and encompassed a large space of ground, which I had a great curiosity to look into. I thereupon continued my former way of traveling through a great variety of winter scenes, until I had gained the top of these white mountains, which seemed another Alps of snow. I looked down from hence into a spacious plain, which was surrounded on all sides by this mound of hills, and which presented me with the most agreeable pros- pect I had ever seen. There was a greater variety of colors in the embroidery of the meadows, a more lively green in the leaves and grass, a brighter crystal in the streams, than what I ever met with in any other region.
^ Never does Liberty appear more amiable than under the government of a pious and good prince.
ADDISON AND STEELE 27
The light itself had something more shining and glori- ous in it, than that of which the day is made in other places. I was wonderfully astonished at the discovery of such a paradise amidst the wildness of those cold, hoary landskips which lay about it; but found at length, that this happy region was inhabited by the goddess of Lib- erty; whose presence softened the rigors of the climate, enriched the barrenness of the soil, and more than sup- plied the absence of the sun. The place was covered with a wonderful profusion of flowers, that, without being dis- posed into regular borders and parterres, grew promis- cuously ; and had a greater beauty in their natural luxuri- ancy and disorder, than they could have received from the checks and restraints of art. There was a river that arose out of the south side of the mountain, that by an infinite number of turnings and windings, seemed to visit every plant, and cherish the several beauties of the spring with which the fields abounded. After having run to and fro in a wonderful variety of meanders, as unwilling to leave so charming a place, it at last throws itself into the hollow of a mountain; from whence it passes under a long range of rocks, and at length rises in that part of the Alps where the inhabitants think is the first source of the Rhone. This river, after having made its progress through those free nations, stagnates in a huge lake at the leaving of them ; and no sooner enters into the regions of slavery but it runs through them with an incredible rapidity, and takes its shortest way to the sea.
I descend into the happy fields that lay beneath me, and in the midst of them beheld the goddess sitting upon a throne. She had nothing to enclose her but the bounds of her own dominions, and nothing over her head but the heavens. Every glance of her eye cast a track of light where it fell, that revived the spring, and made all things smile about her. My heart grew cheerful at the sight of her; and as she looked upon me, I found a cer- tain confidence growing in me, and such an inward reso- lution as I never felt before that time.
28 ADDISON AND STEELE
On the left-hand of the goddess sat the Genius of a Commonwealth, with the cap of Liberty on her head, and in her hand a wand, like that with which a Roman citizen used to give his slaves their freedom. There was some- thing mean and vulgar but at the same time exceeding bold and daring in her air; her eyes were full of fire; but had in them such casts of fierceness and cruelty, as made her appear to me rather dreadful than amiable. On her shoulders she wore a mantle, on which there was wrought a great confusion of figures. As it flew in the wind, I could not discern the particular design of them but saw wounds in the bodies of some, and agonies in the faces of others; and over one part of it I could read in letters of blood, 'The Ides of March."
On the right-hand of the goddess was the Genius of Monarchy. She was clothed in the whitest ermine, and wore a crown of the purest gold upon her head. In her hand she held a scepter like that which is borne by the British monarchs. A couple of tame lions lay crouching at her feet. Her countenance had in it a very great majesty without and mixture of terror. Her voice was like the voice of an angel, filled with so much sweetness, accompanied with such an air of condescension, as tem- pered the awfulness of her appearance, and equally, in- spired love and veneration into the hearts of all that be- held her.
In the train of the Goddess of Liberty were the several Arts and Sciences, who all of them flourished underneath her eye. One of them in particular made a greater fig- ure than any of the rest, who held a thunderbolt in her right hand, which had the power of melting, piercing, or breaking, everything that stood in its way. The name of this goddess was Eloquence.
There were two other dependent goddesses, who made a very conspicuous figure in this blissful region. The first of them was seated upon a hill, that had every plant grow- ing out of it, which the soil was in its own nature capa- ble of producing. The other was seated in a little island
ADDISON AND STEELE 29
that was covered with groves of spices, olives, and orange trees; and in a word, with the products of every foreign clime. The name of the first was Plenty, and of the sec- ond Commerce. The first leaned her right arm upon a plow, and under her left held a huge horn out of which she poured a whole autumn of fruits. The other wore a rostral crown upon her head, and kept her eyes fixed upon a compass.
I was wonderfully pleased in ranging through this de- lightful place, and the more so, because it was not en- cumbered with fences and enclosures; until at length, methought, I sprung from the ground, and pitched upon the top of a hill, that presented several objects to my sight which I had not before taken notice of. The winds that passed over this flowery plain, and through the tops of the trees which were in full blossom, blew upon me in such a continued breeze of sweets, that I was wonder- fully charmed with my situation. I here saw all the inner declivities of that great circuit of mountains whose outside was covered with snow, overgrown with huge forests of fir-trees, which indeed are very fre- quently found in other parts of the Alps. These trees were inhabited by storks, that came thither in great flights from very far distant quarters of the world. Me- thought I was pleased in my dream to see what became of these birds, when, upon leaving the places to which they make an annual visit, they rise in great flocks so high until they are out of sight, and for that reason have been thought by some modern philosophers to take a flight to the moon. But my eyes were soon diverted from this prospect, when I observed two great gaps that led through this circuit of mountains, where guards and watches were posted day and night. Upon examination, I found that there were two formidable enemies encamped before each of these avenues, who kept the place in a perpetual alarm, and watched all opportunities of invading it.
Tyranny was at the head of one of these armies, dressed in an Eastern habit, and grasping in her hand an iron
30 ADDISON AND STEELE
scepter. Behind her was Barbarity, with the garb and complexion of an Ethiopian; Ignorance, with a turban upon her head; and Persecution holding up a bloody flag, embroidered with flower-de-luces. These were fol- lowed by Oppression, Poverty, Famine, Torture, and a dreadful train of appearances that made me tremble to behold them. Among the baggage of this army, I could discover racks, wheels, chains, and gibbets, with all the instruments art could invent to make human nature mis- erable. Before the other avenue I saw Licentiousness, dressed in a garment not unlike the Polish cassock, and leading up a whole army of monsters, such as Clamor, with a hoarse voice and an hundred tongues; Confusion, with a misshapen body, and a thousand heads; Impu- dence, with a forehead of brass; and Rapine, with hands of iron. The tumult, noise, and uproar in this quarter were so very great, that they disturbed my imagination more than is consistent with sleep, and by that means awaked me.
[The Tatler No. 163. Tuesday, April 25, 1710. Addison.]
Idem inficeto est inficetior rure,
Simul poemata attigit; neque idem unquam
^que est beatus, ac poema cum scribit:
Tam gaudet in se, tamque se ipse miratur.
Nimirum idem omnes fallimur; neque est quisquam
Quem non in aliqua re videre Suffenum
Possis * — Catul. de Suffeno xx. 14.
I yesterday came hither about two hours before the company generally make their appearance, with a design to read over all the newspapers; but, upon my sitting
1 Suffenus has no more wit than a mere clown when he at- tempts to write verses, and yet he is never happier than when he is scribbling ; bo much does he admire himself and his com- positions. And, indeed, this is the foible of every one of us, for there is no man living who is not a Suflfenus in one thing or other.
ADDISON AND STEELE 31
down, I "was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the other end of the room, where I found he had been writing something. "Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "I observe by a late Paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humor ; for you must know, of all impertinences, there is nothing which I so much hate as news. I never read a Gazette in my life; and never trouble my head about our armies, whether they win or lose, or in what part of the world they lie encamped." Without giving me time to reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his pocket, telling me, "that he had something which would entertain me more agreeably; and that he would desire my judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us until the company came in."
Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of easy lines. Waller is his favorite: and as that ad- mirable writer has the best and worst verses of any among our great English poets, Ned Softly, has got all the bad ones without book; which he repeats upon occasion, to show his reading, and garnish his conversation. Ned is indeed a true English reader, incapable of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this art; but wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic ornaments of epigram- matical conceits, turns, points, and quibbles, which are so frequent in the most admired of our English poets, and practised by those who want genius and strength to represent, after the manner of the ancients, simplicity in its natural beauty and perfection.
Finding myself unavoidably engaged in such a con- versation, I was resolved to turn my pain into a pleasure, and to divert myseK as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. "You must understand," says Ned, "that the sonnet I am going to read to you was written upon a lady, who showed me some verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall hear it."
Upon which he began to read as follows :
ADDISON AND STEELE TO MIRA ON HER INCOMPARABLE POEMS
When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine, And tune your soft melodious notes,
You seem a sister of the Nine, Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.
II
I fancy, when your song you sing,
(Your song you sing with so much art)
Your pen was plucked from Cupid's wing; For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.
'Why," says I, '^this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very lump of salt: every verse has something in it that piques; and then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram, for so I think you critics call it, as ever entered into the thought of a poet.'' "Dear Mr. Bickerstaff,'' says he, shaking me by the hand, "everybody knows you to be a judge of these things; and to tell you truly, I read over Roscommon's translation of 'Horace's Art of Poetry' three several times, before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shown you. But you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it; for not one of them shall pass without your approbation.
When dress'd in laurel wreaths, you shine,
"That is," says he, "when you have your garland on; when you are writing verses." To which I replied, "I know your meaning : a metaphor !" "The same," said he, and went on.
"And tune your soft melodious notes.
Pray observe the gliding of that verse; there is scarce a consonant in it : I took care to make it run upon liquids.
ADDISON AND STEELE 33
Give me your opinion of it/' "Truly," said I, "I think it as good as the former." "I am very glad to hear you say so," says he; 'T^ut mind the next."
You seem a sister of the Nine,
^^That is," says he, "you seem a sister of the Muses; for, if you look into ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion that there were nine of them." "I remem- ber it very well," said I; "but pray proceed."
"Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.
"Phoebus," says he, "was the god of poetry. These lit- tle instances, Mr. Bickerstaff, show a gentleman's read- ing. Then, to take off from the air of learning, which Phoebus and the Muses had given to this first stanza, you may observe, how it falls all of a sudden into the familiar ; 'in Petticoats' !"
"Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.
"Let us now," says I, "enter upon the second stanza; I find the first line is still a continuation of the meta- phor,
I fancy, when your song you sing."
"It is very right," says he, %ut pray observe the turn of words in those two lines. I was a whole hour in ad- justing of them, and have still a doubt upon me, whethei* in the second line it should be 'Your song you sing; or^ You sing your song ?' You shall hear them both :
I fancy, when your song you sing, (Your song you sing with so much art)
OR
I fancy, when j^our song you sing,
(You sing your song with so much art.)"
"Truly," said I, "the turn is so natural either way, that you have made me almost giddy with it." "Dear sir/'
34 ADDISON AND STEELE
said he, grasping me by the hand, ^^you have a great deal of patience; but pray what do you think of the next verse?
Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing."
"Think!'' says I; "I think you have made Cupid look like a little goose/' "That was my meaning," says he: "I think the ridicule is well enough hit off. But we come now to the last, which sums up the whole matter.
For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.
"Pray how do you like that Ah! doth it not make a
pretty figure in that place? Ah! it looks as if I felt
the dart, and cried out as being pricked with it.
For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.
"My friend Dick Easy," continued he, "assured me, he would rather have written that Ah! than to have been the author of the .^neid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of the lines, and like a dart
in the other. But as to that " "Oh ! as to that," says
I, "it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be the same thing." He was going to embrace me for the hint ; but half a dozen critics coming into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, "he would show it me again as soon as his man had written it over fair."
[The Tatler No. 181. Tuesday, June 6, lYlO. Steele.] Dies, ni fallor, adest, quem semper acerbum,
Semper honoratum, sic dii voluistis habebo.^
There are those among mankind, who can enjoy no rel- ish of their being, except the world is made acquainted
* And now the rising day renews the year, A day for ever sad, for ever dear.
ADDISON AND STEELE 35
with all that relates to them, and think everything lost that passes unobserved; but others find a solid delight in stealing by the crowd, and modeling their life after such a manner, as is as much above the approbation as the practice of the vulgar. Life being too short to give in- stances great enough of true friendship or good will, some sages have thought it pious to preserve a certain reverence for the Manes of their deceased friends; and have withdrawn themselves from the rest of the world at certain seasons, to commemorate in their own thoughts such of their acquaintance who have gone before them out of this life. And indeed, when we are advanced in years, there is not a more pleasing entertainment, than to recollect in a gloomy moment the many we have parted with, that have been dear and agreeable to us, and to cast a melancholy thought or two after those, with whom, per- haps, we have indulged ourselves in whole nights of mirth and jollity. With such inclinations in my heart I went to my closet yesterday in the evening, and resolved to be sorrowful; upon which occasion I could not but look with disdain upon myself, that though all the reasons which I had to lament the loss of many of my friends are now as forcible as at the moment of their departure, yet did not my heart swell with the same sorrow which I felt at that time; but I could, without tears, reflect upon many pleasing adventures I have had with some, who have long been blended with common earth.
Though it is by the benefit of nature, that length of time thus blots out the violence of afflictions; yet with tempers too much given to pleasure, it is almost neces- sary to revive the old places of grief in our memory; and ponder step by step on past life, to lead the mind into that sobriety of thought which poises the heart, and makes it beat with due time, without being quickened with de- sire, or retarded with despair, from its proper and equal motion. When we wind up a clock that is out of order^ to make it go well for the future, we do not immediately set the hand to the present instant, but we make it strike
36 ADDISON AND STEELE
the round of all its hours, before it can recover the regu- larity of its time. Such, thought I, shall be my method this evening; and since it is that day of the year which I dedicate to the memory of such in another life as I much delighted in when living, an hour or two shall be sacred to sorrow and their memory, while I run over all the melancholy circumstances of this kind which have occurred to me in my whole life. The first sense of sor- row I ever knew was upon the death of my father at which time I was not quite five years of age; but was rather amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed with a real understanding why nobody was willing to play with me. I remember I went into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating the coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had some slight idea that he was locked up there. My mother catched me in her arms, and, transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before in, she almost smothered me in her embraces; and told me, in a flood of tears, "Papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to us again." She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness of her trans- port, which, methought, struck me with an instinct of sorrow, that, before I was sensible of what it was to grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since. The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the body in embryo, and receives impressions so forcible, that they are as hard to be removed by reason, as any mark, with which a child is born, is to be taken away by any future application. Hence it is, that good- nature in me is no merit; but having been so frequently overwhelmed with her tears before I knew the cause of any affliction, or could draw defenses from my own judg- ment. I imbibed commiseration, remorse, and an un- manly gentleness of mind, which has since ensnared me
ADDISON AND STEELE 37
into ten thousand calamities; from whence I can reap no advantage, except it be, that, in such a humor as I am now in, I can the better indulge myself in the soft- nesses of humanity, and enjoy that sweet anxiety which arises from the memory of past afflictions.
We, that are very old, are better able to remember things which befel us in our distant youth, than the pas- sages of later days. For this reason it is, that the com- panions of my strong and vigorous years present them- selves more immediately to me in this office of sorrow. Untimely and unhappy deaths are what we are most apt to lament ; so little are we able to make it indifferent when a thing happens, though we know it must happen. Thus we groan under life, and bewail those who are relieved from it. Every object that returns to our imagination raises different passions, according to the circumstances of their departure. Who can have lived in an army, and in a serious hour reflect upon the many gay and agreeable men that might long have flourished in the arts of peace, and not join with the imprecations of the fatherless and widow on the tyrant to whose ambition they fell sacri- fices? But gallant men, who are cut off by the sword, move rather our veneration than our pity; and we gather relief enough from their own contempt of death, to make that no evil, which was approached with so much cheer- fulness, and attended with so much honor. But when we turn our thoughts from the great parts of life on such occasions, and instead of lamenting those who stood ready to give death to those from whom they had the fortune to receive it; I say, when we let our thoughts wander from such noble objects, and consider the havoc which is made among the tender and the innocent, pity enters with an unmixed softness, and possesses all our souls at once.
Here (were their words to express such sentiments with proper tenderness) I should record the beauty, innocence and untimely death, of the first object my eyes ever be- held with love. The beauteous virgin I how ignorantly did she charm, how carelessly excel I Oh Death! thou hast
38 ADDISON AND STEELE
right to the bold, to the ambitious, to the high, and to the haughty ; but why this cruelty to the humble, to the meek, to the undiscerning, to the thoughtless? Nor age, nor business, nor distress, can erase the dear image from my imagination.. In the same week, I saw her dressed for a ball, and in a shroud. How ill did the habit of death become the pretty trifler? I stiU behold the smiling
earth A large train of disasters were coming on to
my memory, when my servant knocked at my closet door, and interrupted me with a letter, attended with a hamper of wine, of the same sort with that which is to be put to sale, on Thursday next, at Garraway's coffee-house. Upon the receipt of it, I sent for three of my friends. We are so intimate, that we can be company in whatever state of mind we meet, and can entertain each other without ex- pecting always to rejoice. The wine we found to be gen- erous and warming, but with such an heat as moved us rather to be cheerful than frolicsome. It revived the spir- its, without firing the blood. We commended it until two of the clock this morning; and having to-day met a little before dinner, we found, that though we drank two bottles a man, we had much more reason to recollect than forget what had passed the night before.
[The Tatler No. 229. Tuesday, September 26, 1710. Addison.]
Quaesitam meritis sume superbiam.^
The whole creation preys upon itself. Every living creature is inhabited. A flea has a thousand invisible insects that tease him as he jumps from place to place, and revenge our quarrels upon him. A very ordinary microscope shows us, that a louse is itself a very lousy
^ With conscious pride
Assume the honors justly thine.
ADDISON AND STEELE 8»
creature. A whale, besides those seas and oceans in the several vessels of his body, which are filled with innu- merable shoals of little animals, carries about him a whole world of inhabitants; insomuch that, if we believe the calculations some have made, there are more living crea- tures, which are too small for the naked eye to behold, about the Leviathan, than there are of visible creatures upon the face of the whole earth. Thus every noble crea- ture is, as it were, the basis and support of multitudes that are his inferiors.
This consideration very much comforts me, when I think of those numberless vermin that feed upon this paper, and find their sustenance out of it; I mean the small wits and scribblers, that every day turn a penny by nibbling at my Lucubrations. This has been so advan- tageous to this little species of writers, that, if they da me justice, I may expect to have my statue erected in Grub Street, as being a common benefactor to that quar- ter.
They say, when a fox is very much troubled with fleas, he goes into the next pool with a little lock of wool in his mouth, and keeps his body under water until the vermin get into it; after which he quits the wool, and diving, leaves his tormentors to shift for themselves, and get their livelihood where they can. I would have these gentlemen take care that I do not serve them after the same man- ner; for though I have hitherto kept my temper pretty well, it is not impossible but I may some time or other disappear; and what will then become of them? Should I lay down my paper, what a famine would there be among the hawkers, printers, booksellers, and authors! It would be like Doctor Burgess's ^ dropping his cloak, with the whole congregation hanging upon the skirts of it. To enumerate some of these my doughty antagonists ; I was threatened to be answered weekly Tit for Tat; I was undermined by the Whisperer; haunted by Tom
^ Daniel Burgess, the doctor here aUuded to, resided at the court of Hanover as secretary and reader to the Princess Sophia.
40 ADDISON AND STEELE
Brown's Ghost; scolded at by a Female Tatler; and slan- dered by another of the same character, under the title of Atalantis. I have been annotated, retattled, examined, and condoled: but it being my standing maxim never to speak ill of the dead, I shall let these authors rest in peace; and take great pleasure in thinking, that I have sometimes been the means of their getting a belly full. When I see myself thus surrounded by such formidable enemies, I often think of the knight of the Red Cross in Spenser's "Men of Error," who, after he has cut off the dragon's head, and left it wallowing in a flood of ink, sees a thousand monstrous reptiles making their attempts upon him, one with many heads, another with none, and all of them without eyes.
The same so sore annoyed has the Knight, That, well nigh choaked with the deadly stink. His forces fail, he can no longer fight; Whose courage when the fiend perceiv'd to shrink, She poured forth out of her hellish sink Her fruitful cursed spawn of serpents small, Deformed monsters, foul, and black as ink; Which swarming all about his legs did crawl. And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all.
As gentle shepherd in sweet even tide. When ruddy Phoebus 'gins to welk in west, High on an hill, his flock to viewen wide, Marks which do bite their hasty supper best A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest. All striving to infix their feeble stings, That from their noyance he no where can rest But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.
If ever I should want such a fry of little authors to attend me, I shall think my paper in a very decaying con- dition. They are like ivy about an oak, which adorns the tree at the same time that it eats into it; or like a great man's equipage, that do honor to the person on
ADDISON AND STEELE 41
whom they feed. For my part, when I see myself thus attacked, I do not consider my antagonists as malicious, but hungry; and therefore am resolved never to take any notice of them.
As for those who detract from my labors, without be- ing prompted to it by an empty stomach; in return to their censures, I shall take pains to excel, and never fail to persuade myself, that their enmity is nothing but their envy or ignorance.
Give me leave to conclude, like an old man, and a moralist, with a fable.
The owls, bats, and several other birds of the night, were one day got together in a thick shade, where they abused their neighbors in a very sociable manner. Their satire at last fell upon the sun, whom they all agreed to be very troublesome, impertinent and inquisitive. Upon which, the sun, who overheard them, spoke to them after this manner : "Gentlemen, I wonder how you dare abuse one that, you know, could in an instant scorch you up, and burn every mother's son of you : but the only answer I shall give you, or the revenge I shall take of you, is, to 'shine on.' "
[The Tatler No, 249. Saturday, November 11, 1710.
Addison.]
Per varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum, Tendimus. ^ — Vieg. -^n. i. 208.
I was last night visited by a friend of mine, who has an inexhaustible fund of discourse, and never fails to en- tertain his company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether new and uncommon. Whether it vvere in complaisance to my way of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox: that it re- quired much greater talents to fill up and become a re-
^ Through various hazards, and events, we move.
42 ADDISON AND STEELE
tired life than a life of business. Upon this occasion lie rallied very agreeably the busy men of the age, who only value themselves for being in motion, and passing through a series of trifling and insignificant actions. In the heat of his discourse, seeing a piece of money lying on my table, ^T. defy,'^ says he, "any of these active persons to produce half the adventures that this twelve-penny piece has been engaged in, were it possible for him to give us an account of his life.''
My friend's talk made so odd an impression upon my mind, that soon after I was a-bed I fell insensibly into an unaccountable reverie, that had neither moral nor de- sign in it, and cannot be so properly called a dream as a delirium.
Methought the shilling that lay upon the table reared itself upon its edge, and, turning the face towards me, opened its mouth, and in a soft silver sound, gave me the following account of his life and adventures:
"I was born," says he, "on the side of a mountain, near a little village of Peru, and made a voyage to England in an ingot under the convoy of sir Francis Drake. I was, soon after my arrival, taken out of my Indian habit, refined, naturalized, and put into the British mode, with the face of queen Elizabeth on one side, and the arms of the country on the other. Being thus equipped, I found in me a wonderful inclination to ramble, and visit all the parts of the new world into which I was brought. The people very much favored my natural disposition, and shifted me so fast from hand to hand, that, before I was five years old, I had traveled into almost every cor- ner of the nation. But in the beginning of my sixth year, to my unspeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a miserable old fellow, who clapped me into an iron chest, where I found five hundred more of my own quality who lay under the same confinement. The only relief we had, was to be taken out and counted over in the fresh air every morning and evening. After an imprisonment of several years, we heard somebody knocking at our
ADDISON AND STEELE 43
chest, and breaking it open with an hammer. This we found was the old man's heir, who, as his father lay dying, was so good as to come to our release. He separated us that very day. What was the fate of my companions I know not: as for myself, I was sent to the apothecary's shop for a pint of sack. The apothecary gave me to an herb-woman, the herb-woman to a butcher, the butcher to a brewer, and the brewer to his wife, who made a present of me to a nonconformist preacher. After this manner I made my way merrily through the world ; for, as I told you before, we shillings love nothing so much as travel- ing. I sometimes fetched in a shoulder of mutton, some- times a play-book, and often had the satisfaction to treat a templer at a twelve-penny ordinary, or carry him with three friends to Westminster-hall.
'^In the midst of this pleasant progress which I made from place to place, I was arrested by a superstitious old iwoman, who shut me up in a greasy purse, in pursuance of a foolish saying, Hhat while she kept a queen Eliza- beth's shilling about her, she would never be without tQoney.' I continued here a close prisoner for many taonths, until at last I was exchanged for eight-and-forty farthings.
"I thus rambled from pocket to pocket until the begin- ning of the civil wars, when, to my shame be it spoken, I was employed in raising soldiers against the king: for, being of a very tempting breadth, a sergeant made use of me to inveigle country fellows, and lift them into the service of the Parliament.
"As soon as he had made one man sure, his way was, to oblige him to take a shilling of a more homely figure, and then practice the same* trick upon another. Thus I continued doing great mischief to the crown, until my officer chancing one morning to walk abroad earlier than ordinary, sacrificed me to his pleasures, and made use of me to seduce a milk-maid. This wench bent me, and gave me to her sweetheart, applying more properly than she intended the usual form of, *to my love and from my
44 ADDISON AND STEELE
love/ This ungenerous gallant marrying her within a few days after, pawned me for a dram of brandy; and drinking me out next day, I was beaten flat with an ham- mer, and again set a-running.
*^After many adventures, which it would be tedious to relate, I was sent to a young spendthrift, in company with the will of his deceased father. The young fellow, who I found was very extravagant, gave great demonstrations of joy at receiving the will ; but opening it, he found himself disinherited, and cut off from the possession of a fair estate by virtue of my being made a present to him. This put him into such a passion, that, after having taken me in his hand, and cursed me, he squirred me away from him as far as he could fling me. I chanced to light in an unfre- quented place under a dead wall, where I lay undiscovered and useless during the usurpation of Oliver Cromwell.
'^About a year after the King's return, a poor cavalier, that was walking there about dinner-time, fortunately cast his eye upon me, and, to the great joy of us both, carried me to a cook's shop, where he dined upon me, and drank the King's health. When I came again into the world, I found that I had been happier in my retirement than I thought, having probably by that means escaped wearing a monstrous pair of breeches.
"Being now of great credit and antiquity, I was rather looked upon as a medal than an ordinary coin; for which reason a gamester laid hold of me, and converted me to a counter, having got together some dozens of us for that use. We led a melancholy life in his possession, being busy at those hours wherein current coin is at rest, and partaking the fate of our master; being in a few moments valued at a crown, a pound, or sixpence, ac- cording to the situation in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length the good luck to see my mas- ter break, by which means I was again sent abroad under my primitive denomination of a shilling.
^T. shall pass over many other accidents of less mo- ment, and hasten to that fatal catastrophe when I fell
ADDISON AND STEELE 45
into the hands of an artist, who conveyed me under ground, and, with an unmerciful pair of sheers, cut off my titles, clipped my brims, retrenched my shape, rubbed me to my inmost ring; and, in short, so spoiled and pil- laged me, that he did not leave me worth a groat. You may think what confusion I was in to see myself thus curtailed and disfigured. I should have been ashamed to have shown my head, had not all my old acquaintance been reduced to the same shameful figure, excepting some few that were punched through the belly. In the midst of this general calamity, when everybody thought our misfortune irretrievable, and our case desperate, we were thrown into the furnace together, and, as it often happens with cities rising out of a fire, appeared with greater beauty and luster than we could ever boast of before. What has happened to me since this change of sex which you now see, I shall take some other opportunity to re- late. In the meantime, I » shall only repeat two adven- tures, as being very extraordinary, and neither of them having ever happened to me above once in my life. The first was, my being in a poet's pocket, who was so taken with the brightness and novelty of my appearance, that it gave occasion to the finest burlesque poem in the Brit- ish language, entitled, from me, ^The Splendid Shilling.' The second adventure, which I must not omit, happened to me in the year 1703, when I was given away in charity to a blind man; but indeed this was by mistake, the per- son who gave me having thrown me heedlessly into the hat among a pennyworth of farthings."
[The Tatler No. 271. Tuesday, January 2, 1710. Steele.] ^
The printer having informed me, that there are as many of these papers printed as will make four volumes, I am now come to the end of my ambition in this matter,
* "Steele's last *Tatler* came out to-day. You will see it before this comes to you, and how he takes leave of the world. He
46 ADDISON AND STEELE
and have nothing farther to say to the world under the character of Isaac Bickerstaff. This work has indeed for some time been disagreeable to me, and the purpose of it wholly lost by my being so long understood as the au- thor. I never designed in it to give any man any secret wound by my concealment, but spoke in the character of an old man, a philosopher, an humorist, an astrologer, and a Censor, to allure my reader with the variety of my subjects, and insinuate, if I could, the weight of reason with the agreeableness of wit. The general purpose of the whole has been to recommend truth, innocence, honor, and virtue, as the chief ornaments of life; but I consid- ered, that severity of manners was absolutely necessary to him who would censure others, and for that reason, and that only, chose to talk in a mask. I shall not carry my humility so far as to call myself a vicious man, but at the same time must confess, my life is at best but par- donable. And, with no greater character than this, a man would make but an indifferent progress in attack^ ing prevailing and fashionable vices, which Mr. Bicker-- staff has done with a freedom of spirit, that would have lost both its beauty and efficacy, had it been pretended to by Mr. Steele.
As to the work itself, the acceptance it has met with is the best proof of its value; but I should err against that candor, which an honest man should always carry about him, if I did not own, that the most approved pieces in it were written by others, and those which have been most excepted against, by myself. The hand that has assisted me in those noble discourses upon the immortality of the soul, the glorious prospects of another life, and the most sublime ideas of religion and virtue, is a person who is too fondly my friend ever to own them; but I should
never told so much as Addison of it, who was surprized as much as I ; but, to say the truth, it was time, for he grew cruel dull and dry. To my knowledge he had several good hints to go upon ; but he was so lazy and weary of the work, that he would not improve them.*' — Swift to Mrs. Johnson.
ADDISON AND STEELE 47
little deserve to be his, if I usurped the glory of them.^ I must acknowledge at the same time, that I think the finest strokes of wit and humor in all Mr. Bickerstaff's Lu- cubrations, are those for which he also is beholden to him.
As for the satirical part of these writings, those against the gentlemen who profess gaming are the most licen- tious; but the main of them I take to come from losing gamesters, as invectives against the fortunate; for in very many of them I was very little else but the transcriber. If any have been more particularly marked at, such persons may impute it to their own behavior, before they were touched upon, in publicly speaking their resentment against the author, and professing they would support any man who should insult him. When I men- tion this subject, I hope major general Davenport, briga- dier Bisset, and my Lord Forbes, will accept of my thanks for their frequent good offices, in professing their readiness to partake any danger that should befall me in so just an undertaking, as the endeavor to banish fraud and cozenage from the presence and conversation of gentlemen.
But what I find is the least excusable part of aU this work is, that I have, in some places in it, touched upon matters whicli concern both Church and State. All I shall say for this is, that the points I alluded to, are such as concerned every Christian and freeholder in England; and I could not be cold enough to conceal my opinion on subjects which related to either of those characters. But politics apart.
I must confess it has been a most exquisite pleasure to me to frame characters of domestic life, and put those parts of it which are least observed into an agreeable view ; to inquire into the seeds of vanity and affectation, to lay before the readers the emptiness of ambition: in a word, to trace human life through all its mazes and recesses, and show much shorter methods than men ordinarily prac- tice, to be happy, agreeable, and great.
* Addison was the assistant here alluded to.
48 ADDISON AND STEELE
But to inquire into men's faults and weaknesses has something in it so unwelcome, that I have often seen people in pain to act before me, whose modesty only makes them think themselves liable to censure. This, and a thousand other nameless things, have made it an irksome task to me to personate Mr. Bickerstaff any longer; and I believe it does not often happen, that the reader is delighted where the author is displeased.
All I can now do for the farther gratification of the town, is to give them a faithful explication of passages and allusions, and sometimes of persons intended in the several scattered parts of the work. At the same time, I shall discover which of the whole have been written by me, and which by others, and by whom, as far as I am ahle, or permitted.
Thus I have voluntarily done, what I think all authors should do when called upon. I have published my name to my writings, and given myself up to the mercy of the town, as Shakespeare expresses it, ^^with all my imper- fections on my head." The indulgent reader's most obliged, most obedient, humble servant,
EiCHARD Steele.
[Spectator No. 1. Thursday, March 1, 1711. Addison.]
Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat.
— Horace ["One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke; Another out of smoke brings glorious light. And (without raising expectation high) Surprises us with dazzling miracles."
— Roscommon.]
I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like
ADDISON AND STEELE 49
nature that conduce very mucli to the right understanding of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so nat- ural to a reader, I design this paper and my next as prefatory discourses to my following writings, and shall give some account in them of the several persons that are engaged in this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, digesting, and correcting will fall to my share, I must do myseK the justice to open the work with my own his- tory. I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, ac- cording to the tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded by the same hedges and ditches in William the Conqueror's time that it is at present, and has been de- livered down from father to son whole and entire, without the loss or acquisition of a single field or meadow, during the space of six hundred years. There runs a story in the family, that my mother dreamed that she was brought to bed of a judge: whether this might proceed from a law- suit which was then depending in the family, or my father's being a justice of the peace, I cannot determine; for I am not so vain as to think it presaged any dignity that I should arrive at in my future life, though that was the interpretation which the neighborhood put upon it. The gravity of my behavior at my very first appear- ance in the world seemed to favor my mother's dream: for, as she has often told me> I threw away my rattle before I was two months old, and would not make use of my coral till they had taken away the bells from it. As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find that, during my nonage, I had the reputation of a very sullen youth, but was always a favorite of my schoolmaster, who used to say that my parts were solid and would wear well. I had not been long at ^ the University before I distin- guished myself by a most profound silence; for during the space of eight years, excepting in the public exer- cises of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of an hundred words; and indeed do not remember that I ever spoke three sentences together in my whole life. Whilst
60 ADDISON AND STEELE
I was in this learned body, I applied myself with so much diligence to my studies that there are very few celebrated books, either in the learned or the modern tongues, which I am not acquainted with.
Upon the death of my father I was resolved to travel into foreign countries, and therefore left the University with the character of an odd, unaccountable fellow, that had a great deal of learning if I would but show it. An insatiable thirst after knowledge carried me into all the countries of Europe in which there was anything new or strange to be seen ; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity raised, that having read the controversies of some great men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a voyage to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the measure of a pyramid; and as soon as I had set myself right in that particular, returned to my native country with great satis- faction.
I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am frequently seen in most public places, though there are not above half a dozen of my select friends that know me; of whom my next paper shall give a more particular account. There is no place of general sort wherein I do not often make my appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's, and listening with great attention to the narratives that are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to nothing but The Postman, overhear the conversation of every table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at St. James's Coffee-house, and sometimes join the little committee of politics in the Inner room, as one who comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-Tree, and in the theaters both of Drury Lane and the Hay-Market. I have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock-jobbers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with
ADDISON AND STEELE 61
them, though I never open my lips but in my own club.
Thus I live in the world rather as a Spectator of man- kind than as one of the species; by which means I have made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with any practical part in life. I am very well versed in the theory of an husband or a father, and can discern the errors in the economy, business, and diversion of others better than those who are engaged in them; as standers-by discover blots which are apt to escape those who are in the game. I never espoused any party with violence, and am resolved to observe an exact neutrality between the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilities of either side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker-on, which is the char- acter I intend to preserve in this paper.
I have given the reader just so much of my history and character as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified for the business I have undertaken. As for other par- ticulars in my life and adventures, I shall insert them in following papers as I shall see occasion. In the mean- time, when I consider how much I have seen, read, and heard, I began to blame my own taciturnity: and since I have neither time nor inclination to communicate the fulness of my heart in speech, I am resolved to do it in writing, and to print myself out, if possible, before I die. I have been often told by my friends that it is a pity so many useful discoveries which I have made, should be in the possession of a silent man. For this reason, therefore, I shall publish a sheetful of thoughts every morning for the benefit of my contemporaries; and if I can in any way contribute to the diversion or improvement of the country in which I live, I shall leave it, when I am sum- moned out of it, with the secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not lived in vain.
There are three very material points which I have not spoken to in this paper, and which, for several important reasons, I must keep to myself, at least for some time: I
,52 ADDISON AND STEELE
mean, an account of my name, my age, and my lodgings. I must confess, I would gratify my reader in anything tTiat is reasonable; but, as for tbese three particulars, though I am sensible they might tend very much to the embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet come to a reso- lution of communicating them to the public. They would indeed draw me out of that obscurity which I have en- joyed for many years, and expose me in public places to several salutes and civilities which have been always very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I can suffer is the being talked to and being stared at. It is for this reason, likewise, that I keep my complexion and dress as very great secrets, though it is not impossible but I may make discoveries of both in the progress of the work I have undertaken.
After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall in to-morrow's paper give an account of those gentlemen who are concerned with me in this work; for, as I have before intimated, a plan of it is laid and concerted (as all other matters of importance are) in a club. How- ever, as my friends have engaged me to stand in the front, those who have a mind to correspond with me may direct their letters To the Spectator, at Mr, Buckley's, in Little Britain. For I must further acquaint the reader that, though our club meets only on Tuesdays and Thurs- days, we have appointed a committee to sit every night, for the inspection of all such papers as may contribute to the advancement of the public weal. C.
[Spectator No. 2. FRroAY, March 2, 1711. Steele.]
^Ast alii sex,
Et plures, uno conclamant ore.^
— Juvenal.
The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcester- shire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger
^ "Six more at least join their consenting voice."
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de Coverley. His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is called after him. All who know that shire are very well acquainted with the parts and merits of Sir Eoger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and are contradictions to the man- ners of the world only as he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with sourness of obstinacy; and his being unconfined to modes and forms, makes him but the readier and more capable to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse, beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment. Sir Eoger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Eochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house for calling him "youngster." But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew care- less of himseK, and never dressed afterward. He con- tinues to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. 'Tis said Sir Eoger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty; but this is looked upon by his friends rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house in both town and country; a great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in his behavior that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of his company ; when he comes into a house he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way up stairs to a visit. I must
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not omit that Sir Eoger is a justice of the quorum; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities; and, three months ago, gained universal applause by ex- plaining a passage in the Game Act.
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple ; a man of great probity, wit, and understanding; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direct- tion of an old humorsome father, than in pursuit of his own inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are much better understood by him than Littleton or Coke. The father sends up, every post, questions relating to marriage- articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; all which questions he agrees with an attorney to apswer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the pas- sions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations of Demosthenes and Tully, but not one case in the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable; as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of books is a little too just for the age he lives in; he has read all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the cus- toms, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients makes him a very delicate observer of what occurs to him in tlie present world. He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses through Kussell Court, and takes a turn at Will's till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Eose. It is for the good of the audi- ence when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambi- tion to please him.
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The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Free- port, a merchant of great eminence in the city of London, a person of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to ex- tend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. He will often argue that if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from another. I have heard him prove that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, among which the greatest favorite is, "A penny saved is a penny got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter com- pany than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his dis- course gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has made his fortunes himself, and says that England may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he himself is richer than other men ; though at the same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an owner.
Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He was some years a captain, and behaved him- self with great gallantry in several engagements and at several sieges; but having a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir Eoger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit who is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have
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heard him often lament that in a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this pur- pose I never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even, regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must press through crowds who endeavor at the same end with himself, — the favor of a commander. He will, however, in this way of talk, excuse generals for not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it, "For,'' says he, ^^that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break through to come at me as I have to come at him" ; therefore he will conclude that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the importun- ity of other pretenders by a proper assurance in his own vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be back- ward in asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in attacking when it is your duty. With this candor does the gentleman speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs through all his conversation. The military part of his life has furnished him with many adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the company; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious from an habit of obeying men highly above him.
But that our society may not appear a set of humor- ists unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his years, should be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but very little impression either by wrinkles on his forehead or traces in his brain. His person is well turned and of a good height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He
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has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the French king's wenches our wives and daughters had this manner of curl- ing their hair, that way of placing their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such a sort of petticoat, and whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and knowledge has been in the female world. As other men of his age will take notice to you what such a minister said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court such a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the Park. In all these important relations, he has ever about the same time received a kind glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in the House, he starts up: "He has good blood in his veins; Tom Mirabell, the rogue, cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's mother used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to." This way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation among us of a more sedate turn; and I find there is not one of the com- pany but myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of man who is usually called a well- bred, fine gentleman. To conclude his character, where women are not concerned, he is an honest, worthy man. I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next to speak of as one of our company, for he visits us but seldom; but when he does, it adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact good breeding. He has the mis- fortune to be of a very weak constitution, and conse- quently cannot accept of such cares and business as preferments in his function would oblige him to; he is
68 ADDISON AND STEELE
therefore among divines what a chamber-counselor is among lawyers. The probity of his mind and the integ- rity of his life create him followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the sub- ject he speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years that he observes, when he is among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interest in this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary companions. K.
[Spectator No. 3. Saturday, March 3, lYll. Addison.]
Quoi quisque fere studio devinctus adhwret: Aut quihus in rehus multum sumua ante morati; At que in qua ratione fuit contenta magis mens; In s<yrmUs eadem plerumque videmur ohire}
— ^LucR. L. iv.
In one of my late rambles, or rather speculations, I looked into the great hall where the Bank is kept, and was not a little pleased to see the directors, secretaries and clerks, with all the other members of that wealthy corporation, ranged in their several stations, according to the parts they act in that just and regular economy. This revived in my memory the many discourses which I had both read and heard concerning the decay of public credit, with the methods of restoring it, and which, in my opinion, have always been defective, because they have always been made with an eye to separate interests, and party-principles.
The thoughts of the day gave my mind employment for the whole night, so that I fell insensibly into a kind of methodical dream, which disposed all my contempla- tions into a vision or allegory, or what else the reader shall please to call it.
Methoughts I returned to the great hall, where I had
^ What stories please, what most delight,
And fill men's thoughts, they dream them o*er at night.
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been the morning before, but, to my surprise, instead of the company that I left there, I saw toward the upper end of the hall a beautiful virgin, seated on a throne of gold. Her name (as they told me) was Public Credit. The walls, instead of being adorned with pictures and maps, were hung with many acts of parliament written in golden letters. At the upper end of the hall was the Magna Charta, with the Act of Uniformity on the right hand, and the Act of Toleration on the left. At the lower end of the hall was the Act of Settlement, which was placed full in the eye of the virgin that sat upon the throne. Both the sides of the hall were covered with such acts of parliament as had been made for the estab- lishment of public funds. The lady seemed to set an unspeakable value upon these several pieces of furniture, insomuch that she often refreshed her eye with them, and often smiled with a secret pleasure, as she looked upon them; but, at the same time, showed a very particular uneasiness, as if she saw anything approaching that might hurt them. She appeared indeed infinitely timorous in all her behavior: and, whether it was from the delicacy of her constitution, or that she was troubled with vapors, as I was afterwards told by one who I found was none of her well-wishers, she changed color, and startled at every- thing she heard. She was likewise (as I afterwards found) a greater valetudinarian than any I had ever met with, even in her own sex, and subject to such momentary con- sumptions, that in the twinkling of an eye, she would fall away from the most florid complexion, and the most healthful state of body, and wither into a skeleton. Her recoveries were often as sudden as her decays, insomuch that she would revive in a moment out of a wasting distemper, into a habit of the highest health and vigor.
I had very soon an opportunity of observing these quick turns and changes in her constitution. There sat at her feet a couple of secretaries, who received every hour letters from all parts of the world, which the one or the other of them was perpetually reading to her; and,
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according to the news slie heard, to which she was ex- ceedingly attentive, she changed color, and discovered many symptoms of health or sickness.
Behind the throne was a prodigious heap of bags of money, which were piled upon one another so high that they touched the ceiling. The floor, on her right hand and on her left, was covered with vast sums of gold that rose up in pyramids on either side of her. But this I did not so much wonder at, when I heard, upon inquiry, that she had the same virtue in her touch, which the poets tell us a Lydian king was formerly possessed of : and that she could convert whatever she pleased into that precious metal.
After a little dizziness, and confused hurry of thought, which a man often meets with in a dream, methoughts the hall was alarmed, the doors flew open, and there entered half a dozen of the most hideous phantoms that I had ever seen (even in a dream) before that time. They came in two by two, though matched in the most dissociable manner, and mingled together in a kind of dance. It would be tedious to describe their habits and persons, lor which reason I shall only inform my reader that the first couple were Tyranny and Anarchy, the sec- ond were Bigotry and Atheism, the third the genius of a Commonwealth and a young man of about twenty-two years of age, whose name I could not learn. He had a sword in his right hand, which in the dance he often brandished at the Act of Settlement; and a citizen, who stood by me, whispered in my ear, that he saw a sponge in his left hand. The dance of so many jarring natures put me in mind of the sun, moon and earth, in the Rehearsal, that danced together for no other end but to eclipse one another.
The reader will easily suppose, by what has been before said, that the lady on the throne would have been almost frightened to distraction, had she seen but any one of these specters; what then must have been her condition
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when she saw them all in a body? She fainted and died away at the sight.
Et neque jam color est misto candor e rubor i; Nee vigor, et vires, et quae modo visa placebant; Nee corpus remanet.
— Ovid. Met. Lib. iii.
There was a great change in the hill of money bags, and the heaps of money, the former shrinking, and falling into so many empty bags, that I now found not above a tenth part of them had been fiUed with money. The rest that took up the same space, and made the same figure as the bags that were really filled with money, had been blown up with air, and called into my memory the bags full of wind, which Homer tells us his hero received as a present from ^olus. The great heaps of gold, on either side the throne, now appeared to be only heaps of paper, or little piles of notched sticks, bound up together in bundles, like Bath faggots.
Whilst I was lamenting this sudden desolation that had been made before me, the whole scene vanished: in the room of the frightful specters, there now entered a second dance of apparitions very agreeably matched to- gether, and made up of very amiable phantoms. The first pair was Liberty with Monarchy at her right hand: the second was Moderation leading in Religion; and the third a person whom I had never seen, with the genius of Great Britain. At the first entrance the lady revived, the bag swelled to their former bulk, the piles of faggots and heaps of paper changed into pyramids of guineas: and for my own part I was so transported with joy, that I awaked, though I must confess, I would fain have fallen asleep again to have closed my vision, if I could have done it.
/63 ADDISON AND STEELE
f Spectator No. 7. Thursday March 8, lYll. Addison.]
Sonmia, terrores magioos, miraoula, sagas,
Nocturnes lemuresy portentaque Thessala rides? ^ — ^HoB.
Going yesterday to dine with an old acquaintance, I liad the misfortune to find his whole family very much ^iejected. Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told me that his wife had dreamt a strange dream the night iefore, which they were afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or to their children. At her coming into the room I observed a settled melancholy in her counte- nance, which I should have been troubled for, had I not heard from whence it proceeded. We were no sooner sat down but after having looked upon me a little while, ^^My dear,'' (says she, turning to her husband) "you may now see the stranger that was in the candle last night." Soon after this, as they began to talk of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end of the table told her, that he was to go into join-hand on Thursday. "Thursday?'^ (says she,) "No, child, if it please God, you shall not begin upon Childermas-day : tell your writing-master that Friday will be soon enough." I was reflecting with my- self on the oddness of her fancy, and wondering that any- body would establish it as a rule to lose a day in every week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired me to reach her a little salt upon the point of my knife, which I did in such a trepidation and hurry of obedience, that I let it drop by the way ; at which she immediately startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon this I looked very blank; and, observing the concern of the whole table, began to consider myself, with some confusion, as a person that had brought a disaster upon the family. The lady however recovering herself, after a little space, said to her husband, with a sigh, "My dear, misfortunes never come single." My friend, I found, acted but an under part at his table, and being a man of more good-nature
^ Visions and magic spells, can you despise, And laugh at witches, ghosts and prodigies.
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than understanding, thinks himself obliged to fall in with all the passions and humors of his yoke-fellow. "Do yon not remember, child," (says she,) "that the pigeon-house fell the very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon the table?" "Yes," (says he,) "my dear, and the next post brought us an account of the battle of Almanza." The reader may guess at the figure I mad^,. after having done all this mischief. I dispatched my dinner as soon as I could, with my usual taciturnity r when, to my utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting my knife and fork, and laying them across one another upon my plate, desired me that I would humor her so far as to take them out of that figure, and place them side- by side. What the absurdity was which I had committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some traditionary superstition in it ; and therefore, in obedience to the lady of the house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel lines, which is the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do not know any reason for it.
It is not difficult for a man to see that a person has conceived an aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's looks, that she regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect. For which reason I took my leave immediately after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings. Upon my return home, I fell into a profound contemplation of the evils that attend these superstitious follies of mankind; how they subject us to imaginary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come within our lot. As if the natural calamities of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents, as from real evils. I have known the shooting of a star spoil a nightfs rest; and have seen a man in love grow pale and lose his appetite, upon the plucking of a merry-thought. A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers ; nay, the voice of a cricket hath struck
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more terror than the roaring of a lion. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which may not appear dreadful to an imagination that is filled with omens and prognostics. A rusty nail, or a crooked pin, shoot up into prodigies.
I remember I was once in a mixed assembly, that was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman unluckily observed there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a panic terror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of the ladies were going to leave the room; but a friend of mine taking notice that one of our female companions was big with child, affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, in- stead of portending one of the company should die, it plainly foretold one of them should be bom. Had not my friend found this expedient to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company would have fallen sick that very night.
An old maid, that is troubled with the vapors, produces infinite disturbances of this kind among her friends and neighbors. I know a maiden aunt of a great family, who is one of these antiquated Sibyls, that forebodes and prophesies from one end of the year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions, and hearing death-watches; and was the other day almost frighted out of her wits by the great house-dog, that howled in the stable at a time when she lay ill of the tooth-ache. Such an extrava- gant cast of mind engages multitudes of people not only in impertinent terrors, but in supernumerary duties of life; and arises from that fear and ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. The horror with which we entertain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future evil) and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently dispose it to the observa- tion of such groundless prodigies and predictions. Eor as it is the chief concern of wise men to retrench the evils of life by the reasonings of philosophy; it is the
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employment of fools to multiply them by the sentiments of superstition.
For my own part, I should be very much troubled were I endowed with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of every thing that can befall me. I would not anticipate the relish of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives.
I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by securing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events, and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eter- nity. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care; when I awake, I give myself up to his direc* tion. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help, and question not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support me under them.
[Spectator No. 10. Monday, March 12, 1711. Addison.]
Non aliter quam qui adverse vix flumme lemhutn Remigiis suhigit: si hraohia forte remisit, Atque ilium in prwceps prono rapit alveus amni.^ — ViBG.
It is with much satisfaction that I hear this great city inquiring day by day after these my papers, and receiving my morning lectures with a becoming seriousness and attention. My publisher tells me that there are already three thousand of them distributed every day. So that if I allow twenty readers to every paper, which I look
* So the boat's brawny crew the current stem, And, slow advancing, struggle with the stream : But if they slack their hands or cease to strive, Then down the flood with headlong haste they drive.
— Dryden.
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upon as a modest computation, I may reckon about three- score thousand disciples in London and Westminster, who ; I hope will take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of their ignorant and unattentive breth- ren. Since I have raised to myseK so great an audi- ence, I shall spare no pains to make their instruction agreeable, and their diversion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavor to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality, that my readers may, if pos- sible, both ways find their account in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermitting starts of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow but a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates, that he brought philoso- phy down from heaven, to inhabit among men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea- tables and in coffee-houses.
I would therefore in a very particular manner recom- mend these my speculations to aU well-regulated families, that set apart an hour in every morning for tea and bread and butter; and would earnestly advise them foi their good to order this paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea-equipage.
Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well written book, compared with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses's serpent, that immediately swallowed up and devoured those of the Egyptians. I shall not be so vain as to think, that where the Spectator appears, the other public prints will vanish; but shall leave it to my reader's con- sideration, whether, is it not much better to be let into the knowledge of one's self, than to hear what passes in Muscovy or Poland; and to amuse ourselves with such
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writings as tend to the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally conduce to inflame hatreds, and make enmities irreconcilable?
In the next place, I would recommend this paper to* the daily perusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good brothers and allies, I mean the fraternity of spectators, who live in the world without having anything to do in it; and either by the affluence of their fortunes, or laziness of their dispositions, have no other business with the rest of mankind, but to look upon them. Under this class of men are comprehen(3aJ all contemplative tradesmen, titular physicians, fellow& of the Eoyal Society, Templars that are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that are out of business; m short, every one that considers the world as a theater, and desires to form a right judgment of those who are the actors on it.
There is another set of men that I must likewise lay a claim to, whom I have lately called the blanks of society, as being altogether unfurnished with ideas, till the busi- ness and conversation of the day has supplied them, I have often considered these poor souls with an eye of great commiseration, when I have heard them asking the first man they have met with, whether there was aiiy news stirring? and by that means gathering together materials for thinking. These needy persons do not know what to talk of, till about twelve o'clock in the morning; for by that time they are pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the wind sits, and whether the Dutch mail be come in. As they lie at the mercy of the first man they meet, and are grave or impertinent all the day long, according to the notions which they have imbibed in the morning, I would earnestly intreat thenr not to stir out of their chambers till they have read this paper, and do promise them that I will daily instil into them such sound and wholesome sentiments, as shall have a good effect on their conversation for the ensuing: twelve hours.
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But there are none to whom this paper will be more useful, than to the female world. I have often thought there has not been sufficient pains taken in finding out proper employments and diversions for the fair ones. Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as they are women, than as they are reasonable creatures; and are more adapted to the sex than to the species. The toilet is their great scene of business, and the right adjusting of their hair the principal employment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is reckoned a very good morning's work; and if they make an excursion to a mercer's or a toy-shop, so great a fatigue makes them unfit for anything else all the day after. Their more serious occupations are sewing and embroidery, and their greatest drudgery the preparation of jellies and sweet- meats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary women; though I know there are multitudes of those of a more elevated life and conversation, that move in an exalted sphere of knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to the ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and respect, as well as love, into their male beholder. I hope to increase the number of these by publishing this daily paper, which I shall always endeavor to make an innocent if not an improving entertainment, and by that means at least divert the minds of my female readers from greater trifles. At the same time, as I would fain give some finishing touches to those which are already the most beautiful pieces in human nature, I shall endeavor to point out all those imperfections that are the blemishes, as well as those virtues which are the embellishments of the sex. In the meanwhile I hope these my gentle readers, who have so much time on their hands, will not grudge throwing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, since they may do it without any hindrance to business.
I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in great pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the spirit of a paper which I oblige myself to furnish
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every day: but to make them easy in this particular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as soon as I grow dull. This I know will be matter of great raillery to the small wits; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time to give over, with many other little pleas- antries of the like nature, which men of a little smart genius cannot forbear throwing out against their best friends, when they have such a handle given them of being witty. But let them remember that I do hereby enter my caveat against this piece of raillery.
[Spectator No. 13. Thursday, March 16, 1711.
Addison.]
Die tnihi, si fueras tu leo, qualis erisf^ — ^Mabt,
There is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater amusement to the town than Siguier Nicolini's combat with a lion in the Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general satisfaction of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great Britain. Upon the first rumor of this intended combat, it was confidently affirmed, and is still believed by many in both galleries, that there would be a tame lion sent from the Tower every opera night, in order to be killed by Hydaspes; this report, though altogether groundless, so universally prevailed in the upper regions of the play- house, that some of the most refined politicians in those parts of the audience gave it out in whisper, that the lion was a cousin-german of the tiger who made his ap- pearance in King William's days, and that the stage would be supplied with lions at the public expense, during the whole session. Many likewise were the conjectures of the treatment which this lion was to meet with from the hands of Siguier Nicolini ; some supposed that he was to subdue him in recitative, as Orpheus used to serve the wild beasts in his time, and afterwards to knock him
^ The doves are censured, while the crows are spared.
70 ADDISON AND STEELE
on the head; some fancied that the lion would not pre- tend to lay his paws upon the hero, by reason of the received opinion, that a lion will not hurt a virgin: sev- eral, who pretended to have seen the opera in Italy, had informed their friends, that the lion was to act a part in High-Dutch, and roar twice or thrice to a thorough- base, before he fell at the feet of Hydaspes. To clear up a matter that was so variously reported, I have made it my business to examine whether this pretended lion is really the savage he appears to be, or only a counterfeit. But before I communicate my discoveries, I must ac- quaint the reader, that upon my walking behind the scenes last winter, as I was thinking on something else, I accidentally justled against a monstrous animal that extremely startled me, and upon my nearer survey of it, appeared to be a lion rampant. The lion, seeing me very much surprised, told me, in a gentle voice, that I might come by him if I pleased: "for," (says he,) "I do not intend to hurt anybody." I thanked him very kindly, and passed by him. And in a little time after saw him leap upon the stage, and act his part with very great applause. It has been observed by several, that the lion has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his first appearance; which will not seem strange, when I acquaint my reader that the lion has been changed upon the audience three several times. The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily as he ought to have done; besides, it was observed of him, that he grew more surly every time he came out of the lion, and having dropt some words in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon bis back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nicolin for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was thought proper to discard him: and it is verily be- lieved, to this day, that had he been brought upon the stage another time, he would certainly have done mis-
ADDISON AND STEELE 71
chief. Besides, it was objected against the first lion, that he reared himself so high upon his hinder paws, and walked in so erect a posture, that he looked more like an old man than a lion.
The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to the play-house, and had the character of a mild and peace- able man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this was too sheepish, for his part; insomuch that after a short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips : it is said indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-colour doublet; but this was only to make work for himself, in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity behind the scenes.
The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman, who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says very hand- somely in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it; and that it is better to pass away an evening in this manner, than in gaming and drinking : but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if his name should be known, the ill-natured world might call him *^The ass in the lion's skin." This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man.
I must not conclude my narrative, without taking notice of a groundless report that has been raised, to a gentleman's disadvantage of whom I must declare myself an admirer; namely, that Siguier Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another, and smoking a pipe together, behind the scenes; by which their common enemies would insinuate, that it is but a eham combat which they represent upon the stage: "but.
72 ADDISON AND STEELE
upon inquiry I find, that if any sucli correspondence has passed between them, it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this is what is practised every day in Westminster hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it.
I would not be thought, in any part of this relation, to reflect upon Siguier Nicolini, who in acting this part only complies with the wretched taste of his audience ; he knows very well, that the lion has many more admirers than himself; as they say of the famous equestrian statue on the Pont-Neuf at Paris, that more people go to see the horse, than the king who sits upon it. On the contrary, it gives me a just indignation to see a person whose action gives new majesty to kings, resolution to heroes, and softness to lovers, thus sinking from the greatness of his behavior, and degraded into the character of the London Prentice. I have often wished that our trage- dians would copy after this great master in action. Could they make the same use of their arms and legs, and inform their faces with as significant looks and passions, how glorious would an English tragedy appear with that action, which is capable of giving a dignity to the forced thoughts, cold conceits, and unnatural expressions of an Italian opera. In the mean time, I have related this combat of the lion, to show what are at present the reigning entertainments of the politer part of Great Britain.
Audiences have often been reproached by writers for the coarseness of their tastes; but our present grievance does not seem to be the want of a good taste, but of common sense.
ADDISON AND STEELE 73
[Spectator No. 28. Monday, April 2, 1711. Addison.]
Neque semper arcum Tendit Appolo,^ — Hob.
I shall here present my reader with a letter from a projector, concerping a new office which he thinks may very much contribute to the embellishment of the city, and to the driving barbarity out of our streets. I con- sider it as a satire upon projectors in general, and a lively picture of the whole art of modern criticism.
"Sir,
'^Observing that you have thoughts of creating certain officers under you, for the inspection of several petty enormities which you yourseK cannot attend to ; and find- ing daily absurdities hung out upon the sign-post of this city, to the great scandal of foreigners, as well as those of our own country, who are curious spectators of the same: I do humbly propose, that you would be pleased to make me your superintendent of all such figures and devices as are or shall be made use of on this occasion; with full powers to rectify or expunge whatever I shall find irregular or defective. For want of such an officer, there is nothing like sound literature and good sense to be met with in those objects, that are everywhere thrust- ing themselves out to the eye, and endeavoring to become visible. Our streets are filled with blue boars, black swans, and red lions ; not to mention flying pigs, and hogs in armor, with many other creatures more extraordinary than any in the deserts of Africa. Strange ! that one who has all the birds and beasts in nature to choose out of, should live at the sign of an ens rationis!
*'My first task therefore should be, like that of Hercules, to clear the city from monsters. In the second place I would forbid that creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined together in the same sign; such
* Nor does Apollo always bend his bow.
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as the Bell and the Neat's Tongue, the Dog and Gridiron. The Fox and the Goose may be supposed to have met; but what has the Fox and the Seven Stars to do together ? And when did the Lamb and Dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign-post? As for the Cat and the Fiddle, there is a conceit in it; and therefore I do not intend that any thing I have here said should affect it. I must however observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his sign that of the master whom he served; as the husband after marriage, gives a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. This I take to have given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over our heads; and, as I am informed, first occasioned the Three Nuns and a Hare, which we see so frequently joined together. I would therefore establish certain rules, for the deter- mining how far one tradesman may give the sign of another, and in what cases he may be allowed to quarter it with his own.
"In the third place, I would enjoin every shop to make use of a sign which bears some affinity to the wares in which it deals. What can be more inconsistent, than to see a bawd at the sign of the Angel, or a tailor at the Lion? A cook should not live at the Boot, nor a shoe- maker at the Boasted Pig; and yet, for want of this regulation, I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the French king's head at a sword-cutler's.
"An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentlemen who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact : but though it may not be neces- sary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their fore- fathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess the trade, to show some such marks of it before their doors.
"When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign-post, I would likewise advise the owner to take that
ADDISON AND STEELE 76
opportunity of letting the world know wlio lie is. It would have been ridiculous for the ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the Trout; for which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish that is her name-sake. Mr. Bell has likewise distinguished himself by a device of the same nature: and here, Sir, I must beg leave to observe to you, that this particular figure of a bell has given occasion to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must know that Abel Drugger gained great applause by it in the time of Ben Jonson. Our apocryphal heathen god is also repre- sented by this figure; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very handsome picture in several of our streets. As for the Bell Savage, which is the sign of a savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into the reading of an old romance translated out of the French; which gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in the wilderness, and is called in the French La Belle Sauvage; and is everywhere trans- lated by our countrymen the Bell Savage. This piece of philology will, I hope, convince you that I have made signposts my study, and consequently qualified myself for the employment which I solicit at your hands. But be- fore I conclude my letter, I must communicate to you another remark which I have made upon the subject with which I am now entertaining you, namely/ that I can give a shrewd guess at the humor of the inhabitant by the sign that hangs before his door. A surly choleric fellow, generally makes choice of a bear; as men of milder dispositions frequently live at the Lamb. Seeing a punch- bowl painted upon a sign near Charing Cross, and very curiously garnished, with a couple of angels hovering over it, and squeezing a lemon into it, I had the curiosity to ask after the master of the house, and found upon inquiry, as I had guessed by the little agremen^ upon his sign, that he was a Frenchman. I know, Sir, it is not requisite for me to enlarge upon these hints to a gentleman
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of your great abilities; so humbly recommending myself to your favor and patronage,
**I remain, etc/'
I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by the same penny-post.
'Trom my own apartment near Charing Cross. ^^ONORED Sm,
"Having heard that this nation is a great encourager of ingenuity, I have brought with me a rope-dancer that was caught in one of the woods belonging to the Great Mogul. He is by birth a monkey; but swings upon a rope, takes a pipe of tobacco, and drinks a glass of ale, like any reasonable creature. He gives great satisfaction to the quality; and if they will make a subscription for him, I will send for a brother of his out of Holland that is a very good tumbler; and also for another of the same family whom I design lor my Merry- Andrew, as being an excellent mimic, and the greatest droll in the country where he now is. I hope to have thTs entertainment in readiness for the next winter; and doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-show. I will not say that a monkey is a better man than some of the opera heroes; but certainly he is a better representative of a man, than the most artificial composition of wood and wire. If you will be pleased to give me a good word in your paper, you shall be every night a spectator at my show for nothing,
'1 am, etc."
[Spectator No. 35. Tuesday, April 10, lYll. Addison.]
Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est} — Mart.
Among all kinds of writing, there is none in which authors are more apt to miscarry than in works of humor, as there is none in which they are more ambitious to excel.
* Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskilled.— Dryden.
ADDISON AND STEELE 17
It is not an imagination that teems with monsters, an head that is filled with extravagant conceptions, which is capable of furnishing the world with diversions of this nature; and yet if we look into the productions of several writers, who set up men of humor, what wild irregular fancies, what unnatural distortions of thought, do we meet with? If they speak nonsense, they believe they are talking humor; and when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd inconsistent ideas, they are not able to read it over to themselves without laughing. These poor gentlemen endeavor to gain themselves the reputa- tion of wits and humorists, by such monstrous conceits as almost qualify them for Bedlam; not considering that humor should always lie under the check of reason, and that it requires the direction of the nicest judgment, by so much the more as it indulges itseH in the most bound- less freedoms. There is a kind of nature that is to be observed in this sort of compositions, as well as in all other; and a certain regularity of thought which must discover the writer to be a man of sense, at the same time that he appears altogether given up to caprice. For my part, when I read the delirious mirth of an unskilful author, I cannot be so barbarous as to divert myself with it, but am rather apt to pity the man, than to laugh at anything he writes.
The deceased Mr. Shadwell, who had himself a great deal of the talent which I am treating of, represents an empty rake, in one of his plays, as very much surprised to hear one say that breaking of windows was not humor ; and I question not but several English readers will be as much startled to hear me affirm, that many of those raving incoherent pieces, which are often spread among us, under odd chimerical titles, are rather the offsprings of a distempered brain, than works of humor.
It is indeed much easier to describe what is not humor, than what is ; and very difficult to define it otherwise than as Cowley has done wit, by negatives. Were I to give my own notions of it, I would deliver them after Plato's
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manner, in a kind of allegory, and by supposing Humor to be a person, deduce to him all his qualifications, accord- ing to the following genealogy. Truth was the founder of the family, and the father of Good Sense. Good Sense was the father of Wit, who married a lady of a collateral line called Mirth, by whom he had issue Humor. Humor therefore being the youngest of this illustrious family, and descended from parents of such different dispositions, is very various and unequal in his temper; sometimes you see him putting on grave looks and a solemn habit, some- times airy in his behavior, and fantastic in his dress: insomuch that at different times he appears as serious as a judge, and as jocular as a Merry- Andrew. But as he has a great deal of the mother in his constitution, whatever mood he is in, he never fails to make his company laugh.
But since there is an impostor abroad, who takes upon him the name of this young gentleman, and would will- ingly pass for him in the world; to the end that well- meaning persons may not be imposed upon by cheats, I would desire my readers, when they meet with this pre- tender, to look into his parentage, and to examine him strictly, whether or no he be remotely allied to Truth, and lineally descended from Good Sense; if not, they may con- clude him a counterfeit. They may likewise distinguish him by a loud and excessive laughter, in which he seldom gets his company to join with him. For as True Humor generally looks serious, while everybody laughs about him ; False Humor is always laughing, whilst everybody about him looks serious. I shall only add, if he has not in him a mixture of both parents, that is, if he would pass for the offspring of Wit without Mirth, or Mirth without Wit, you may conclude him to be altogether spurious, and a cheat.
The impostor of whom I am speaking, descends origi- nally from Falsehood, who was the mother of Nonsense, who was brought to bed of a son called Frenzy, who married one of the daughters of Folly, commonly known by the name of Laughter, on whom he begot that mon-
ADDISON AND STEELE 19
strous infant of which I have been here speaking. I shall set down at length the genealogical table of False Humor, and, at the same time, place under it the gene- alogy of True Humor, that the reader may at one view behold their different pedigrees and relations.
Falsehood. Nonsense.
Frenzy. ^Laughter.
False Humor.
Truth. Good Sense.
Wit. Mirth.
Humor.
I might extend the allegory, by mentioning several of the children of False Humor, who are more in number than the sands of the sea, and might in particular enumerate the many sons and daughters which he has begot in this island. But as this would be a very invidious task, I shall only observe in general, that False Humor differs from the True, as a monkey does from a man.
First of all, he is exceedingly given to little apish tricks and buffooneries.
Secondly, he so much delights in mimicry, that it is all one to him whether he exposes by it vice and folly, luxury and avarice; or, on the contrary, virtue and wisdom, pain and poverty.
Thirdly, he is wonderfully unlucky, insomuch that he will bite the hand that feeds him, and endeavor to ridicule both friends and foes indifferently. For having but small talents, he must be merry where he can, not where he should.
Fourthly, being entirely void of reason, he pursues no point either of morality or instruction, but is ludicrous only for the sake of being so.
Fifthly, being incapable of anything but mock repre-
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sentations, his ridicule is always personal, and aimed at the vicious man, or the writer; not at the vice, or at the writing.
I have here only pointed at the whole species of false humorists; but, as one of my principal designs in this paper is to beat down that malignant spirit, which dis- covers itself in the writings of the present age, I shall not scruple, for the future, to single out any of the small wits, that infest the world with such compositions as are ill-natured, immoral and absurd. This is the only exception which I shall make to the general rule I have prescribed myself, of attacking multitudes: since every honest man ought to look upon himself as in a natural state of war with the libeler and lampooner, and to annoy them wherever they fall in his way. This is but retaliat- ing upon them, and treating them as they treat others.
[Spectator No. 6. Wednesday, March 7, lYll. Steele.]
Credebant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum. Si juvenis vetulo non aasurrexerat-
Tuvenal.
I know no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of the understanding, and yet there is no one vice more common. It has diffused itself through both sexes and all qualities of mankind, and there is hardly that person to be found who is not more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue. But this un- happy affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty than good-natured, is the source of most of the ill habits of life. Such false impressions are owing to the aban- doned writings of men of wit, and the awkward imitation of the rest of mankind.
*" 'Twas impious then (so much was age revered)
For youth to keep their seats when an old man appeared."
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Eor this reason, Sir Eoger was saying last night that he was of opinion that none but men of fine parts deserve to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, that they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy and punishment for offending against such quick admoni- tions as their own souls give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds in such a manner that they are no more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capacities. There is no greater monster in being than a very ill man of great parts. He lives like a man in a palsy, with one side of him dead. While perhaps he en- joys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, he has lost the taste of good-will, of friendship, of innocence. Scarecrow, the beggar in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, who dis- abled himself in his right leg and asks alms all day to get himself a warm supper at night, is not half so despic- able a wretch as such a man of sense. The beggar has no relish above sensations; he finds rest more agreeable than motion, and while he has a warm fire, never reflects that he deserves to be whipped.
"Every man who terminates his satisfaction and enjoy- ments within the supply of his own necessities and pas- sions, is," says Sir Roger, "in my eye, as poor a rogue as Scarecrow. But," continued he, "for the loss of public and private virtue we are beholden to your men of fine parts, forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so it is done with an air. But to me, who am so whim- sical in a corrupt age as to act according to nature and reason, a selfish man in the most shining circumstance and equipage appears in the same condition with the fellow above-mentioned, but more contemptible in pro- portion to what more he robs the public of and enjoys above him. I lay it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to move together; that every action of any importance is to have a prospect of public good; and that the general tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be agreeable to the dictates of reason, of religion, of
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good-breeding: without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is hopping instead of walking; he is not in his entire and proper motion."
While the honest knight was thus bewildering himself in good starts, I looked intentively upon him, which made him, I thought, collect his mind a little. ^What I aim at," says he, "is to represent that I am of opinion, to polish our understandings and neglect our manners is of all things the most inexcusable. Reason should govern passion, but instead of that, you see, it is often sub- servient to it; and as unaccountable as one would think it, a wise man is not always a good man."
This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular persons, but also at some times of a whole people; and perhaps it may appear upon examination that the most polite ages are the least virtuous. This may be attibuted to the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit in themselves, without considering the application of them. By this means it becomes a rule not so much to regard what we do, as how we do it. But this false beauty will not pass upon men of honest minds and true taste. Sir Richard Blackmore says, with as much good sense as virtue: "It is a mighty dishonor and shame to employ excellent faculties and abundance of wit, to humor and please men in their vices and follies. The great Enemy of Mankind, notwithstanding his wit and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the whole creation." He goes on soon after to say, very generously, that he undertook writing of his poem "to rescue the Muses, to restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to engage them in an employment suitable to their dignity." This cer- tainly ought to be the purpose of every man who appears in public, and whoever does not proceed upon that foun- dation, injures his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty ceases to be the chief orna- ment of one sex and integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really becoming
ADDISON AND STEELE 83
and ornamental. Nature and reason direct one thing, passion and humor another. To follow the dictates of these two latter, is going into a road that is both endless and intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily attainable.
I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a nation as any in the world; but any man who thinks can easily see that the affectation of being gay and in fashion has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion. Is there anything so just, as that mode and gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety among us? And yet is there anything more common, than that we run in perfect contradiction to them? All which is supported by no other pretension than that it is done with what we call a good grace.
Nothing ought to be held laudable, or becoming, but what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all kind of superiors is founded, methinks, upon in- stinct; and yet what is so ridiculous as age? I make this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice more than any other, in order to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty instance that the most polite age is in danger of being the most vicious.
It happened at Athens, during a public representation of some play exhibited in honor of the commonwealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen who observe the difficulty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that they would accommodate him if he came where they sat. The good man bustled through the crowd accordingly ; but when he came to the seats to which he was invited, the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the whole audience. The frolic went round all the Athenian benches. But on those occasions there were also particular spaces as- signed for foreigners. When the good man skulked to- ward the boxes appointed for the Lacedemonians, that
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honest people, more virtuous than polite, rose up all to a man, and with the greatest respect received him among them. The Athenians being suddenly touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; and the old man cried out, "The Athenians understand what is good, but the Lacede- monians practise it."
[Spectator No. 9. Saturday, March 10, 1710-11. Addison.]
^Tigris agit rabida cum tigride pacem
Perpetuam, saevis inter se convenit ursis.^
— Juv. Sat. XV. 163.
Man is said to be a sociable animal, and, as an instance of it, we may observe that we take all occasions and pretensions of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are commonly known by the name of clubs. When a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they establish them- selves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance. I know a considerable market-town in which there was a club of fat men, that did not come together (as you may well suppose) to entertain one another with sprightliness and wit, but to keep one another in countenance. The room where the club met was something of the largest, and had two entrances; the one by a door of moderate size, and the other by a pair of folding doors. If a candi- date for this corpulent club could make his entrance through the first, he was looked upon as unqualified; but if he stuck in the passage, and could not force his way through it, the folding doors were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted as a brother.
' Tiger with tiger, bear with bear, you'll find In leagues offensive and defensive join'd.
ADDISON AND STEELE 85
I have heard that this club, though it consisted but of fifteen persons, weighed above three ton.
In opposition to this society, there sprung up another composed of scarecrows and skeletons, who, being very- meager and envious, did all they could to thwart the de- signs of their bulky brethren, whom they represented as men of dangerous principles, till at length they worked them out of the favor of the people, and consequently out of the magistracy. These factions tore the corporation in pieces for several years, till at length they came to this accommodation: that the two bailiffs of the town should be annually chosen out of the two clubs; by which means the principal magistrates are at this day coupled like rabbits, one fat and one lean.
Every one has heard of the club, or rather the con- federacy, of the Kings. This grand alliance was formed a little after the return of King Charles the Second, and admitted into it men of all qualities and professions, pro- vided they agreed in this surname of King, which, as they imagined, sufficiently declared the owners of it to be altogether untainted with republican and anti-mon- archical principles.
A Christian name has likewise been often used as a badge of distinction, and made the occasion of a club. That of the George's which used to meet at the sign of the George on St. George's day, and swear, "Before George,'^ is still fresh in every one's memory.
There are at present in several parts of this city what they call street clubs, in which the chief inhabitants of the street converse together every night. I remember, upon my inquiring after lodgings in Ormond Street, the landlord, to recommend that quarter of the town, told me there was at that time a very good club in it; he also told me, upon further discourse with him, that two or three noisy country squires, who were settled there the year before, had conisderably sunk the price of house- rent; and that the club (to prevent the like inconven-
86 ADDISON AND STEELE
iences for the future) had thoughts of taking every house that became vacant into their own hands, till they had found a tenant for it of a sociable nature and good conversation.
The Hum-Drum club, of which I was formerly an unworthy member, was made up of very honest gentle- men of peaceable dispositions, that used to sit together, smoke their pipes, and say nothing till midnight. The Mum club (as I am informed) is an institution of the same nature, and as great an enemy to noise.
After these two innocent societies, I cannot forbear mentioning a very mischievous one, that was erected in the reign of King Charles the Second: I mean the club of Duellists, in which none was to be admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was said to have killed half-a-dozen in single combat; and, as for the other members, they took their seats according to the number of their slain. There was likewise a side- table, for such as had only drawn blood, and shown a laudable ambition of taking the first opportunity to qualify themselves for the first table. This club, consist- ing only of men of honor, did not continue long, most of the members of it being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after its institution.
Our modern celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and drinking, which are points wherein most men agree, and in which the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-cat^ itself is said to have taken its original from a mutton-pie. The Beef-steak 2 and October
^ This club took its name from Christopher Cat, a maker of mutton pies ; it was originally formed in Shire Lane, for a little free evening conversation, about the time of the trial of the seven bishops ; in Queen Anne's reign the club consisted of numer- ous peers and gentry who were firm friends to the Hanoverian succession.
2 Of this club, it is said, that Mrs. Woflangton, the only woman in it, was president ; Richard Estcourt, the comedian, was their providore, and, as an honorable badge of his office, wore a small gridiron of gold hung round his neck with a green silk riband.
ADDISON AND STEELE 87
clubs * are neither of them averse to eating and drinking, if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles.
When men are thus knit together by a love of society, not a spirit of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy those that are absent, but to enjoy one another; when they are thus combined for their own improvement, or for the good of others, or at least to relax themselves from the business of the day, by an innocent and cheerful conversation, there may be something very useful in these little institutions and establishments.
I cannot forbear concluding this paper with a scheme of laws that I met with upon a wall in a little alehouse. How I came thither I may inform my reader at a more convenient time. These laws were enacted by a knot of artisans and mechanics, who used to meet every night; and, as there is something in them which gives us a pretty picture of low life, I shall transcribe them word for word.
ETJLES
To he observed in the Two-penny cluh, erected in this place for the preservation of friendship and good neighborhood,
I. Every member at his first coming in shall lay down his two-pence.
II. Every member shall fill his pipe out of his own box.
III. If any member absents himself, he shall forfeit a penny for the use of the club, unless in case of sickness or imprisonment.
IV. If any member swears or curses, his neighbor may give him a kick upon the shins.
V. If any member tells stories in the club that are not true, he shall forfeit for every third lie a haKpenny.
^ The October Club was held at the Bell Tavern, King Street, Westminster, and chiefly consisted of Tory squires, who drank perdition to all foreigners in draughts of October ale.
88 ADDISON AND STEELE
VI. If any member strikes another wrongfully, he shall pay his club for him.
VII. If any member brings his wife into the club, he shall pay for whatever she drinks or smokes.
VIII. If any member's wife comes to fetch him home from the club, she shall speak to him without the door.
IX. If any member calls another a cuckold, he shall be turned out of the club.
X. None shall be admitted into the club that is of the same trade with any member of it.
XI. None of the club shall have his clothes or shoes made or mended, but by a brother member.
XII. No non-juror shall be capable of being a member.
The morality of this little club is guarded by such wholesome laws and penalties, that I question not but my reader will be as well pleased with them, as he would have been with the Leges Convivales of Ben Jonson, the regulations of an old Roman club cited by Lipsius, or the rules of a Symposium in an ancient Greek author. C.
[Spectator No. 17. Tuesday, March 20, 1710-11. Steele.]
— ^Tetrum ante omnia vultum.*
— Juv. X. 191.
Since our persons are not of our own making, when they are such as appear defective or uncomely, it is, methinks, an honest and laudable fortitude to dare to be ugly; at least to keep ourselves from being abashed with a con- sciousness of imperfections which we cannot help, and in which there is no guilt. I would not defend a haggard beau, for passing away much time at a glass, and giving softnesses and languishing graces to deformity, all I in- tend is, that we ought to be contented with our counte-
-A visage rough,
Deformed, unfeatured.
ADDISON AND STEELE 89
nance and shape, so far as never to give ourselves an uneasy reflection on that subject. It is to the ordinary people, who are not accustomed to make very proper re- marks on any occasion, matter of great jest, if a man enters with a prominent pair of shoulders into an as- sembly, or is distinguished by an expansion of mouth, or obliquity of aspect. It is happy for a man that has any of these oddnesses about him, if he can be as merry upon himself, as others are apt to be upon that occasion."* When he can possess himseK with such a cheerfulness, women and children, who were at first frightened at him, will afterwards be as much pleased with him. As it is bar- barous in others to rally him for natural defects, it is extremely agreeable when he can jest upon himself for them.
Madame Maintenon's first husband 2 was a hero in this kind, and has drawn many pleasantries from the irregu- larity of his shape, which he describes as very much re- sembling the letter Z. He diverts himself likewise by representing to his reader the make of an engine and pulley, with which he used to take off his hat. When there happens to be anything ridiculous in a visage, and the owner of it thinks it an aspect of dignity, he must be of very great quality to be exempt from raillery. The best expedient therefore is to be pleasant upon himseK. Prince Harry and Falstaff, in Shakespeare, have carried the ridicule upon fat and lean as far as it will go. Fal- staff is humorously called woolsack, bed-pressed, and hill of flesh; Harry, a starveling, an elves-skin, a sheath, a bow-case, and a tuck. There is, in several incidents of the conversation between them, the jest still kept up upon the person. Great tenderness and sensibility in this point is one of the greatest weaknesses of seK-love. For my own part, I am a little unhappy in the mold of
* And through the whole host, from a woman's longing for the prey and spoils with heedless ardor roamed. — Vir. ^n. xi. 782.
- Abbe Paul Scarron, the burlesque writer, who was deformed from his birth.
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my face, whicli is not quite so long as it is broad. Whether this might not partly arise from my opening my mouth much seldomer than other people, and by conse- quence not so much lengthening the fibers of my visage, I am not at leisure to determine. However it be, I have been often put out of countenance by the shortness of my face, and was formerly at great pains in concealing it by wearing a periwig with a high foretop, and letting my beard grow. But now I have thoroughly got over this delicacy, and could be contented it were much shorter, provided it might qualify me for a member of the merry club which the following letter gives me an account of. I have received it from Oxford; and as it abounds with the spirit of mirth and good-humor which is natural to that place, I shall set it down word for word as it came to me.
"Most Profound Sir,
"Having been very well entertained, in the last of your speculations that I have yet seen, by your specimen upon clubs, which I therefore hope you will continue, I shall take the liberty to furnish you with a brief account of such a one as perhaps you have not seen in all your travels, unless it was your fortune to touch upon some of the woody parts of the African continent, in your voyage to or from Grand Cairo. There have arose in this uni- versity (long since you left us without saying anything) several of these inferior hebdomadal societies, as the Punning Club, the Witty Club, and, amongst the rest, the Handsome Club ; as a burlesque upon which, a certain merry species, that seem to have come into the world in masquerade, for some years last past have associated themselves together, and assumed the name of the Ugly Club. This ill-favored fraternity consists of a president and twelve fellows; the choice of which is not confined by patent to any particular foundation (as St. John's men would have the world believe, and have therefore erected a separate society within themselves), but liberty
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is left to elect from any school in Great Britain, provided the candidates be within the rules of the club, as set forth in a table, entitled The Act of Deformity; a clause or two of which I shall transmit to you: —
^^I. That no person whatsoever shall be admitted with- out a visible queerity in his aspect, or peculiar cast of countenance; of which the president and officers for the time being are to determine, and the president to have the casting voice.
"II. That a singular regard be had, upon examination, to the biggosity of the gentlemen that offer themselves as founder's kinsmen; or to the obliquity of their figure, in what sort soever.
"III. That if the quantity of any man's nos6 be emi- nently miscalculated, whether as to length or breadth, he shall have a just pretence to be elected.
^Xastly, That if there shall be two or more competitors for the same vacancy, coeteris paribus ^ he that has the thickest skin to have the preference.
"Every fresh member, upon his first night, is to enter- tain the company with a dish of cod-fish, and a speech in praise of -^sop ; ^ whose portraiture they have in full proportion, or rather disproportion, over the chimney; and their design is, as soon as their funds are sufficient, to purchase the heads of Thersites, Duns Scotus, Scarron, Hudibras, and the old gentleman in Oldham, with all the celebrated ill faces of antiquity, as furniture for the club- room.
"As they have always been professed admirers of the other sex, so they unanimously declare that they will give all possible encouragement to such as will take the bene- fit of the statute, though none yet have appeared to do it.
"The worthy president, who is their most devoted cham- pion, has lately shown me two copies of verses, composed by a gentleman of his society: the first, a congratulatory ode, inscribed to Mrs. Touchwood, upon the loss of her
^ iEsop was said to be "the most deformed of all men of his age."
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two fore-teeth; the other, a panegyric upon Mrs. And- iron's left shoulder. Mrs. Vizard (he says), since the small-pox, is grown tolerably ugly, and a top toast in the club; but I never heard him so lavish of his fine things, as upon old Nell Trot, who constantly officiates at their table; her he even adores and extols as the very coun- terpart of Mother Shipton; in short, Nell (says he) is one of the extraordinary works of nature; but as for com- plexion, shape, and features, so valued by others, they are all mere outside and symmetry, which is his aversion. Give me leave to add, that the president is a facetious, pleasant gentleman, and never more so than when he has got (as he calls them) his dear mummers about him; and he often protests it does him good to meet a fellow with a right genuine grimace in his air (which is so agreeable in the generality of the French nation) ; and, as an in- stance of his sincerity in this particular, he gave me a sight of a list in his pocket-book of all of this class who for these five years have fallen under his observation, with himseK at the head of them, and in the rear (as one of a promising and improving aspect),
"Sir, your obliged and humble servant,
"Alex. Carbuncle." E. Oxford, March 12, 1710.
[Spectator No. 18. Wednesday, March 21, 1710-11. Addison.]
— Equitis quoque jam migravlt ab aure voluptas Omnis ad incertos oculos et gaudia vana.*
—Hob.
It is my design in this paper to deliver down to pos- terity a faithful account of the Italian Opera, and of the gradual progress which it has made upon the English
^ But now our nobles too are fops and vain, Neglect the sense, but love the painted scene.
ADDISON AND STEELE 93
stage: For there is no question but our great grandchil- dren will be very curious to know the reason why their forefathers used to sit together like an audience of for- eigners in their own country, and to hear whole plays acted before them in a tongue which they did not under- stand.
Arsinoe ^ was the first opera that gave us a taste of Italian music. The great success this opera met with, produced some attempts of forming pieces upon Italian plans, which should give a more natural and reasonable entertainment than what can be met with in the elab- orate trifles of that nation. This alarmed the poetasters and fiddlers of the town, who were used to deal in a more ordinary kind of ware; and therefore laid down an estab- lished rule, which is received as such to this day, That nothing is capable of heing well set to music, that is not nonsense.
This maxim was no sooner received, but we immedi- ately fell to translating the Italian operas; and as there was no great danger of hurting the sense of those extraor- dinary pieces, our authors would often make words of their own which were entirely foreign to the meaning of the passages they pretended to translate; their chief care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. Thus the famous song in Camilla,
"Barbara si t' intendo," &c. ''Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning,"
which expresses the resentments of an angry lover, was translated into that English lamentation —
"Frail are a lover's hopes," &c.
And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined per- sons of the British nation dying away and languishing to
* Arsinoe, produced at Dniry Liane in 1705. No doubt the failure of his English opera ^'Rosamond'* gave to Addison's criti- cisms upon Italian opera an additional bitterness.
94 ADDISON AND STEELE
notes that were filled with a spirit of rage and indigna- tion. It happened also very frequently, where the sense was rightly translated, the necessary transposition of words which were drawn out of the phrase of one tongue into that of another, made the music appear very absurd in one tongue that was very natural in the other. I re- member an Italian verse that ran thus word for word.
^'And turn'd my rage into pity;"
which the English for rhyme sake translated,
''And into pity turn'd my rage."
By this means the soft notes that were adapted to pity in the Italian, fell upon the word rage in the English; and the angry sounds that were turned to rage in the orig- inal, were made to express pity in the translation. It oftentimes happened likewise, that the finest notes in the air fell upon the most insignificant words in the sen- tence. I have known the -word and pursued through the whole gamut, have been entertained with many a melo- dious the, and have heard the most beautiful graces, quav- vers and divisions bestowed upon then, for, and from; to the eternal honor of our English particles.
The next step to our refinement, was the introducing of Italian actors into our opera; who sung their parts in their own language, at the same time that our country- men performed theirs in our native tongue. The king or hero of the play generally spoke in Italian, and his slaves answered him in English : the lover frequently made his court, and gained the heart of his princess in a lan- guage which she did not understand. One would have thought it very difficult to have carried on dialogues after this manner, without an interpreter between the persons that conversed together; but this was the state of the English stage for about three years.
At length the audience grew tired of understanding half the opera, and therefore to ease themselves entirely
ADDISON AND STEELE 95
of the fatigue of thinking, have so ordered it at present that the whole opera is performed in an unknown tongue. We no longer understand the language of our own stage; insomuch that I have often been afraid, when I have seen our Italian performers chattering in the vehemence of ac- tion, that they have been calling us names, and abusing us among themselves; but I hope, since we do put such an entire confidence in them, they will not talk against us before our faces, though they may do it with the same safety as if it were behind our backs. In the meantime I cannot forbear thinking how naturally an historian, who writes two or three hundred years hence, and does not know the tastes of his wise forefathers, will make the following reflection. In the heginning of the eighteenth century, the Italian tongue was so well understood in England, that operas were acted on the public stage in that language.
One scarce knows how to be serious in the confutation of an absurdity that shows itself at the first sight. It does not want any great measure of sense to see the ridi- cule of this monstrous practise; but what makes it the more astonishing, it is not the taste of the rabble, but of persons of the greatest politeness, which has established it.
If the Italians have a genius for music above the Eng- lish, the English have a genius for other performances of a much higher nature, and capable of giving the mind a much nobler entertainment. Would one think it was pos- sible (at a time when an author lived that was able to write the Phosdra and Hippolitus) ^ for a people to be so stupidly fond of the Italian opera, as scarce to give a third day's hearing to that admirable tragedy? Music is certainly a very agreeable entertainment, but if it would take the entire possession of our ears, if it would make us incapable of hearing sense, if it would exclude arts that have a much greater tendency to the refinement of hu- man nature: I must confess I would allow it no better
^ The tragedy of Phosdra and HippolitiiSy acted without success in 1707, was written by Edmund Smith.
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quarter than Plato has done, who banishes it out of his commonwealth.
At present, our notions of music are so very uncertain, that we do not know what it is we like, only, in general, we are transported with anything that is not English: so if it be of a foreign growth, let it be Italian, French, or High-Dutch, it is the same thing. In short, our Eng- lish music is quite rooted out, and nothing yet planted in its stead.
When a royal palace is burnt to the ground, every man is at liberty to present his plan for a new one ; and though it be but indifferently put together, it may furnish sev- eral hints that may be of use to a good architect. I shall take the same liberty in a following paper, of giving my opinion upon the subject of music, which I shall lay down only in a problematical manner to be considered by those who are masters in the art. C.
[Spectator No. 26. Friday, March 20, 1711. Addison.]
Pallida mors sequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumqueturres, 0 beate Sexti. Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.
Jam te premet nox fabulseque manes, Et domus exilis Plutonia. — ^
—Hob. 1 Od. iv. 13.
When I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the peo- ple who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of
' With equal foot, rich friend, impartial fate Knocks at the cottage, and the palace gate : Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares, And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years : Night soon will seize, and you must quickly go To story'd ghosts, and Pluto's house below.
ADDISON AND STEELE 97
melanclioly, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not dis- agreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day, and died upon another: the whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circum- stances that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons; who left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died. They put me in mind of sev- eral persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head.
** T\avK6p re "Mieddvra re Oepcn\ox^v r€."
HOM.
**Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque."
ViBG.
"Glaucus, and Medon, and Thersiloclius."
The life of these men is finely described in holy writ by "the path of an arrow," which is immediately closed up and lost.
Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in every shovelful of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the composition of an human body. Upon this I began to consider with my- self, what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in the same common
98 ADDISON AND STEELE
mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter.
After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as it were in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed on him. There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelve- month. In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had fiUed the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were, perhaps, buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean.
I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honor to the living as well as to the dead. As a for- eigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monu- ments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument has very often given me great offense. Instead of the brave, rough, English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long peri- wig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of celebrating the many remark- able actions he had performed in the service of his coun-
ADDISON AND STEELE 9&
try, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honor. The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius^ show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and polite- ness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments^ with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral.
But to return to our subject. I have left the reposi- tory of our English kings for the contemplation of an- other day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects, which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little compe- titions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yester- day, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. C.
100 ADDISON AND STEELE
[Spectator No. 30. Wednesday, April 4, 1711. Steele.]
Si, Mimnermus uti censet, sine amore jocisque Nil est jucundum; vivas in amore jocisque.*
—Hob. 1 Ep. vi. 65.
One common calamity makes men extremely affect each other, though they differ in every other particular. The passion of love is the most general concern among men; and I am glad to hear by my last advices from Oxford, that there are a set of sighers in that university who have erected themselves into a society in honor of that tender passion. These gentlemen are of that sort of inamoratos who are not so very much lost to common sense but that they understand the folly they are guilty of; and for that reason separate themselves from all other company, be- cause they will enjoy the pleasure of talking incoherently, without being ridiculous to any but each other. When a man comes into the club, he is not obliged to make any introduction to his discourse, but at once, as he is seat- ing himself in his chair, speaks in the thread of his own thoughts, "She gave me a very obliging glance; she never looked so well in her life as this evening"; or the like reflection, without regard to any other member of the so- ciety; for in this assembly they do not meet to talk to each other, but every man claims the full liberty of talk- ing to himself. Instead of snuff-boxes and canes, which are usual helps to discourse with other young fellows, these have each some piece of riband, a broken fan, or an old girdle, which they play with while they talk of the fair person remembered by each respective token. Ac- cording to the representation of the matter from my let- ters, the company appear like so many players rehearsing behind the scenes: one is sighing and lamenting his des- tiny in beseeching terms; another declaring he will break
* If nofhing, as Mimnermus strives to prove, Can e'er be pleasant without mirth and love, Then live in mirth and love, thy sports pursue.
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his chains; and another, in dumb-show, striving to ex- press his passion by his gesture. It is very ordinary in the assembly for one of a sudden to rise and make a dis- course concerning his passion in general, and describe the temper of his mind in such a manner, as that the whole company shall join in the description and feel the force of it. In this case, if any man has declared the violence of his flame in more pathetic terms, he is made president for that night, out of respect to his superior passion.
We had some years ago in this town a set of people who met and dressed like lovers, and were distinguished by the name of the Fringe-glove club; but they were per- sons of such moderate intellects, even beiore they were impaired by their passion, that their irregularities could not furnish sufficient variety of folly to afford daily new impertinences; by which means that institution dropped. These fellows could express their passion in nothing but their dress; but the Oxonians are fantastical now they are lovers, in proportion to their learning and understand- ing before they became such. The thoughts of the an- cient poets on this agreeable frenzy are translated in honor of some modern beauty; and Chloris is won to-day by the same compliment that was made to Lesbia a thou- sand years ago. But as far as I can learn, the patron of the club is the renowned Don Quixote. The adventures of that gentle knight are frequently mentioned in the so- ciety, under the color of laughing at the passion and them- selves; but at the same time, though they are sensible of the extravagances of that unhappy warrior, they do not observe, that to turn all the reading of the best and wisest writings into rhapsodies of love, is a frenzy no less di- verting than that of the aforesaid accomplished Spaniard. A gentleman who, I hope, will continue his correspond- ence, is lately admitted into the fraternity, and sent me the following letter : "Sir,
"Since I find you take notice of clubs, I beg leave to
102 ADDISON AND STEELE
give you an account of one in Oxford, whicli you have nowhere mentioned, and perhaps never heard of. We distinguish ourselves by the title of the Amorous club, are all votaries of Cupid, and admirers of the fair sex. The reason that we are so little known in the world, is the secrecy which we are obliged to live under in the uni- versity. Our constitution runs counter to that of the place wherein we live: for in love there are no doctors; and we all profess so high a passion, that we admit of no graduates in it. Our presidentship is bestowed accord- ing to the dignity of passion; our number is unlimited; and our statutes are like those of the druids, recorded in our own breasts only, and explained by the majority of the company. A mistress, and a poem in her praise, will introduce any candidate. Without the latter no one can be admitted; for he that is not in love enough to rhyme is unqualified for our society. To speak disre- spectfully of any woman is expulsion from our gentle soci- ety. As we are at present all of us gownmen, instead of dueling when we are rivals, we drink together the health of our mistress. The manner of doing this some- times indeed creates debates; on such occasions we have recourse to the rules of love among the ancients.
"Naevia sex Cyathis, septem Justina bibatur.'*
— Maet. Epig. i. 72. '* Six cups to Naevia, to Justina seven."
This method of a glass to every letter of her name, occa- sioned the other night a dispute of some warmth. A young student, who is in love with Mrs. Elizabeth Dimple, was so unreasonable as to begin her health under the name of Elizabetha; which so exasperated the club, that by common consent we retrenched it to Betty. We look upon a man as no company that does not sigh five times in a quarter of an hour ; and look upon a member as very absurd that is so much himself as to make a direct an- swer to a question. In fine, the whole assembly is made up of absent men, that is, of such persons as have lost
ADDISON AND STEELE 103
their locality, and whose minds and bodies never keep company with one another. As I am an unfortunate member of this distracted society, you cannot expect a very regular account of it; for which reason I hope you will pardon me that I so abruptly subscribe myself, "Sir, your most obedient humble servant,
"T. B. "I forgot to tell you that Albina, who has six votaries in this club, is one of your readers/'
K.
[Spectator No. 34. Monday, April 9, 1711. Addison.]
-parcit
Cognatis maculis similis fera-
— Juv. Sat. XV. 159.
The club of which I am a member, is very luckily com- posed of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, and deputed, as it were, out of the most conspicuous classes of mankind. By this means I am furnished with the greatest variety of hints and materials, and know everything that passes in the different quarters and divi- sions, not only of this great city, but of the whole king- dom. My readers too have the satisfaction to find that there is no rank or degree among them who have not their representative in this club, and that there is always some- body present who will take care of their respective in- terests, that nothing may be written or published to the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and priv- ileges.
I last night sat very late in company with this select body of friends, who entertained me with several remarks which they and others had made upon these my specula- tions, as also with the various success which they had met with among their several ranks and degrees of read- ers. Will Honeycomb told me, in the softest manner he
*rrom spotted skins the leopard does refrain.
104 ADDISON AND STEELE
could, that there were some ladies (but for your com- fort, says Will, they are not those of the most wit) that were offended at the liberties I had taken with the opera and the puppet-show; that some of them likewise were very much surprised that I should think such serious points as the dress and equipage of persons of quality proper subjects for raillery.
He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up short, and told him that the papers he hinted at had done great good in the city, and that all their wives and daughters were the better for them; and farther added that the whole city thought themselves very much obliged to me for declaring my generous intentions to scourge vice and folly as they appear in a multitude, without condescending to be a publisher of particular intrigues and cuckoldoms. "In short," says Sir Andrew, "if you avoid that foolish beaten road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, and employ your pen upon the vanity and luxury of courts, your paper must needs be of general use/'
Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew that he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that manner; that the city had always been the province of satire; and that the wits of King Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his whole reign. He then showed, by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the follies of the stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for ridi- cule, how great soever the persons might be that patron- ized them. "But after all," says he, "I think your raillery has made too great an excursion in attacking several per- sons of the inns of court; and I do not believe you can show me any precedent for your behavior in that par- ticular."
My good friend Sir Eoger de Coverley, who had said nothing all this while, began his speech with a pish! and told us that he wondered to see so many men of sense so very serious upon fooleries. "Let our good friend,"
ADDISON AND STEELE 105
says he, "attack every one that deserves it: I would only advise you, Mr. Spectator," applying himself to me, "to take care how you meddle with country squires. They are the ornaments of the English nation; men of good heads and sound bodies ! and, let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you that you mention fox-hunters with so little respect.'^
Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. What he said was only to commend my prudence in not touching upon the army, and advised me to continue to act discreetly in that point.
By this time I found every subject of my speculations was taken away from me by one or other of the club ; and began to think myself in the condition of the good man that had one wife who took a dislike to his gray hairs, and another to his black, till, by their picking out what each of them had an aversion to, they left his head al- together bald and naked.
While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend the Clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that night, undertook my cause. He told us, that he wondered any order of persons should think them- selves too considerable to be advised : that it was not qual- ity, but innocence, which exempted men from reproof: that vice and folly ought to be attacked wherever they could be met with, and especially when they were placed in high and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, that my paper would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty, if it chiefly exposed those who are al- ready depressed, and in some measure turned into ridi- cule, by the meanness of their conditions and circum- stances. He afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great use this paper might be of to the public, by repre- hending those vices which are too trivial for the chas- tisement of the law, and too fantastical for the cogniz- ance of the pulpit. He then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with cheerfulness, and assured me, that, who- ever might be displeased with me, I should be approved by
106 ADDISON AND STEELE
all those whose praises do honor to the persons on whom they are bestowed.
The whole club pay a particular deference to the dis- course of this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, as much by the candid ingenuous manner with which he delivers himself, as by the strength of argument and force of reason which he makes use of. Will Honeycomb immediately agreed, that what he had said was right; and that, for his part, he would not insist upon the quar- ter which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the city with the same frankness. The Templar would not stand out; and was followed by Sir Eoger and the Captain; who all agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into what quarter I pleased, provided I continued to combat with criminals in a body, and to as- sault the vice without hurting the person.
This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put me in mind of that which the Roman triumvirate were formerly engaged in for their destruction. Every man at first stood hard for his friend, till they found, that by this means they should spoil their proscription; and at length, making a sacrifice of all their acquaintances and relations, furnished out a very decent execution.
Having thus taken my resolutions to march on boldly in the cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their adversaries in whatever degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall be deaf for the future to all the remon- strances that shall be made to me on this account. If Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very freely. If the stage becomes a nursery of folly and im- pertinence, I shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with anytliing in city, court, or coun- try, that shocks modesty or good manners, I shall use my utmost endeavors to make an example of it. I must, however, entreat every particular person who does me the honor to be a reader of this paper, never to think himself, or any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what is said : for I promise him never to draw a faulty
ADDISON AND STEELE 107
character which does not fit at least a thousand people; or to publish a single paper, that is not written in the spirit of benevolence and with a love to mankind. C.
[Spectator No. 37. Thursday, April 12, 1711. Addison.]
^Non ilia colo calathisve Minerva
Foemineas assueta manus — * ^ — ViEG. -^n. vii. 805.
jome months ago, my friend Sir Eoger, being in the country, inclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady whom I shall here call by the name of Leonora, and, as it contained matters of consequence, desired me to de- liver it to her with my own hand. Accordingly I waited upon her ladyship pretty early in the morning, and was desired by her woman to walk into her lady's library, till such time as she was in a readiness to receive me. The very sound of a lady's library gave me a great curiosity to see it; and as it was sometime before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged together in a very beau- tiful order. At the end of the folios (which were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of china placed one above another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quar- tos were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. The octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colors, and sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden frame, that they looked like one continued pillar indented with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained with the greatest vari- ety of dyes. That part of the library which was designed for the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up of scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarins,
* Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskiU'd.
108 ADDISON AND STEELE
trees, shells, and a thousand other odd figures in china ware. In the midst of the room was a little japan table, with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found there were several other counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were carved in wood, and served only to fill up the number, like fagots in the muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased with such a mixed kind of furniture, as seemed very suitable both to the lady and the scholar, and did not know at first whether I should fancy myself in a grotto, or in a library.
Upon my looking into the books, I found there were some few which the lady had bought for her own use, but that most of them had been got together, either be- cause she had heard them praised, or because she had seen the authors of them. Among several that I examined, I very well remember these that follows : —
Ogleby's Virgil.
Dryden's Juvenal.
Cassandra. 1 [Romances from the French of Gautier
Cleopatra, j de Costes.]
Astrsea.
Sir Isaac Newton's Works.
The Grand Cyrus [by Madeleine de Scuderi] ; with a
pin stuck in one of the middle leaves. Pembroke's Arcadia. Locke on Hiunan Understanding: with a paper of
patches in it. A Spelling Book.
A Dictionary for the explanation of hard words. Sherlock upon Death. The fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. Sir William Temple's Essays. Eather Malebranche's Search after Truth, translated
into English. A book of Novels. The Academy of Compliments.
ADDISON AND STEELE 109
Culpepper's Midwifery.
The Ladies' Calling.
Tales in Verse by Mr. Durfey; bound in red leather, gilt on the back, and doubled down in several places.
All the Classic Authors in Wood.
A set of Elzevirs by the same Hand.
Clelia: which opened of itself in the place that de- scribes two lovers in a bower.
Baker's Chronicle.
Advice to a Daughter.
The New Atalantis/ with a Key to it.
Mr. Steele's Christian Hero.
A prayer-book : with a bottle of Hungary- Water by the side of it.
Dr. Sacheverell's Speech.
Fielding's Trial.
Seneca's Morals.
Taylor's Holy Living and Dying.
La Forte's 2 Instructions for Country Dances.
I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, and several other authors, when Leonora entered, and upon my presenting her with a letter from the knight, told me, with an unspeakable grace, that she hoped Sir Koger was in good health: I answered Yes, for I hate long speeches, and after a bow or two, retired.
Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still a very lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or three years, and being unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken a resolution never to venture upon a second. She has no children to take care of, and leaves the man- agement of her estate to my good friend Sir Koger. But as the mind naturally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and falls asleep, that is not agitated by some favorite pleas- ures and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions of
^A scandalous book which under feigned names especiaUy at- tacked members of Whig families.
*A famous dancing master of this date.
110 ADDISON AND STEELE
her sex into a love of books and retirement. She con-^ verses chiefly with men (as she has often said herself), but it is only in their writings; and admits of very few male visitants, except my friend Sir Roger, whom she hears with great pleasure, and without scandal. As her reading has lain very much among romances, it has given her a very particular turn of thinking, and discovers it- self even in her house, her gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger has entertained me an hour together with a description of her country seat, which is situated in a kind of wilderness, about a hundred miles distant from London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks about her are shaped into artificial grottos covered with woodbines and jessamines. The woods are cut into shady walks, twisted into bowers, and filled with cages of turtles. The springs are made to run among pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur very agreeably. They are likewise collected into a beautiful lake that is inhab- ited by a couple of swans, and empties itself by a little rivulet, which runs through a green meadow, and is known in the family by the name of the Purling Stream. The knight likewise tells me, that this lady preserves her game better than any of the gentlemen in the country, not (says Sir Roger) that she sets so great a value upon her partridges and pheasants, as upon her larks and nightingales. For she says that every bird that is killed in her ground, will spoil a consort, and she shall certainly miss him next year.
When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, I look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. Amidst these innocent entertainments which she has formed to herself, how much more valuable does she appear than those of her sex, who employ themselves in diversions that are less reasonable, though more in fashion? What improvements would a woman have made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what she reads, had she been guided to such books as have a ten- dency to enlighten the understanding and rectify the
ADDISON AND STEELE 111
passions, as well as to those which are of little more use than to divert the imagination?
But the manner of a lady's employing herseK usefully in reading, shall be the subject of another paper, in which I design to recommend such particular books as may be proper for the improvement of the sex. And as this is a subject of a very nice nature, I shall desire my cor- respondents to give me their thoughts upon it. C.
[Spectator No. 39. Saturday, April 14, 1711. Addison.]
Multa ferOf ut placem genus irritable vatum, Cum scribo} — Hob.
As a perfect tragedy is the noblest production of hu- man nature, so it is capable of giving the mind one of the most delightful and most improving entertainments. A virtuous man (says Seneca) struggling with misfortunes, is such a spectacle as gods might look upon with pleas- ure: and such a pleasure it is which one meets with in the representation of a well-written tragedy. Diversions of this kind wear out of our thoughts everything that is mean and little. They cherish and cultivate that hu- manity which is the ornament of our nature. They soften insolence, soothe affliction, and subdue the mind to the dispensations of Providence.
It is no wonder therefore that in all the polite nations of the world, this part of the drama has met with public encouragement.
The modern tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome, in the intricacy and disposition of the fable; but, what a Christian writer would be ashamed to own, falls in- finitely short of it in the moral part of the performance.
This I may show more at large hereafter; and in the meantime, that I may contribute something towards the improvement of the English tragedy, I shall take notice,
1 "Much do I suffer, much, to keep in place This jealous, waspish, wrong-headed rhyming race."
— POPB.
112 ADDISON AND STEELE
in this and in other following papers, of some particular parts in it that seem liable to exception.
Aristotle observes, that the iambic verse in the Greek tongue was the most proper for tragedy: because at the same time that it lifted up the discourse from prose, it was that which approached nearer to it than any other kind of verse. For, says he, we may observe that men in ordinary discourse very often speak iambics, without taking notice of it. We may make the same observa- tion of our English blank verse, which often enters into our common discourse, though we do not attend to it, and is such a due medium between rime and prose, that it seems wonderfully adapted to tragedy. I am therefore very much offended when I see a play in rhyme; which is as absurd in English, as a tragedy of hexameters would have been in Greek or Latin. The sole- cism is, I think, still greater, in those plays that have some scenes in rhyme and some in blank verse, which are to be looked upon as two several languages; or where we see some particular similes dignified with rhyme, at the same time that eTerything about them lies in blank verse. I would not however debar the poet from concluding his tragedy, or, if he pleases, every act of it, with two or three couplets, which may have the same effect as an air in the Italian opera after a long recitative, and give the actor a graceful exit. Besides that, we see a diversity of numbers in some parts of the old tragedy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired with the same con- tinued modulation of voice. For the same reason I do not dislike the speeches in our English tragedy that close with an hemistich, or half verse, notwithstanding the per- son who speaks after it begins a new verse, without filling up the preceding one; nor with abrupt pauses and break- ings-off in the middle of a verse, when they humor any passion that is expressed by it.
Since I am upon this subject, I must observe that our English poets have succeeded much better in the style, than in the sentiments of their tragedies. Their Ian-
ADDISON AND STEELE 113
gnage is very often noble and sonorous, but the sense either very trifling or very common. On the contrary, in the ancient tragedies, and indeed in those of Corneille and Racine, though the expressions are very great, it is the thought that bears them up and swells them. For my own part, I prefer a noble sentiment that is depressed with homely language, infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the sound and energy of expression. Whether this defect in our tragedies may rise from want of genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, or from their compliance with the vicious taste of their readers, who are better judges of the language than of the sentiments, and consequently relish the one more than the other, I can not determine. But I believe it might rectify the conduct both of the one and of the other, if the writer laid down the whole contexture of his dialogue in plain English, before he turned it into blank verse; and if the reader, after the perusal of a scene, would con- sider the naked thought of every speech in it, when di- vested of all its tragic ornaments; by this means, without being imposed upon by words, we may judge impartially of the thought, and consider whether it be natural or great enough for the person that utters it, whether it de- serves to shine in such a blaze of eloquence, or show itself in such a variety of lights as are generally made use of by the writers of our English tragedy.
I must in the next place observe, that when our thoughts are great and just, they are often obscured by the sounding phrases, hard metaphors, and forced expres- sions in which they are clothed. Shakespeare is often very faulty in this particular. There is a fine observa- tion in Aristotle to this purpose, which I have never seen quoted. The expression, says he, ought to be very much labored in the unactive parts of the fable, as in descrip- tions, similitudes, narrations, and the like; in which the opinions, manners, and passions of men are not repre- sented; for these (namely the opinions, manners and pas- sions) are apt to be obscured by pompous phrases and
114 ADDISON AND STEELE
elaborate expressions. Horace, who copied most of his criticisms after Aristotle, seems to have had his eye on the foregoing rule, in the following verses:
Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exsul uterque, Projicit ampullas et sesquipedelia verba, Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela.
Tragedians, too, lay by their state, to grieve. Peleus and Telephus, exiled and poor. Forget their swelling and gigantic words.
— Ld. Roscommon.
Among our modem English poets, there is none who was better turned for tragedy than Lee; if instead of fa- voring the impetuosity of his genius, he had restrained it, and kept it within its proper bounds. His thoughts are wonderfully suited to tragedy, but frequently lost in such a cloud of words, that it is hard to see the beauty of them. There is an infinite fire in his works, but so involved in smoke, that it does not appear in half its luster. He frequently succeeds in the passionate parts of the tragedy, but more particularly where he slackens his efforts, and eases the style of those epithets and metaphors, in which he so much abounds. What can be more natural, more soft, or more passionate, than that line in Statira's speech, where she describes the charms of Alexander's conversa- tion?
Then he would talk ; Good Gods ! how he would talk !
That unexpected break in the line, and turning the description of his manner of talking into an admiration of it, is inexpressibly beautiful, and wonderfully suited to the fond character of the person that speaks it. There is a simplicity in the words, that outshines the utmost pride of expression.
Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore shines in the passionate parts, more than any of our English poets. As there is something
ADDISON AND STEELE 115
familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, more than in those of any other poet, he has little pomp, but great force in his expressions. For which reason, though he has admirably succeeded in the tender and melting part of his tragedies, he sometimes falls into too great a fa- miliarity of phrase in those parts, which, by Aristotle's rule, ought to have been raised and supported by the dig- nity of expression.
It has been observed by others, that this poet has founded his tragedy of Venice Preserved on so wrong a plot, that the greatest characters in it are those of rebels and traitors. Had the hero of his play discovered the same good qualities in the defense of his country, that he showed for its ruin and subversion, the audience could not enough pity and admire him : but as he is now repre- sented, we can only say of him what the Roman historian says of Catiline, that his fall would have been glorious (si pro Patria sic concidisset) had he so fallen in the serv- ice of his country.
[Spectator No. 42. Wednesday, April 18, 1711. Addison.]
Gurganum mugire putes nemtts aut mare Tusowm,
Tanto cum strepitu ludi speotaniur, et artes,
Diviticeque peregrince ; quihus ohlitus actor
Cum stetit in scena, concurrit dextera laevce,
Diant adhuc aliquidf Nil sane. Quid placet ergo?
Lana Ta/rentvno, violas imitata veneno} — HoB.
Aristotle has observed, that ordinary writers in trag- edy endeavor to raise terror and pity in their audience, not by proper sentiments and expressions, but by the
^ "Loud as the wolves on Orca's stormy steep Howl to the roarings of the northern deep : Such is the shout, the loud applauding note, At Quin high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat ; Or when from court a birthday suit bestowed Sinks the lost actor in the tawdry load. Booth enters — ^hark ! the universal peal- But has he spoken? — not a syllable — What shook the stage and made the people stare? Cato's long wig, flowered gown and lacquered chair."
— POPB.
116 ADDISON AND STEELE
dresses and decorations of the stage. There is some- thing of this kind very ridiculous in the English theater. When the author has a mind to terrify us, it thunders; when he would make us melancholy, the stage is dark- ened. But among all our tragic artifices, I am the most offended at those which are made use of to inspire us with magnificent ideas of the persons that speak. The ordinary method of making an hero, is to clap a huge plume of feathers upon his head, which rises so very high, that there is often a greater length from his chin to the top of his head, than to the sole of his foot. One would believe that we thought a great man and a tall man the same thing. This very much embarrasses the actor, who is forced to hold his neck extremely stiff and steady all the while he speaks; and notwithstanding any anxieties which he pretends for his mistress, his country or his friends, one may see by his action, that his greatest care and concern is to keep the plume of feathers from falling off his head. For my own part, when I see a man utter- ing his complaints under such a mountain of feathers, I am apt to look upon him rather as an unfortunate luna- tic, than a distressed hero. As these superfluous orna- ments upon the head make a great man, a princess gen- erally receives her grandeur from those additional en- cumbrances that fall into her tail: I mean the broad sweeping train that follows her in all her motions, and finds constant employment for a boy who stands behind her to open and spread it to advantage. I do not know how others are affected at this sight, but, I must confess, my eyes are wholly taken up with the page's part; and as for the queen, I am not so attentive to anything she speaks, as ^o the right adjusting of her train, lest it should chance to trip up her heels, or incommode her, as she walks to and fro upon the stage. It is, in my opin- ion, a very odd spectacle, to see a queen venting her pas- sion in a disordered motion, and a little boy taking care all the while that they do not ruffle the tail of her gown. The parts that the two persons act on the stage at the
ADDISON AND STEELE 117
same time, are very different : The princess is afraid lest she should incur the displeasure of the king her father, or lose the hero her lover, whilst her attendant is only con- cerned lest she should entangle her feet in her petticoat.
We are told, that an ancient tragic poet, to move the pity of his audience for his exiled kings and distressed heroes, used to make the actors represent them in dresses and clothes that were threadbare and decayed. This arti- fice for moving pity, seems as ill contrived, as that we have been speaking of to inspire us with a great idea of the persons introduced upon the stage. In short, I would have our conceptions raised by the dignity of thought and sublimity of expression, rather than by a train of robes or a plume of feathers.
Another mechanical method of making great men, and adding dignity to kings and queens, is to accompany them with halberts and battle-axes. Two or three shifters of scenes, with the two candle snuffers, make up a com- plete body of guards upon the English stage; and by the addition of a few porters dressed in red coats, can repre- sent above a dozen legions. I have sometimes seen a couple of armies drawn up together upon the stage, when the poet has been disposed to do honor to his generals. It is impossible for the reader's imagination to multiply twenty men into such prodigious multitudes, or to fancy that two or three hundred thousand soldiers are fighting in a room of forty or fifty yards in compass. Incidents of such nature should be told, not represented.
Non tamen intus Digna geri promes in scenam; multaque tolles Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia prsesens. — ^HoB»
Yet there are things improper for a scene. Which men of judgment only will relate.
— Ld. Roscommon.
I should therefore, in this particular, recommend to my countrymen the example of the French stage, where the kings and queens always appear unattended, and
118 ADDISON AND STEELE
leave their guards behind the scenes. I should likewise be glad if we imitated the French in banishing from our stage the noise of drums, trumpets, and huzzas; which is sometimes so very great, that when there is a battle in the Haymarket theater, one may hear it as far as Charing Cross.
I have here only touched upon those particulars which are made use of to raise and aggrandize the persons of a tragedy; and shall show in another paper the several ex- pedients which are practised by authors of a vulgar genius, to move terror, pity, or admiration, in their hearers.
The tailor and the painter often contribute to the suc- cess of a tragedy more than the poet. Scenes affect ordi- nary minds as much as speeches; and our actors are very sensible, that a well-dressed play has sometimes brought them as full audiences, as a well-written one. The Ital- ians have a very good phrase to express this art of im- posing upon the spectators by appearances: they call it the fourheria della scena, the knavery or trickish part of the drama. But however the show and outside of the tragedy may work upon the vulgar, the more understand- ing part of the audience immediately see through it, and despise it.
A good poet will give the reader a more lively idea of an army or a battle in a description, than if he actually saw them drawn up in squadrons and battalions, or en- gaged in the confusion of a fight. Our minds should be opened to great conceptions, and inflamed with glorious sentiments, by what the actor speaks, more than by what he appears. Can all the trappings or equipage of a king or hero, give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which he receives from a few lines in Shakespeare?
[Spectator No. 44. FRroAY, April 20, 1711. Addison.] Tu quid ego et popuUis mecum desideret cuudi} — HoR. Among the several artifices which are put in practise
by the poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror,
1 Now hear what every auditor expects. — Roscommon.
ADDISON AND STEELE 119
the first place is due to thunder and lightning, which are often made use of at the descending of a god, or the ris- ing of a ghost, at the vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a tyrant. I have known a bell introduced into sev- eral tragedies with good effect; and have seen the whole assembly in a very great alarm all the while it has been ringing. But there is nothing which delights and ter- rifies our English theater so much as a ghost, especially when he appears in a bloody shirt. A specter has very often saved a play, though he has done nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose through a cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one word. There may be a proper season for these several terrors; and when they only come in as aids and assistances to the poet, they are not only to be excused, but to be applauded. Thus the sounding of the clock in Venice Preserved^ makes the hearts of the whole audience quake; and conveys a stronger terror to the mind, than it is possible for words to do. The appearance of the ghost in Hamlet is a master- piece in its kind, and wrought up with all the circum- stances that can create either attention or horror. The mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for his recep- tion by the discourses that precede it: his dumb behavior at his first entrance, strikes the imagination very strongly ; but every time he enters, he is still more terrifying. Who can read the speech with which young Hamlet accosts him, without trembling ?
Eor. Look, my Lord, it comes!
Hami. AngeJfs and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned; Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from helU Be thy event wicked or charitable; Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee. 1^11 call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane: Oh! Oh! answer me, Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements? Why the sepulchre.
120 ADDISON AND STEELE
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned. Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again? What may this mean? That thou dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous?
I do not therefore find fault with tlie artifices above mentioned, when they are introduced with skill, and ac- companied by proportionable sentiments and expressions in the writing.
For the moving of pity, our principal machine is the handkerchief; and indeed, in our common tragedies, we should not know very often that the persons are in distress by any thing they say, if they did not from time to time apply their handkerchiefs to their eyes. Ear be it from me to think of banishing this instrument of sorrow from the stage; I know a tragedy could not subsist without it: all that I would contend for, is, to keep it from being mis- applied. In a word, I would have the actor's tongue sympathize with his eyes.
A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, has frequently drawn compassion from the audience, and has therefore gained a place in several tragedies. A modem writer, that observed how this had took in other plays, being resolved to double the distress, and melt his audi- ence twice as much as those before him had done, brought a princess upon the stage with a little boy in one hand and a girl in the other. This too had a very good effect. A third poet being resolved to outwrite all his predeces- sors, a few years ago introduced three children, with great success: and, as I am informed, a young gentleman, who is fuUy determined to break the most obdurate hearts, ha8 a tragedy by him, where the first person that appears upon the stage is an afflicted widow in her mourning weeds, with half a dozen fatherless children attending her, like those that usually hang about the figure of charity. Thus several incidents that are beautiful in a good writer.
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become ridiculous by falling into the hands of a bad one. But among all our methods of moving pity or terror, there is none so absurd and barbarous, and what more exposes us to the contempt and ridicule of our neighbors, than that dreadful butchering of one another, which is so very frequent upon the English stage. To delight in see- ing men stabbed, poisoned, racked, or impaled, is certainly the sign of a cruel temper : and as this is often practised before the British audience, several French critics, who think these are grateful spectacles to us, take occasion from them to represent us a people that delight in blood. It is indeed very odd, to see our stage strewed with car- cases in the last scene of a tragedy ; and to observe in the wardrobe of the playhouse several daggers, poniards, wheels, bowls for poison, and many other instruments of death. Murders and executions are always transacted be- hind the scenes in the French theater; which in general is very agreeable to the manners of a polite and civilized people: but as there are no exceptions to this rule on the French stage, it leads them into absurdities almost as ridiculous as that which falls under our present censure. I remember in the famous play of Corneille, written upon the subject of the Horatii and Curiatii, the fierce young hero who had overcome the Curiatii one after another (in- stead of being congratulated by his sister for his victory, being upbraided by her for having slain her lover) in the height of his passion and resentment kills her. If anything could extenuate so brutal an action, it would be the doing of it on a sudden, before the sentiments of nature, reason, or manhood could take place in him. However, to avoid public bloodshed, as soon as his passion is wrought to its height, he follows his sister the whole length of the stage, and forbears killing her till they are both withdrawn behind the scenes. I must confess, had he murdered her before the audience, the indecency might have been greater; but as it is, it appears very unnatural, and looks like killing in cold blood. To give my opinion upon this
122 ADDISON AND STEELE
case, the fact ought not to have been represented, but to have been told, if there was any occasion for it.
It may not be unacceptable to the reader, to see how Sophocles has conducted a tragedy under the like delicate circumstances. Orestes was in the same condition with Hamlet in Shakespeare, his mother having murdered his father, and taken possession of his kingdom in conspiracy with her adulterer. That young prince therefore, being determined to revenge his father's death upon those who filled his throne, conveys himself by a beautiful strategem into his mother's apartment, with a resolution to kill her. But because such a spectacle would have been too shock- ing to the audience, this dreadful resolution is executed behind the scenes : the mother is heard calling out to her son for mercy ; and the son answering her, that she showed no mercy to his father: after which she shrieks out that she is wounded, and by what follows we find that she is slain. I do not remember that in any of our plays there are speeches made behind the scenes, though there are other instances of this nature to be met with in those of the ancients : and I believe my reader will agree with me, that there is something infinitely more affecting in this dreadful dialogue between the mother and her son behind the scenes, than could have been in anything transacted before the audience. Orestes immediately after meets the usurper at the entrance of his palace ; and by a very happy thought of the poet avoids killing him before the audience, by telling him that he should live some time in his present bitterness of soul before he would dispatch him, and by ordering him to retire into that part of the palace where he had slain his father, whose murder he would revenge in the very same place where it was committed. By this means the poet observes that decency, which Horace after- wards established by a rule, of borbearing to commit parri- cides or unnatural murders before the audience.
Nee coram populo notos Medea trucidet.
ADDISON AND STEELE 12a
Let not Medea draw her murthering knife, And spill her children's blood upon the stage.
The French have therefore refined too much upon Horace's rule, who never designed to banish all kinds of death from the stage; but only such as had too much horror in them, and which would have a better effect upon the audience when transacted behind the scenes. I would therefore recommend to my countrymen the practice of the ancient poets, who were very sparing of their public executions, and rather chose to perform them behind the scenes, if it could be done with as great an effect upon the audience. At the same time I must observe, that though the devoted persons of the tragedy were seldom slain before the audience, which has generally something ridiculous in it, their bodies were often produced after their death, which has always in it something melancholy or terrifying; so that the killing on the stage does not seem to have been avoided only as an indecency, but also as an improbability.
Nee pueros coram populo Medea trucidet; Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus; Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguen* Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.
—Hob.
Medea must not draw her murthering knife, Nor Atreus there his horrid feast prepare, Cadmus and Progne's metamorphosis, (She to a swallow turned, he to a snake ^ And whatsoever contradicts my sense, I hate to see, and never can believe.
— KOSCOMMON.
I have now gone through the several dramatic inven- tions which are made use of by the ignorant poets to supply the place of tragedy, and by the skilful to improve it; some of which I could wish entirely rejected, and the rest to be used with caution. It would be an endless task to consider comedy in the same light, and to mention the
124 ADDISON AND STEELE
innumerable shifts that small wits put in practice to raise a laugh. Bullock in a short coat, and Norris in a long one, seldom fail of this effect. In ordinary comedies, a broad and a narrow brimmed hat are different char- acters. Sometimes the wit of the scene lies in a shoulder- belt, and sometimes in a pair of whiskers. A lover running about the stage, with his head peeping out of a barrel, was thought a very good jest in King Charles the Second^s time; and invented by one of the first wits of that age. But because ridicule is not so delicate as compassion, and because the objects that make us laugh are infinitely more numerous than those that make us weep, there is a much greater latitude for comic than tragic artifices, and by consequence a much greater in- dulgence to be allowed them.
[Spectator No. 47. Tuesday, April 24, 1711. Addison.] Ride, si sapis — ^ — Mart.
Mr. Hobbs, in his Discourse of Human Nature, which in my humble opinion is much the best of all his works, after some very curious observations upon laughter, con- cludes thus : "The passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly: for men laugh at the follies of themselves past, when they come suddenly to remembrance, except they bring with them any present dishonor."
According to this author, therefore, when we hear a man laugh excessively, instead of saying he is very merry, we ought to tell him he is very proud. And, indeed, if we look into the bottom of this matter, we shall meet with many observations to confirm us in this opin- ion. Everyone laughs at somebody that is in an inferior state of folly to himself. It was formerly the custom for
^ Laugh, if you're wise.
ADDISON AND STEELE 125
every great house in England to keep a tame fool dressed in petticoats, that the heir of the family might have an opportunity of joking upon him, and diverting himself with his absurdities. Eor the same reason, idiots are still in request in most of the courts of Germany, where there is not a prince of any great magnificence, who has not two or three dressed, distinguished, undisputed fools in his retinue, whom the rest of the courtiers are always breaking their jests upon.
The Dutch, who are more famous for their industry and application than for wit and humor, hang up in several of their streets what they call the sign of the Gaper, that is, the head of an idiot dressed in a cap and bells, and gaping in a most immoderate manner. This is a standing jest at Amsterdam.
Thus everyone diverts himself with some person or other that is below him in point of understanding, and triumphs in the superiority of his genius, whilst he has such objects of derision before his eyes. Mr. Dennis has very well expressed this in a couple of humorous lines which are part of a translation of a satire in Monsieur Boileau :
"Thus one fool lolls his tongue out at another, And shakes his empty noddle at his brother."
Mr. Hobbs^s reflection gives us the reason why the insignificant people above mentioned are stirrers-up of laughter among men of a gross taste: but as the more understanding part of mankind do not find their risibility affected by such ordinary objects, it may be worth the while to examine into the several provocatives of laughter in men of superior sense and knowledge.
In the first place I must observe, that there is a set of merry drolls, whom the common people of all countries admire, and seem to love so well, "that they could eat them,'' according to the old proverb: I mean those cir- cumforaneous wits whom every nation calls by the name of that dish of meat which it loves best : — in Holland they
126 ADDISON AND STEELE
are termed Pickled Herrings; in France, Jeaij Pottages; in Italy, Maccaronies; and in Great Britain, Jack Pud- dings. These merry wags, from whatsoever food they receive their titles, that they may make their audiences laugh, always appear in a fool's coat, and commit such blunders and mistakes in every step they take, and every word they utter, as those who listen to them would be ashamed of.
But this little triimiph of the understanding, under the disguise of laughter, is nowhere more visible than in that custom which prevails everywhere among us on the first day of the present month, when everybody takes it in his head to make as many fools as he can. In proportion as there are more follies discovered, so there is more laughter raised on this day than on any other day in the whole year. A neighbor of mine, who is a haberdasher by trade, and a very shallow, conceited fellow, makes his boast that for these ten years successively he has not made less than a hundred April fools. My landlady had a falling out with him about a fortnight ago, for sending every one of her children upon some sleeveless errand, as she terms it. Her eldest son went to buy a half-pennyworth of incle at a shoemaker's; the eldest daughter was de- spatched half-a-mile to see a monster; and, in short, the whole family of innocent children made April fools. Nay, my landlady herself did not escape him. This empty- fellow has laughed upon these conceits ever since.
This art of wit is well enough, when confined to one day in a twelvemonth; but there is an ingenious tribe of men sprung up of late years, who are for making April fools every day in the year. These gentlemen are com- monly distinguished by the name of Biters : a race of men that are perpetually employed in laughing at those mis- takes which are of their own production.
Thus we see, in proportion as one man is more refined than another, he chooses his fool out of a lower or higher class of mankind, or, to speak in a more philosophical language, that secret elation and pride of heart, which is
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generally called laughter, arises in him, from his com- paring himself with an object below him, whether it so happens that it be a natural or an artificial fool. It is; indeed, very possible, that the persons we laugh at may in the main of their characters be much wiser men than ourselves; but if they would have us laugh at them, they must fall short of us in those respects which stir up this passion.
I am afraid I shall appear too abstracted in my specu- lations, if I show that when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying some oddness or infirmity in his own character, or in the representation which he makes of others; and that when we laugh at a brute, or even at an inanimate thing, it is at some action or incident that bears a remote analogy to any blunder or absurdity in reasonable creatures.
But to come into common life: I shall pass by the consideration of those stage coxcombs that are able to shake a whple audience, and take notice of a particular sort of men who are such provokers of mirth in conver- sation, that it is impossible for a club or merry meeting to subsist without them; I mean, those honest gentlemen that are always exposed to the wit and raillery of their well-wishers and companions; that are pelted by men, women, and children, friends and foes, and in a word, stand as butts in conversation, for every one to shoot at that pleases. I know several of these butts who are men of wit and sense, though by some odd turn of humor, some unlucky cast in their person or behavior, they have always the misfortune to make the company merry. The truth of it is, a man is not qualified for a butt, who has not a good deal of wit and vivacity, even in the ridiculous side of his character. A stupid butt is only fit for the conversation of ordinary people: men of wit require one that will give them play, and bestir himself in the absurd part of his behavior. A butt with these accomplishments frequently gets the laugh on his side, and turns the ridi- cule upon him that attacks him. Sir John Falstaff was
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a hero of this species, and gives a good description of himself in his capacity of a butt, after the following manner: — "Men of all sorts," says that merry knight, "take a pride to gird at me. The brain of man is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in myseK, but the cause that wit is in other men/^ C.
[Spectator No. 49. Thursday, April 26, 1711. Steele.]
Hominem pagina nostra sapit.*
— Mart,
It is very natural for a man who is not turned for mirthful meetings of men, or assemblies of the fair sex, to delight in that sort of conversation which we find in coffee-houses. Here a man of my temper is in his ele- ment; for, if he cannot talk, he can still be more agree- able to his company, as well as pleased in himself, in being only a hearer. It is a secret known but to few, yet of no small use in the conduct of life, that when you fall into a man's conversation, the first thing you should consider is, whether he has a greater inclination to hear you, or that you should hear him. The latter is the more general desire, and I know very able flatterers that never speak a word in praise of the persons from whom they obtain daily favors, but still practise a skilful atten- tion to whatever is uttered by those with whom they con- verse. We are very curious to observe the behavior of great men and their clients; but the same passions and interests move men in lower spheres; and I (that have nothing else to do but make observations) see in every parish, street, lane, and alley of this populous city, a little potentate that has his court and his flatterers, who lay snares for his affection and favor, by the same arts that are practised upon men in higher stations.
^ Men and their manners I describe.
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In the place I most usually frequent, men differ rather in the time of day in which they make a figure, than in any real greatness above one another. I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the morning, know that my friend Beaver, the haberdasher, has a levee of more undissembled friends and admirers than most of the courtiers or gen- erals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, per- haps, a newspaper in his hand; but none can pretend to guess what step will be taken in any one court of Europe till Mr. Beaver has thrown down his pipe, and declares what measures the allies must enter into upon this new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house is near one of the inns of court, and Beaver has the audience and admiration of his neighbors from six till within a quarter of eight, at which time he is interrupted by the students of the house; some of whom are ready dressed for West- minster at eight in the morning, with faces as busy as if they were retained in every cause there; and others come in their night-gowns to saunter away their time as if they never designed to go thither. I do not know that I meet in any of my walks, objects which move both my spleen and laughter so effectually as those young fellows at the Grecian, Squire's, Searle's,^ and all other coffee- houses adjacent to the law, who rise early for no other purpose but to publish their laziness. One would think that these young virtuosos take a gay cap and slippers, with a scarf and party-colored gown, to be ensigns of dignity; for the vain things approach each other with an air which shows they regard one another for their vest- ments. I have observed that the superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides so much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this last winter, and is supposed to receive favors from one of the actresses.
When the day grows too busy for these gentlemen to
* The Grecian was by the Temple ; Squire's by Gray's Inn ; and Searle's by Lincoln's Inn.
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enjoy any longer the pleasures of their deshabille, with any manner of confidence, they give place to men who have business or good sense in their faces, and come to the cojSFee-house either to transact affairs, or enjoy con- versation. The persons to whose behavior and discourse I have most regard, are such as are between these two sorts of men; such as have not spirits too active to be happy, and well pleased in a private condition; nor complexions too warm to make them neglect the duties and relations of life. Of these sort of men consist the worthier part of mankind; of these are all good fathers, generous brothers, sincere friends, and faithful subjects. Their entertainments are derived rather from reason than imagination; which is the cause that there is no impa- tience or instability in their speech or action. You see in their countenances they are at home, and in quiet possession of the present instant as it passes, without desiring to quicken it by gratifying any passion, or prosecuting any new design. These are the men formed for society, and those little communities which we ex- press by the word neighborhoods.
The coffee-house is the place of rendezvous to all that live near it, who are thus turned to relish calm and ordinary life. Eubulus presides over the middle hours of the day, when this assembly of men meet together. He enjoys a great fortune handsomely, without launching into expense; and exerts many noble and useful qualities, without appearing in any public employment. His wis- dom and knowledge are serviceable to all that think fit to make use of them; and he does the office of a counsel, a judge, an executor, and a friend to all his acquaintance, not only without the profits which attend such offices, but also without the deference and homage which are usually paid to them. The giving of thanks is displeasing to him. The greatest gratitude you can show him, is to let him see you are the better man for his services; and that you are as ready to oblige others, as he is to oblige you.
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In the private exigencies of his friends he lends, at legal value, considerable sums, which he might highly increase by rolling in the public stocks. He does not consider in whose hands his money will improve most, but where it will do most good.
Eubulus has so great an authority in his little diurnal audience, that when he shakes his head at any piece of public news, they all of them appear dejected; and, on the contrary, go home to their dinners with a good stomach and cheerful aspect when Eubulus seems to inti- mate that things go well. Nay, their veneration towards him is so great, that when they are in other company they speak and act after him ; are wise in his sentences, and are no sooner sat down at their own tables, but they hope or fear, rejoice or despond, as they saw him do at the coffee- house. In a word, every man is Eubulus as soon as his back is turned.
Having here given an account of the several reigns that succeed each other from daybreak till dinner-time, I shall mention the monarchs of the afternoon on another occa- sion, and shut up the whole series of them with the his- tory of Tom the Tyrant; who, as first minister of the coffee-house, takes the government upon him between the hours of eleven and twelve at night, and gives his orders in the most arbitrary manner to the servants below him, as to the disposition of liquors, coal, and cinders. K.
[Spectator No. 59. Tuesday, May 8, 1711. Addison.]
Operose nihil agunt.* — Sen.
There is nothing more certain than that every man would be a wit if he could, and notwithstanding pedants of pretended depth and solidity are apt to decry the writings of a polite author, as flash and froth, they all of them show upon occasion that they would spare no pains to arrive at the character of those whom they seem to
* Busy about nothing.
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despise. For this reason we often find them endeavoring at works of fancy, which cost them infinite pangs in the production. The truth of it is, a man had better be a galley-slave than a wit, were one to gain that title by those elaborate trifles which have been the inventions of such authors as were often masters of great learning, but no genius.
In my last paper I mentioned some of those false wits among the ancients, and in this shall give the reader two or three other species of them that flourished in the same early ages of the world. The first I shall produce are the Lipogrammatists or letter-droppers of antiquity, that would take an exception, without any reason, against some particular letter in the alphabet, so as not to admit it once into a whole poem. One Tryphiodorus was a great master in this kind of writing. He composed an Odyssey or epic poem on the adventures of Ulysses, consisting of four and twenty books, having entirely banished the letter A from his first book, which was called Alpha (as lucus a non lucendo) because there was not an Alpha in it. His second book was inscribed Beta, for the same reason. In short, the poet excluded the whole four and twenty letters in their turns, and showed them, one after another, that he could do his business without them.
It must have been very pleasant to have seen this poet avoiding the reprobate letter, as much as another would a false quantity, and making his escape from it through the several Greek dialects, when he was pressed with it in any particular syllable. For the most apt and elegant word in the whole language was rejected, like a diamond with a flaw in it, if it appeared blemished with a wrong letter. I shall only observe upon this head, that if the work I have here mentioned had been now extant, the Odyssey of Tryphiodorus, in all probability, would have been oftener quoted by our learned pedants, than the Odyssey of Homer. What a perpetual fund would it have been of obsolete words and phrases, unusual barbarisms
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and rusticities, absurd spellings and complicated dialects? I make no question but it would have been looked upon as one of the most valuable treasuries of the Greek tongue. I find likewise among the ancients that ingenious kind of conceit, which the moderns distinguish by the name of rebus, that does not sink a letter but a whole word, by substituting a picture in its place. When Caesar was one of the masters of the Roman mint, he placed the figure of an elephant upon the reverse of the public money; the word Caesar signifying an elephant in the Punic language. This was artificially contrived by Caesar, because it was not lawful for a private man to stamp his own figure upon the coin of the commonwealth, Cicero, who was so called from the founder of his family, that was marked on the nose with a little wen like a vetch (which is cicer in Latin) instead of Marcus TuUius Cicero, ordered the words Marcus TuUius with the figure of a vetch at the end of them to be inscribed on a public monument. This was done probably to show that he was neither ashamed of his name or family, notwithstanding the envy of his competitors had often reproached him with both. In the same manner we read of a famous building that was marked in several parts of it with the figures of a frog and a lizard; those words in Greek having been the names of the architects, who by the laws of their country were never permitted to inscribe their own names upon their works. For the same reason it is thought, that the forelock of the horse in the antique equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, represents at a distance the shape of an owl, to intimate the country of the statuary, who, in all probability was an Athenian. This kind of wit was very much in vogue among our own countrymen about an age or two ago, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, as the ancients above mentioned, but purely for the sake of being witty. Among innumerable instances that may be given of this nature, I shall produce the device of one Mr. Newberry,
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as I find it mentioned by our learned Camden in his Remains. Mr. Newberry, to represent his name by a pic- ture, hung up at his door the sign of a yew tree, that had several berries upon it, and in the midst of them a great golden N hung upon a bough of the tree, which by the help of a little false spelling made up the word N-ew-berry.
I shall conclude this topic with a rebus, which has been lately hewn out in free-stone, and erected over two of the portals of Blenheim house, being the figure of a monstrous lion tearing to pieces a little cock. For the better understanding of which device, I must acquaint my English reader that a cock has the misfortune to be called in Latin by the same word that signifies a Frenchman, as a lion is the emblem of the English nation. Such a device in so noble a pile of building looks like a pun in an heroic poem ; and I am very sorry the truly ingenious architect would suffer the statuary to blemish his excel- lent plan with so poor a conceit : but I hox)e what I have said will gain quarter for the cock, and deliver him out of the lion's paw.
I find likewise in ancient times the conceit of making an echo talk sensibly, and give rational answers. If this could be excusable in any writer, it would be in Ovid, where he introduces the echo as a nymph, before she was worn away into nothing but a voice. The learned Eras- mus, though a man of wit and genius, has composed a dialogue upon this silly kind of device, and made use of an echo who seems to have been a very extraordinary linguist, for she answers the person she talks with in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, according as she found the syllables which she was to repeat in any of those learned languages. Hudihras, in ridicule of this false kind of wit, has described Bruin bewailing the loss of his bear to a solitary echo, who is of great use to the poet in several distichs, as she does not only repeat after him, but helps out his verse, and furnishes him with rimes.
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He raged, and kept as heavy a coil as
Stout Hercules for loss of Hylas;
Forcing the valleys to repeat
The accents of his sad regret;
He beat his breast, and tore his hair,
For loss of his dear crony bear.
That Echo from the hollow ground
His doleful wailings did resound
More wistfully, by many times,
Than in small poets splay-foot rimes.
That make her, in their rueful stories,
To answer to int'rogatories.
And most unconscionably depose
Things of which she nothing knows:
And when she has said all she can say,
'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy.
Quoth he, 0 whether, wicked Bruin,
Art thou fled to my — Echo, Ruin?
I thought th' hadst scorned to budge a step
For fear; (quoth Echo) Marry guep.
Am not I here to take thy part!
Then what has quelled thy stubborn heart?
Have these bones rattled, and this head
So often in thy quarrel bled?
Kor did I ever winch or grudge it,
For thy dear sake, (quoth she) Mum budget.
Think'st thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dish—
Thou turnd'st thy back? Quoth Echo, Pish.
To run from those th' hadst overcome
Thus cowardly? Quoth Echo, Mum.
But what a-vengeance makes thee fly
From me too, as thine enemy?
Or if thou hadst no thought of me,
Nor what I have endured for thee.
Yet shame and honor might prevail
To keep thee thus from turning tail:
For who would grudge to spend his blood in
His honor's cause? Quoth she, A pudding.
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[Spectator No. 60. Wednesday, May 9, 1711. Addison.]
Hoc est quod pallesf Cur quis non prandeat, hos estf^
— ^Pers. Sat. iii.
Several kinds of false wit that vanished in the refined ages of the world, discovered themselves again in the times of monkish ignorance.
As the monks were the masters of all that little learn- ing which was then extant, and had their whole lives entirely disengaged from business, it is no wonder that several of them, who wanted genius for higher perform- ances, employed many hours in the composition of such tricks in writing as required much time and little capacity. I have seen half the JEneid turned into Latin rimes by one of the heaux esprits of that dark age; who says, in his preface to it, that the u3Eneid wanted nothing but the sweets of rime to make it the most perfect work in its kind. I have likewise seen an hymn in hexameters to the Virgin Mary, which filled a whole book, though it consisted but of the eight following words;
Tot, tibi, sunt, Virgo, dotes, quot, sidera, caelo.
Thou hast as many virtues, 0 Virgin, as there are stars in heaven.
The poet rung the changes upon these eight several words, and by that means made his verses almost as numerous as the virtues and the stars which they celebrated. It is no wonder that men who had so much time upon their hands, did not only restore all the antiquated pieces of false wit, but enriched the world with inventions of their own. It was to this age that we owe the production of anagrams, which is nothing else but a transmutation of one word into another, or the turning of the same set of letters into different words; which may change night into day, or black into white, if Chance, who is the goddess
^ Is it for this you gain those meagre looks, And sacrifice your dinner to your books?
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that presides over these sorts of composition, shall so direct. I remember a witty author, in allusion to this kind of writing, calls his rival, who (it seems) was dis- torted, and had his limbs set in places that did not properly belong to them, "The anagram of a man."
When the anagrammatist takes a name to work upon, he considers it at first as a mine not broken up, which will not show the treasure it contains till he shall have spent many hours in the search of it : for it is his business to find out one word that conceals itself in another, and to examine the letters in all the variety of stations in which they can possibly be arranged. I have heard of a gentleman who, when this kind of wit was in fashion, endeavored to gain his mistress's heart by it. She was one of the finest women of her age, and known by the name of the Lady Mary Boon. The lover not being able to make any thing of Mary, but certain liberties indulged to this kind of writing converted it into Moll; and after having shut himself up for haK a year, with indefatigable industry produced an anagram. Upon the presenting it to his mistress, who was a little vexed in her heart to see herself degraded into Moll Boon, she told him, to his infinite surprise, that he had mistaken her surname, for that it was not Boon, but Bohun.
Ibi omnis
Effusus labor.
The lover was thunderstruck with his misfortune, inso- much that in a little time after he lost his senses, which indeed had been very much impaired by that continual application he had given to his anagram.
The acrostic was probably invented about the same time with the anagram, though it is impossible to decide whether the inventor of the one or the other were the greater blockhead. The simple acrostic is nothing but the name or title of a person or thing made out of the initial letters of several verses, and by that means written, after the manner of the Chinese, in a perpendicular line.
138 ADDISON AND STEELE
But besides these there are compound acrostics, when the principal letters stand two or three deep. I have seen some of them where the verses have not only been edged by a name at each extremity, but have had the same name running down like a seam through the middle of the poem.
There is another near relation of the anagrams and acrostics, which is commonly called a chronogram. This kind of wit appears very often on many modern medals, especially those of Germany, when they represent in the inscription the year in which they were coined. Thus we see on a medal of Gustavus Adolphus the following words, ChrIstVs DuX ergo trIVMphVs. If you take the pains to pick the figures out of the several words, and range them in their proper order, you will find they amount to MDCXVVYII, or 1627, the year in which the medal was stamped : for as some of the letters distinguish themselves from the rest, and overtop their fellows, they are to be considered in a double capacity, both as letters and as figures. Your laborious German wits will turn over a whole dictionary for one of these ingenious devices. A man would think they were searching after an apt classical term; but instead of that, they are looking out a word that has an L, an M, or a D in it. When therefore we meet with any of these inscriptions, we are not so much to look in them for the thought, as for the year of the Lord.
The Bouts Rimez were the favorites of the French na- tion for a whole age together, and that at a time when it abounded in wit and learning. They were a list of words that rime to one another, drawn up by another hand, and given to a poet, who was to make a poem to the rimes in the same order that they were placed upon the list: the more uncommon the rimes were, the more extraordinary was the genius of the poet that could accommodate his verses to them. I do not know any greater instance of the decay of wit and learning among the French (which generally follows the declension of
ADDISON AND STEELE 139
empire) than the endeavoring to restore this foolish kind of wit. If the reader will be at the trouble to see ex- amples of it, let him look into the new Mecure Galant; where the author every month gives a list of rimes to be filled up by the ingenious, in order to be communicated to the public in the Mercure for the succeeding month. That for the month of November last, which now lies before me, is as follows.
— — — — — — — — — Lauriers
— — — — — — — — — Guerriers
— — — — — — — — — Musette
— — — — — — — — — Lisette
— — — — — — — — — Cesars
— — — — — — — — — Etendars
— — — — — — — — — Houlette
— — — — — — — — — Folette
One would be amazed to see so learned a man as Menage talking seriously on this kind of trifle in the following passage.
"Monsieur de la Chambre has told me, that he never knew what he was going to write when he took his pen into his hand; but that one sentence always produced another. For my own part, I never knew what I should write next when I was making verses. In the first place I got all my rimes together, and was afterwards perhaps three or four months in filling them up. I one day showed Monsieur Gambaud a composition of this nature, in which among others I had made use of the four following rimes, Amaryllis, Phillis, Marne, Arne, desiring him to give me his opinion of it. He told me immediately, that my verses were good for nothing. And upon my asking his reason, he said, because the rimes are too common; and for that reason easy to be put into verse. Marry, says I, if it be so, I am very well rewarded for all the pains I have been at. But by Monsieur Gambaud's leave, notwith- standing the severity of the criticism, the verses were
140 ADDISON AND STEELE
good/' Vid, Menagiana. Thus far the learned Menage, whom I have translated word for word.
The first occasion of these Bouts Rimez made them in some manner excusable, as they were tasks which the French ladies used to impose on their lovers. But when a grave author, like him above mentioned, tasked him- self, could there be anything more ridiculous? Or would not one be apt to believe that the author played booty, and did not make his list of rimes till he had finished his poem?
I shall only add, that this piece of false wit has been finely ridiculed by Monsieur Sarasin, in a poem entitled La defaite des Bouts-Rimez, The Eout of the Bouts- Rimez.
I must subjoin to this last kind of wit the double rimes, which are used in doggerel poetry, and generally applauded by ignorant readers. If the thought of the couplet in such compositions is good, the rime adds little to it; and if bad, it will not be in the power of the rime to recommend it. I am afraid that great numbers of those who admire the incomparable Hudibras, do it more on account of these doggerel rimes than of the parts that really deserve admiration. I am sure I have heard the
Pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist instead of a stick.
and
There was an ancient sage philosopher Who had read Alexander Ross over.
more frequently quoted, than the finest pieces of wit in the whole poem.
ADDISON AND STEELE 141
[Specta'"or No. 61. Thursday, May 10, 1711. Addison.]
Non equidem studeo, bullatis ut mihi nugis lagina turgescat, dare pondus idonea fumo.^
Pers. Sat. V. 19.
There is no kind of false wit which has been so recom- mended by the practise of all ages as that which consists in a jingle of words, and is comprehended under the gen- eral name of punning. It is indeed impossible to kill a weed, which the soil has a natural disposition to produce. The seeds of punning are in the minds of all men; and though they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the great- est genius that is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art. Imitation is natural to us, and when it does not raise the mind to poetry, painting, music, or other more noble arts, it often breaks out in puns and quibbles.
Aristotle, in the eleventh chapter of his book of rhetoric, describes two or three kinds of puns, which he calls para- grams, among the beauties of good writing, and produces instances of them out of some of the greatest authors in the Greek tongue. Cicero has sprinkled several of his works with puns, and, in his book where he lays down the rules of oratory, quotes abundance of sayings as pieces of wit, which also upon examination prove arrant puns. But the age in which the pun chiefly flourished was in the reign of king James the First. That learned monarch was himself a tolerable punster, and made very few bishops or privy-counselors that had not some time or other sig- nalized themselves by a clinch, or a conundrum. It was therefore in this age that the pun appeared with pomp and dignity. It had been before admitted into merry speeches and ludicrous compositions, but was now de-
I'Tis not indeed my talent to engage In lofty trifles, or to swell my page With wind and noise.
142 ADDISON AND STEELE
livered with great gravity from the pulpit, or pronounced in the most solemn manner at the council-table. The greatest authors, in their most serious works, made fre- quent use of puns. The sermons of Bishop Andrews, and the tragedies of Shakespeare, are full of them. The sin- ner was punned into repentance by the former, as in the latter nothing is more usual than to see a hero weeping and quibbling for a dozen lines together.
I must add to these great authorities, which seem to have given a kind of sanction to this piece of false wit, that all the writers of rhetoric have treated of punning with very great respect, and divided the several kinds of it into hard names, that are reckoned among the figures of speech, and recommended as ornaments in discourse. I remember a country schoolmaster of my acquaintance told me once that he had been in company with a gentle- man whom he looked upon to be the greatest paragram- matist among the modems. Upon inquiry, I found my learned friend had dined with Mr. Swan, the famous punster; and desiring him to give me some account of Mr. Swan's conversation, he told me that he generally talked in the Paranomasia, that he sometimes gave into the Ploce, but that in his humble opinion he shined most in the Antanaclasis.
I must not here omit, that a famous university of this land was formerly very much infested with puns; but whether or no this might not arise from the fens and marshes in which it was situated, and which are now drained, I must leave to the determination of more skilful naturalists.
After this short history of punning, one would wonder how it should be so entirely banished out of the learned world as it is at present, especially since it had found a place in the writings of the most ancient polite authors. To account for this we must consider, that the first race of authors who were the great heroes in writing, were destitute of all rules and arts of criticism; and for that reason, though they excel later writers in greatness of
ADDISON AND STEELE 143
genius, they fall short of them in accuracy and correct- ness. The modems cannot reach their beauties, but can avoid their imperfections. When the world was furnished with these authors of the first eminence, there grew up another set of writers, who gained themselves a reputa- tion by the remarks which they made on the works of those who preceded them. It was one of the employments of these secondary authors to distinguish the several kinds of wit by terms of art, and to consider them as more or less perfect, according as they were founded in truth. It is no wonder, therefore, that even such authors as Iso- crates, Plato, and Cicero should have such little blemishes as are not to be met with in authors of a much inferior character, who have written since those several blemishes were discovered. I do not find that there was a proper separation made between puns and true wit by any of the ancient authors, except Quintilian and Longinus. But when this distinction was once settled, it was very natural for all men of sense to agree in it. As for the revival of this false wit, it happened about the time of the revival of letters; but as soon as it was once detected, it immediately vanished and disappeared. At the same time there is no question, but as it has sunk in one age and rose in another, it will again recover itself in some distant period of time, as pedantry and ignorance shall prevail upon wit and sense. And, to speak the truth, I do very much apprehend, by some of the last winter's productions, which had their sets of admirers, that our posterity will in a few years degenerate into a race of punsters; at least, a man may be very excusable for any apprehensions of this kind, that has seen acrostics handed about the town with great secrecy and applause; to which I must also add a little epigram called the Witches' Prayer, that fell into verse when it was read either back- ward or forward, excepting only that it cursed one way, and blessed the other. When one sees there are actually such painstakers among our British wits, who can tell what it may end in ? If we must lash one another, let it
144 ADDISON AND STEELE
be with the manly strokes of wit and satire; for I am of the old philosopher's opinion, that, if I must suffer from one or the other, I would rather it should be from the paw of a lion than from the hoof of an ass. I do not speak this out of any spirit of party. There is a most crying dullness on both sides. I have seen Tory acrostics and Whig anagrams, and do not quarrel with either of them, because they are Whigs or Tories, but because they are anagrams and acrostics.
But to return to punning. Having pursued the history of a pun, from its original to its downfall, I shall here define it to be a conceit arising from the use of two words that agree in the sound, but differ in the sense. The only way therefore to try a piece of wit, is to translate it into a different language. If it bears the test, you may pronounce it true; but if it vanishes in the experi- ment, you may conclude it to have been a pun. In short, one may say of a pun as the countryman described his nightingale, that it is ''vox et prceterea nihil" "a sound, and nothing but a sound.'' On the contrary, one may represent true wit by the description which Aristenetus makes of a fine woman : when she is dressed she is beauti- ful, when she is undressed she is beautiful ; or, as Mercerus has translated it more emphatically, ''Induitur, formosa est: exuitur, ipsa forma est/* C.
[Spectator No. 66. Wednesday, May 16, 1711. Steele.]
Motus doceri gaudet lonicos Mktura virgo; et fingitur artubus Jam nunc, et incestos amores De tenero meditatur ungui.^
Hob. 3 Od. vi. 21.:
1 Behold a ripe and melting maid Bound 'prectice to the wanton trade : Ionian artists at a mighty price.
ADDISON AND STEELE 145
The two following letters are upon a subject of very great importance, though expressed without any air of gravity : —
"TO THE SPECTATOE.
^^SlR,
"I take the freedom of asking your advice in behalf of a young country kinswoman of mine, who is lately come to town and under my care for her education. She is very pretty, but you can't imagine how unformed a creature it is. She comes to my hands just as nature left her, half finished, and without any acquired improve- ments. When I look on her I often think of the Belle Sauvage mentioned in one of your papers. Dear Mr. Spectator, help me to make her comprehend the visible graces of speech, and the dumb eloquence of motion; for she is at present a perfect stranger to both. She knows no way to express herself but by her tongue, and that always to signify her meaning. Her eyes serve her yet only to see with, and she is utterly a foreigner to the language of looks and glances. In this I fancy you could help her better than anybody. I have bestowed two months in teaching her to sigh when she is not con- cerned, and to smile when she is not pleased, and am ashamed to own she makes little or no improvement. Then she is no more able now to walk than she was to go at a year old. By walking you will easily know I mean that regular but easy motion which gives our per- sons so irresistible a grace as if we moved to music, and is a kind of disengaged figure; or, if I may so speak, recitative dancing. But the want of this I cannot blame in her, for I find she has no ear, and means nothing by walking but to change her place. I could pardon too her
Instruct her in the mysteries of vice,
What nets to spread, where subtle baits to lay ;
And with an early hand they form the temper'd clay.
146 ADDISON AND STEELE
blushing, if she knew how to carry herself in it, and if it did not manifestUy injure her complexion.
"They tell me you are a person who have seen the world, and are a judge of fine breeding; which makes me ambitious of some instructions from you for her improve- ment : which when you have favored me with, I shall farther advise with you about the disposal of this fair forester in marriage; for I will make it no secret to you, that her person and education are to be her fortune. "I am, Sir,
^Tour very humble servant,
"Celimene."
"Being employed by Celimene to make up and send to you her letter, I make bold to recommend the case therein mentioned to your consideration, because she and I happen to differ a little in our notions. I, who am a rough man, am afraid the young girl is in a fair way to be spoiled: therefore pray, Mr. Spectator, let us have your opinion of this fine thing called fine breeding; for I am afraid it differs too much from that plain thing called good breeding.
"Your most humble servant." ^
The general mistake among us in the educating our children is, that in our daughters we take care of their persons and neglect their minds ; in our sons we are so in- tent upon adorning their minds that we wholly neglect their bodies. It is from this that you shall see a young lady celebrated and admired in all the assemblies about town, when her elder brother is afraid to come into a room. From this ill management it arises, that we fre- quently observe a man's life is half spent before he is taken notice of; and a woman in the prime of her years is out of fashion and neglected. The boy I shall consider
^ John Hughes, it is said, was the author of this and the pre- ceding letter.
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upon some other occasion, and at present stick to the girl: and I am the more inclined to this, because I have several letters which complain to me that my female readers have not understood me for some days last past, and take themselves to be unconcerned in the present turn of my writings. When a girl is safely brought from her nurse, before she is capable of forming one simple notion of anything in life, she is delivered to the hands of her dancing-master; and with a collar round her neck the pretty wild thing is taught a fantastical gravity of be- havior, and . forced to a particular way of holding her head, heaving her breast, and moving with her whole body; and all this under pain of never having a husband if she steps, looks, or moves awry. This gives the young lady wonderful workings of imagination what is to pass between her and this husband that she is every moment told of, and for whom she seems to be educated. Thus her fancy is engaged to turn all her endeavors to the ornament of her person as what must determine her good and ill in this life; and she naturally thinks, if she is tall enough, she is wise enough for anything for which her education makes her think she is designed. To make her an agreeable person is the main purpose of her par- ents ; to that is all their cost, to that all their care directed ; and from this general folly of parents we owe our present numerous race of coquettes. These reflections puzzle me when I think of giving my advice on the subject of managing the wild thing mentioned in the letter of my correspondent. But sure there is a middle way to be followed: the management of a young lady's person is not to be overlooked, but the erudition of her mind is much more to be regarded. According as this is man- aged you will see the mind follow the appetites of the body, or the body express the virtues of the mind.
Cleomira dances with all the elegance of motion imagin- able; but her eyes are so chastised with the simplicity and innocence of her thoughts that she raises in her beholders admiration and good-will, but no loose hope or wild
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imagination. The true art in this case is to make the mind and body improve together; and, if possible, to make gesture follow thought, and not let thought be employed upon gesture. E.
[Spectator No. 70. Monday, May 21, 1711. Addison.] Interdum vulgus rectum videt.^ — Hob.
When I traveled, I took a particular delight in hearing the songs and fables that are come from father to son, and are most in vogue among the common people of the countries through which I passed; for it is impos- sible that anything should be universally tasted and approved by a multitude, though they are only the rabble of a nation, which hath not in it some peculiar aptness to please and gratify the mind of man. Human nature is the same in all reasonable creatures; and whatever falls in with it, will meet with admirers amongst readers of all qualities and conditions. Moliere, as we are told by Monsieur Boileau, used to read all his comedies to an old woman who was his housekeeper, as she sat with him at her work by the chimney-comer; and could fore- tell the success of his play in the theater, from the recep- tion it met at his fire-side: for he tells us the audience always followed the old woman, and never failed to laugh in the same place.
I know nothing which more shows the essential and inherent perfection of simplicity of thought, above that which I call the Gothic manner in writing, than this; the first pleases all kinds of palates, and the latter only such as have formed to themselves a wrong artificial taste upon little fanciful authors and writers of epigram. Homer, Virgil, or Milton, so far as the language of their poems is understood, will please a reader of plain com- mon sense, who would neither relish nor comprehend an epigram of Martial, or a poem of Cowley: so, on the
* Sometimes the vulgar see and judge aright.
ADDISON AND STEELE 149
contrary, an ordinary song or ballad that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or ignorance; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful to the most refined.
The old song of Chevy Chase is the favorite ballad of the common people of England; and Ben Jonson used to say he had rather have been the author of it than of all his works. Sir Philip Sidney in his discourse of Poetry speaks of it in the following words: "I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung by some blind crowder with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so evil appareled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?'^ For my own part, I am so professed an admirer of this antiquated song, that I shall give my reader a critique upon it, with- out any further apology for so doing.
The greatest modern critics have laid it down as a rule, that an heroic poem should be founded upon some important precept of morality, adapted to the constitu- tion of the country in which the poet writes. Homer and Virgil have formed their plans in this view. As Greece was a collection of many governments, who suffered very much among themselves, and gave the Persian emperor, who was their common enemy, many advantages over them by their mutual jealousies and animosities. Homer, in order to establish among them an union, which was so necessary for their safety, grounds his poem upon the discords of the several Grecian princes who were engaged in a confederacy against an Asiatic prince, and the several advantages which the enemy gained by such their dis- cords. At the time the poem we are now treating of was written, the dissensions of the barons, who were then so many petty princes, ran very high, whether they quar-
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reled among themselves or with their neighbors, and produced unspeakable calamities to the country : The poet, to deter men from such unnatural contentions, describes a bloody battle and dreadful scene of death, occasioned by the mutual feuds which reigned in the families of an English and Scotch nobleman: That he designed this for the instruction of his poem, we may learn from his four last lines, in which, after the example of the modern tragedians, he draws from it a precept for the benefit of his readers.
God save the King, and bless the land
In plenty, joy, and peace; And grant henceforth that foul debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.
The next point observed by the greatest heroic poets, hath been to celebrate persons and actions which do honor to their country: thus Virgil's hero was the founder of Home, Homer's a prince of Greece; and for this reason Valerius Elaccus and Statins, who were both Romans, might be justly derided for having chosen the expedition of the Golden Fleece, and the Wars of Thehes, for the sub- ject of their epic writings.
The poet before us, has not only found out an hero in his own country, but raises the reputation of it by several beautiful incidents. The English are the first who take the field, and the last who quit it. The English bring only fifteen hundred to the battle, and the Scotch two thousand. The English keep the field with fifty-three : the Scotch retire with fifty-five: all the rest on each side being slain in battle. But the most remarkable cir- cumstance of this kind is the different manner in which the Scotch and English kings receive the news of this fight, and of the great men's deaths who commanded in it.
This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain.
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0 heavy news, King James did say, Scotland can witness be,
1 have not any captain more Of such account as he.
Like tidings to King Henry came
Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland
Was slain in Chevy-Chase.
Now God be with him, said our King,
Sith 'twill no better be, I trust I have within my realm
Five hundred as good as he.
Yet shall not Scot nor Scotland say
But I will vengeance take, And be revenged on them all
For brave Lord Percy's sake.
This vow full well the King performed
After on Humble-down, In one day fifty knights were slain,
With lords of great renown.
And of the rest of small account Did many thousand die, etc.
At the same time that our poet shows a laudable partiality to his countrymen, he represents the Scots after a manner not unbecoming so bold and brave a people.
Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed,
Most like a baron bold. Rode foremost of the company.
Whose armor shone like gold.
His sentiments and actions are every way suitable to an hero. One of us two, says he, must die: I am an earl as well as yourself, so that you can have no pretence for refusing the combat: however, says he, 'tis pity, and in- deed would be a sin, that so many innocent men should
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perish for our sakes, rather let you and I end our quarrel in single fight.
Ere thus I will outbraved be,
One of us two shall die; I know thee well, an earl thou art.
Lord Percy, so am I.
But trust me, Percy, pity it were^
And great offence, to kill Any of these our harmless men,
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battle try,
And set our men aside; Accurs'd be he. Lord Percy said,
By whom this is denied.
When these brave men had distinguished themselves in the battle and in single combat with each other, in the midst of a generous parley, full of heroic sentiments, the Scotch earl falls; and with his dying words encourages his men to revenge his death, representing to them, as the most bitter circumstance of it, that his rival saw him fall.
With that there came an arrow keen
Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart
A deep and deadly blow.
Who never spoke more words than these,
Fight on my merry men all. For why, my life is at an end,
Lord Percy sees my fall.
^^Merry men,'' in the language of those times, is no more than a cheerful word for companions and fellow- soldiers. A passage in the eleventh book of Virgil's ^neids is very much to be admired, where Camilla in her last agonies, instead of weeping over the wound she had
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received, as one might have expected from a warrior of her sex, considers only (like the hero of whom we are now speaking) how the battle should be continued after her death.
Turn sic expirans, etc.
A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes; And from her cheeks the rosy color flies. Then turns to her, whom, of her female train, She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain; Acca, 'tis past! he swims before my sight. Inexorable death; and claims his right. Bear my last words to Turnus, fly with speed, And bid him timely to my charge succeed: Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve: Farewell.
Turnus did not die in so heroic a manner; though our poet seems to have had his eye upon Turnus's speech in the last verse.
Lord Percy sees my fall.
Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas Ausonii videre. The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life.
Earl Percy's lamentation over his enemy is generous, beautiful and passionate; I must only caution the reader not to let the simplicity of the style, which one may well pardon in so old a poet, prejudice him against the great- ness of the thought.
Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
The dead man by the hand, And said. Earl Douglas, for thy life
Would I had lost my land.
0 Christ! my very heart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake; For sure a more renowned knight
Mischance did never take.
154 ADDISON AND STEELE
That beautiful line, ^Taking the dead man by the hand/^ will put the reader in mind of ^neas's behavior towards Lausus, whom he himself had slain as he came to the rescue of his aged father.
At vero ut vultum vidit morientis, et era,
Ora modis Anchisiades pallentia miris;
Ingemuit miserans graviter, dextramque tetendit, etc.
The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead;
He grieved he wept; then grasped his hand, and said,
Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid
To worth so great!
I shall take another opportunity to consider the other parts of this old song.
[Spectator No. 72. Wednesday, May 23, 1711. Addison.]
— Genus immortale manet, multosque per annos Stat fortuna domus, et avi numerantur avorum.
ViBG. Georg. iv. 208.
Th' immortal line in sure succession reigns.
The fortune of the family remains,
And grandsire's grandsons the long list contains.
Having already given my reader an account of several extraordinary clubs both ancient and modern, I did not design to have troubled him with any more narratives of this nature; but I have lately received information of a club, which I can call neither ancient nor modern, that I dare say will be no less surprising to my reader than it was to myself; for which reason I shall communicate it to the public as one of the greatest curiosities in its kind.
A friend of mine complaining of a tradesman who is related to him, after having represented him as a very idle worthless fellow, who neglected his family and spent most of his time over a bottle, told me, to conclude his
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character, that he was a member of the Everlasting Club. So very odd a title raised my curiosity to inquire into the nature of a club that had such a sounding name; upon which my friend gave me the following account:
The Everlasting Club consists of a hundred members, who divide the whole twenty-four hours among them in such a manner, that the club sits day and night from one end of the year to another; no party presuming to rise till they are relieved by those who are in course to suc- ceed them. By this means a member of the Everlasting Club never wants company; for though he is not upon duty himself, he is sure to find some who are; so that if he be disposed to take a whet, a nooning, an evening's draught, or a bottle after midnight, he goes to the club, and finds a knot of friends to his mind.
It is a maxim in this club that the steward never dies; for as they succeed one another by way of rotation, no man is to quit the great elbow-chair which stands at the upper end of the table, till his successor is in readiness to fill it; insomuch that there has not been a sede vacante in the memory of man.
This club was instituted towards the end (or, as some of them say, about the middle) of the civil wars, and continued without interruption till the time of the great fire, which burnt them out, and dispersed them for several weeks. The steward at that time maintained his post till he had like to have been blown up with a neighboring house (which was demolished in order to stop the fire) ; and would not leave the chair at last, till he had emptied all the bottles upon the table, and received repeated direc- tions from the club to withdraw himself. This steward is frequently talked of in the club, and looked upon by every member of it as a greater man than the famous captain mentioned in my Lord Clarendon, who was but in his ship because he would not quit it without orders. It is said that towards the close of 1700, being the great year of Jubilee, the club had it under consideration whether they should break up or continue their session;
156 ADDISON AND STEELE
but after many speeches and debates, it was at length agreed to sit out the other century. This resolution passed in a general club nemine contradicente*
Having given this short account of the institution and continuation of the Everlasting Club, I should here endeavor to say something of the manners and characters of its several members, which I shall do according to the best light I have received in this matter.
It appears by their books in general, that, since their first institution, they have smoked fifty tons of tobacco, drank thirty thousand butts of ale, one thousand hogs- heads of red port, two hundred barrels of brandy, and a kilderkin of small beer. There has been likewise a great consumption of cards. It is also said that they observe the law in Ben Jonson's club, which orders the fire to be always kept in (focus perennis esto), as well for the con- venience of lighting their pipes, as to cure the dampness of the club-room. They have an old woman in the nature of a vestal, whose business it is to cherish and perpetuate the fire which burns from generation to generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and out above a hundred times.
The Everlasting Club treats all other clubs with an eye of contempt, and talks even of the Kit-Cat and Octo- ber as a couple of upstarts. Their ordinary discourse (as much as I have been able to learn of it) turns altogether upon such adventures as have passed in their own assem- bly; of members who have taken the glass in their turns for a week together, without stirirng out of the club; of others who have smoked a hundred pipes at a sitting; of others who have not missed their morning's draught for twenty years together. Sometimes they speak in raptures of a run of ale in king Charles's reign; and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games at whist, which have been miraculously recovered by members of the society, when in all human probability the case was desperate.
They delight in several old catches, which they sing at
ADDISON AND STEELE 157
all hours to encourage one another to moisten their clay, and grow immortal by drinking; with many other edify- ing exhortations of the like nature.
There are four general clubs held in a year, at which times they fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, confirm the old fire-maker or elect a new one, settle contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other accessories.
The senior member has outlived the whole club twice over, and has been drunk with the grandfathers of some of the present sitting members. C.
[Spectator No. 74. FRroAY, May 25, 1711. Addison.] Pendent opera interrupta.^ — ^ViBG.
In my last Monday's paper I gave some general in- stances of those beautiful strokes which please the reader in the old song of Chevy Chase; I shall here, according to my promise, be more particular, and show that the sentiments in that ballad are extremely natural and poet- ical, and full of the majestic simplicity which we admire in the greatest of the ancient poets: for which reason I shall quote several passages of it, in which the thought is altogether the same with what we meet in several pas- sages of the ^neid; not that I would infer from thence, that the poet (whoever he was) proposed to himself any imitation of those passages, but that he was directed to them in general by the same kind of poetical genius, and by the same copyings after nature.
Had this old song been filled with epigrammatical turns and points of wit, it might perhaps have pleased the wrong taste of some readers; but it would never have become the delight of the common people, nor have warmed the heart of Sir Philip Sidney like the sound of a trumpet; it is only nature that can have this effect, and please those tastes which are the most unprejudiced or the most refined. I must however beg leave to dissent from so great an authority as that of Sir Philip Sidney,
*Tbe works unfinished and neglected lie.
158 ADDISON AND STEELE
in the judgment which he has passed as to the rude style and evil apparel of this antiquated song; for there are several parts in it where not only the thought but the lan- guage is majestic, and the numbers sonorous; at least, the apparel is much more gorgeous than many of the poets made use of in Queen Elizabeth's time, as the reader will see in several of the following quotations.
What can be greater than either the thought or the ex- pression in that stanza,
To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Percy took his way; Th© child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day!
This way of considering the misfortunes which this battle would bring upon posterity, not only on those who were born immediately after the battle, and lost their fathers in it, but on those also who perished in future battles which took their rise from this quarrel of the two earls, is wonderfully beautiful, and conformable to the way of thinking among the ancient poets.
Audiet pugnas vitio parentum Kara juventus. Hop.
Posterity, thinn'd by their fathers' crimes, Shall read with grief the story of their times.
What can be more sounding and poetical, or resemble more the majestic simplicity of the ancients, than the following stanzas?
The stout Earl of Northumberland
A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summer's days to take.
With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,
All chosen men of might, Who knew full well, in time of need.
To aim their shafts aright.
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The hounds ran swiftly through the woods
The nimble deer to take; And with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.
Vocat ingenti clamore Cithseron Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epidaurus equorum: Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.
Cithaeron loudly calls me to my way;
Thy hounds, Taygetus, open, and pursue the prey:
High Epidaurus urges on my speed,
Fam'd for his hills, and for his horses' breed:
From hills and dales the cheerful cries rebound;
For Echo hunts along and propagates the sound.
Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
His men in armor bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish speaxB,
All marching in our sight.
All men of pleasant Tividale, Fast by the river Tweed, etc.
The country of the Scotch warriors, described in these two last verses, has a fine romantic situation, and affords a couple of smooth words for verse. If the reader com- pares the foregoing six lines of the song with the follow- ing Latin verses, he will see how much they are written in the spirit of Virgil.
Adversi campo apparent, hastasque reductis Protendunt longe dextris; et spicula vibrant: Quique altum Praeneste viri, quique arva Gabinse Junonis, gelidumque Anienem, et roscida rivis Hernica saxa colunt: — qui rosea rura Velini, Qui Tetricse horrentes rupes, montemque SeverunL Casperiamque colunt, Forulosque et flumen Himellse: Qui Tiberim Fabarimque bibunt.
Advancing in a line, they couch their spears — — Prseneste sends a chosen band, With those who plow Saturnia'i Gabine land: Besides the succours which cold Anien yields;
160 ADDISON AND STEELE
The rocks of Hernicus — ^besides a band ,. That followed from Velinum's dewy land — ■ And mountaineers that from Severus came: And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica; And those where yellow Tiber takes his way, And where Himella's wanton waters play; Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli.
But to proceed.
Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed,
Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of the company,
Whose armor shown like gold,
Turnus ut antevolans tardum praecesserat agmen, etc. Vidisti, quo Turnus equo, quibus ibat in armis Aureus.
Our English archers bent their bows, Their hearts were good and true;
At the first flight of arrows sent, Full threescore Scots they slew.
They closed full fast on every side,
No slackness there was found: And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.
With that there came an arrow keen
Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart
A deep and deadly blow.
^neas was wounded after the same manner by an un- known hand in the midst of a parley.
Has inter voces, media inter talia verba, Ecce viro stridens alis allapsa sagitta est, Incertum qua pulsa manu.
Thus, while he spake, unmindful of defense, A winged arrow struck the pious prince; But whether from an human hand it came, Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame.
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But of all the descriptive parts of this song, there are none more beautiful than the four following stanzas, which have a great force and spirit in them, and are filled with very natural circumstances. The thought in the third stanza was never touched by any other poet, and is such an one as would have shined in Homer or in Virgil.
So thus did both these nobles die.
Whose courage none could stain: An English archer then perceived
The noble Earl was slain.
He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree, An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Unto the head drew he.
Against Sir Hugh Montgomery
So right his shaft he set, The gray goose wing that was thereon
In his heart-blood was wet.
This fight did last from break of day
Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening bell
The battle scarce was done.
One may observe likewise, that in the catalogue of the slain the author has followed the example of the greatest ancient poets, not only in giving a long list of the dead, but by diversifying it with little characters of particular persons.
And with Earl Douglas there was slain
Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir Charles Carrel, that from the field
One foot would never fly:
Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too,
His sister's son was he, Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed.
Yet saved could not be.
162 ADDISON AND STEELE
The familiar sound in these names destroys the majesty of the description; for this reason I do not mention this part of the poem but to show the natural cast of thought which appears in it, as the two last verses look almost like a translation of Virgil.
Cadit et Ripheus, justissimus unus Qui fuit in Teucris et servantissimus sequi, Diis aliter risum est.
Then Ripheus fell in the unequal fight, Just of his word, observant of the right: Heav'n thought not so.
In the catalogue of the English who fell, Witherington's behavior is in the same manner particularlized very artfully, as the reader is prepared for it by that account which is given of him in the b^inning of the battle; though I am satisfied your little buffoon readers (who have seen that passage ridiculed in Hudibras) will not be able to take the beauty of it: for which reason I dare not so much as quote it.
Then stept a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name,
Who said, I would not have it told To Henry our King for shame.
That e'er my captain fought on foot And I stood looking on.
We meet with the same heroic sentiment in Virgil.
Non pudet, 0 Rutuli, cimctis pro talibus imam Objectare animam? numerone an viribus sequi Non sumus?
For shame, Rutilians, can you bear the sight Of one exposed for all in single fight? Can we before the face of heav'n confess Our courage colder, or our numbers less!
ADDISON AND STEELE 163
What can be more natural or more moving, than the circumstances in which he describes the behavior of those women who had lost their husbands on this fatal day?
Next day did many widows come,
Their husbands to bewail; They washed their wounds in brinish tears.
But all would not prevail.
Their bodies bathed in purple blood.
They bore with them away; They kissed them dead a thousand times,
When they were clad in clay.
Thus we see how the thoughts of this poem, which naturally arise from the subject, are always simple, and sometimes exquisitely noble; that the language is often very sounding, and that the whole is written with a true poetical spirit.
If this song had been written in the Gothic manner, which is the delight of all our little wits, whether writers or readers, it would not have hit the taste of so many ages, and have pleased the readers of all ranks and conditions. I shall only beg pardon for such a profusion of Eatin quotations; which I should not have made use of, but that I feared my own judgment would have looked too singular on such a subject, had not I supported it by the practice and authority of Virgil.
[Spectator No. 81. Saturday, June 2, 1711. Addison.]
Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure Tigris Horruit in maculas —
— Statius.
As when the tigress hears the himter's din, Dark angry spots distain her glossy skin.
About the middle of last winter I went to see an opera at the theatre in the Haymarket, where I could not but take notice of two parties of very fine women, that had placed themselves in the opposite side-boxes, and seemed
164 ADDISON AND STEELE
drawn up in a kind of battle array one against another. After a short survey of them, I found they were patched differently; the faces on one hand being spotted on the right side of the forehead, and those upon the other on the left. I quickly perceived that they cast hostile glances upon one another; and that their patches were placed in those different situations, as party-signals to distinguish friends from foes. In the middle boxes, between these two opposite bodies, were several ladies who patched indifferently on both sides of their faces, and seemed to sit there with no other intention but to see the opera. Upon inquiry I found, that the body of Amazons on my right hand, were Whigs, and those on my left, Tories ; and that those who had placed themselves in the middle boxes were a neutral party, whose faces had not yet declared themselves. These last, however, as I afterwards found, diminished daily, and took their party with one side or the other; insomuch that I observed in several of them, the patches, which were before dispersed equally, are now all gone over to the Whig or Tory side of the face. The censorious say, that the men, whose hearts are aimed at, are very often the occasions that one part of the face is thus dishonored, and lies under a kind of disgrace, while the other is so much set off and adorned by the owner; and that the patches turn to the right or to the left, ac- cording to the principles of the man who is most in favor. But whatever may be the motives of a few fan- tastical coquettes, who do not patch for the public good so much as for their own private advantage, it is certain, that there are several women of honor who patch out of principle, and with an eye to the interest of their country. Nay, I am informed that some of them adhere so stead- fastly to their party, and are so far from sacrificing their zeal for the public to their passion for any particular person, that in a late draft of marriage articles a lady has stipulated with her husband, that, whatever his opinions are, she shall be at liberty to patch on which side she pleases.
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I must here take notice, that Eosalinda, a famous Whig partisan, has most unfortunately a very beautiful mole on the Tory part of her forehead; which being very con- spicuous, has occasioned many mistakes, and given a handle to her enemies to misrepresent her face, as though it had revolted from the Whig interest. But, whatever this natural patch may seem to intimate, it is well-known that her notions of government are still the same. This unlucky mole, however, has misled several coxcombs; and like the hanging out of false colors, made some of them converse with Eosalinda in what they thought the spirit of her party, when on a sudden she has given them an unexpected fire, that has sunk them all at once. If Eosalinda is unfortunate in her mole, Nigranilla is as unhappy in a pimple, which forces her, against her in- clinations, to patch on the Whig side.
I am told that many virtuous matrons, who formerly have been taught to believe that this artificial spotting of the face was unlawful, are now reconciled by a zeal for their cause, to what they could not be prompted by a concern for their beauty. This way of declaring war upon one another, puts me in mind of what is reported of the tigress, that several spots rise in her skin when she is angry, or as Mr. Cowley has imitated the verses that stand as the motto on this paper,
-She swells with angry pride.
And calls forth all her spots on ev'ry side.
When I was in the theater the time above-mentioned, I had the curiosity to count the patches on both sides, and found the Tory patches to be about twenty stronger than the Whig; but to make amends for this small inequality, I the next morning found the whole puppet-show filled with faces spotted after the Whiggish manner. Whether or no the ladies had retreated hither in order to rally their forces I cannot tell ; but the next night they came in so great a body to the opera, that they outnumbered the enemy.
This account of party patches will, I am afraid, appear
166 ADDISON AND STEELE
improbable to those who live at a distance from the fash- ionable world; but as it is a distinction of a very singu- lar nature, and what perhaps may never meet with a parallel, I think I should not have discharged the office of a faithful Spectator, had I not recorded it.
I have, in former papers, endeavored to expose this party-rage in women, as it only serves to aggravate the hatreds and animosities that rei^^ among men, and in a great measure deprive the fair sex of those peculiar charms with which nature has endowed them.
When the Romans and Sabines were at war, and just upon the point of giving battle, the women, who were al- lied to both of them, interposed with so many tears and entreaties, that they prevented the mutual slaughter which threatened both parties, and united them together in a firm and lasting peace.
I would recommend this noble example to our British ladies, at a time when their country is torn with so many unnatural divisions, that if they continue, it will be a misfortune to be born in it. The Greeks thought it so im- proper for women to interest themselves in competitions and contentions, that for this reason, among others, they forbade them, under pain of death, to be present at the Olympic games, notwithstanding these were the public diversions of all Greece.
As our English women excel those of all nations in beauty, they should endeavor to outshine them in all other accomplishments proper to the sex, and to distinguish themselves as tender mothers, and faithful wives, rather than as furious partisans. Female virtues are of a do- mestic turn. The family is the proper province for pri- vate women to shine in. If they must be showing their zeal for the public, let it not be against those who are per- haps of the same family, or at least of the same religion . or nation, but against those who are the open, professed, undoubted enemies of their faith, liberty, and country. When the Eomans were pressed with a foreign enemy, the ladies voluntarily contributed all their rings and jewels
ADDISON AND STEELE 167
to assist the government under a public exigence, which appeared so laudable an action in the eyes of their coun- trymen, that from thenceforth it was permitted by a law to pronounce public orations at the funeral of a woman in praise of the deceased person, which till that time was peculiar to men. Would our English ladies, instead of sticking on a patch against those of their own country, show themselves so truly public-spirited as to sacrifice every one her necklace against the common enemy, what decrees ought not to be made in favor of them?
Since I am recollecting upon this subject such pas- sages as occur to my memory out of ancient authors, I cannot omit a sentence in the celebrated funeral oration of Pericles, which he made in honor of those brave Athe- nians that were slain in a fight with the Lacedaemonians. After having addressed himself to the several ranks and orders of his countrymen, and shown them how they should behave themselves in the public cause, he turns to the female part of his audience : "And as for you (says he) I shall advise you in very few words : Aspire only to those virtues that are peculiar to your sex; follow your natural modesty, and think it your greatest commendation not to be talked of one way or other." C.
[Spectator No. 98. Friday, June 22, 1711. Addison.]
Tanta est quaerendi cura decoris.
— Juv. Sat. vi. 500. So studiously their persons they adorn.
There is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady^s headdress. Within my own memory I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. About ten years ago it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that the fe- male part of our species were much taller than the men.^
* This refers to the commode (called by the B*rench fontange), a kind of head-dress worn by the ladies at the beginning of the eighteenth century, which by means of wire bore up the hair and fore part of the cap. consisting of many folds of fine lace, to a prodigious height. The transition from this to the opposite ex- treme was very abrupt and sudden.
168 ADDISON AND STEELE.
The women were of such an enormous stature, that "we appeared as grasshoppers before them'' ; ^ at present the whole sex is in a manner dwarfed, and shrunk into a race of beauties that seems almost another species. I remember several ladies, who were once very near seven foot high, that at present want some inches of five. How they came to be thus curtailed I cannot learn. Whether the whole sex be at present under any penance which we know nothing of ; or whether they have cast their head- dresses in order to surprise us with something in that kind which shall be entirely new; or whether some of the tallest of the sex, being too cunning for the rest, have contrived this method to make themselves appear sizeable, is still a secret; though I find most are of opinion, they are at present like trees new lopped and pruned, that will certainly sprout up and flourish with greater heads than before. For my own part, as I do not love to be insulted by women who are taller than myself, I admire the sex much more in their present humiliation, which has reduced them to their natural dimensions, than when they had extended their persons and lengthened them- selves out into formidable and gigantic figures. I am not for adding to the beautiful edifices of nature, nor for raising any whimsical superstructure upon her plans: I must therefore repeat it, that I am highly pleased with the coiffure now in fashion, and think it shows the good sense which at present very much reigns among the valu- able part of the sex. One may observe that women in all ages have taken more pains than men to adorn the outside of their heads; and indeed I very much admire, that those female architects who raise such wonderful structures oiU of ribands, lace, and wire, have not been recorded for their respective inventions. It is certain there have been as many orders in these kinds of build- ing, as in those which have been made of marble. Some- times they rise in the shape of a pyramid, sometimes like
» Numbers xiii, 33.
ADDISON AND STEELE 169
a tower, and sometimes like a steeple. In Juvenal's time the building grew by several orders and stories, as he has very humorously described it:
"Tot premit ordinibus, tot adhuc compagibus altum ^dificat caput: Andromachen a f route videbis; Post minor est: aliam credas."
— Juv. Sat. vi. 501.
"With curls on curls they build her head before, And mount it with a formidable tow'r: A giantess she seems; but look behind. And then she dwindles to the pigmy kind."
But I do not remember in any part of my reading, that the head-dress aspired to so great an extravagance as in the fourteenth century; when it was built up in a couple of cones or spires, which stood so excessively high on each side of the head, that a woman, who was but a Pigmy without her head-dress, appeared like a Colossus upon put- ting it on. Monsieur Paradin^ says, "That these old- fashioned fontanges rose an ell above the head; that they were pointed like steeples; and had long loose pieces of crape fastened to the tops of them, which were curiously fringed, and hung down their backs like streamers."
The women might possibly have carried this Gothic building much higher, had not a famous monk, Thomas Conecte by name, attacked it with great zeal and resolu- tion. This holy man traveled from place to place to preach down this monstrous commode; and succeeded so .well in it, that, as the magicians sacrificed their books to the flames upon the preaching of an apostle, many of the women threw down their head-dresses in the middle of his sermon, and made a bonfire of them within sight of the pulpit. He was so renowned, as weU for the sanc- tity of his life as his manner of preaching, that he had often a congregation of twenty thousand people; the men placing themselves on the one side of his pulpit, and the
1 GuiUaume Paradin was a French writer of the sixteenth cen- tury, author of several voluminous histories. It is from his Annates de Bovrgoigne, published in 1566, that the following pas- sages are quoted.
iro ADDISON AND STEELE
women on the other, that appeared (to use the similitude of an ingenious writer) like a forest of cedars with their heads reaching to the clouds. He so warmed and ani- mated the people against this monstrous ornament, that it lay under a kind of persecution; and, whenever it ap- peared in public, was pelted down by the rabble, who flung stones at the persons that wore it. But notwith- standing this prodigy vanished while the preacher was among them, it began to appear again some months after his departure, or, to tell it in Monsieur Paradin's own words, "the women, that like snails in a fright had drawn in their horns, shot them out again as soon as the dan- ger was over.'' This extravagance of the women's head- dresses in that age is taken notice of by Monsieur d'Ar- gentre in his History of Bretagne,^ and by other histori- ans, as well as the person I have here quoted.
It is usually observed, that a good reign is the only proper time for the making of laws against the exorbitance of power ; in the same manner an excessive head-dress may be attacked the most effectually when the fashion is against it. I do therefore recommend this paper to my female readers by way of prevention.
I would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add anything that can be ornamental to what is already the masterpiece of nature. The head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station, in a human figure. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face; she has touched it with ver- milion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with
1 Bertrand d'Argentre was an eminent French lawyer of the sixteenth century : his Histoire de Bretdgne was printed at Rennea in 1582. Thomas Conecte, mentioned above, was a Carmelite monk, bom in Bretagne, who began to be famous for his preach- ing in 1428. After having traveled through several parts of Europe, opposing the fashionable vices of the age, he came to Rome, where his zeal led him to reprove the enormities of the papal court and the dissoluteness of the Romish clergy. On thia he was imprisoned, tried, and condemned to the flames for heresy ; a punishment which he suffered with great constancy in 1434.
[ADDISON AND STEELE 171
the curious organs of sense, giving it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flow- ing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most agree- able light. In short, she seems to have designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works ; and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and fool- ishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beau- ties, to childish gewgaws, ribands, and bone-lace. L.
[Spectator No. 106. Monday, July 2, 1711. Addison.]
Hinc tibi copia
Manabit ad plenum, benigno Kuris honorum opulenta cornu.
— ^Horace. "Here plenty's liberal horn shall pour Of fruits for thee a copious show'r, Rich honors of the quiet plain."
Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir Koger de Coverley, to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied him thither, and am settled with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuing specula- tions. Sir Eoger, who is very well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber, as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.
I am the more at ease in Sir Eoger's family because it consists of sober and staid persons; for, as the knight is the best master in the world, he seldom changes his serv- ants; and as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving him; by this means his domestics
172 ADDISON AND STEELE
are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would take his valet de chamhre for his brother, his but- ler is gray-headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a privy counsellor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness, out of re- gard to his past services, though he has been useless for several years.
I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master ; every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. This humanity and good-nature engages everybody to him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humor, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself with; on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his servants.
My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because they often heard their master talk of me as of his particular friend.
My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting him- self in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Eoger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gen- tleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversation; he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the
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old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependent.
I have observed in several of my papers that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humorist, and that his virtues as well as imperfec- tions are, as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance, which makes them particularly his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his con- versation highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colors. As I was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just now mentioned, and without staying for my answer, told me that he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table, for which reason he desired a particular friend of his, at the University, to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable tem- per, and, if possible, a man that understood a little of backgammon. "My friend," says Sir Roger, "found me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it; I have given him the parsonage of the par- ish, and, because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years, and though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, though he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he has lived among them; if any dispute arises they apply themselves to him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once, or twice at most,, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me I made him a present of all the good sermons which have been
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printed in English, and only begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested them into such a series that they follow one another naturally and make a continued system of practical divinity/'
As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the knight's asking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed us his list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several liv- ing authors who have published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pul- pit but I very much approved of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice; for I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery as well as with the discourses he pronounced, that I think I never passed any time more to my sat- isfaction. A sermon repeated after this manner is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor.
I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would follow this example; and, instead of wasting their spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would en- deavor after a handsome elocution and all those other tal- ents that are proper to enforce what has been penned by greater masters. This would not only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying to the people. L.
ADDISON AND STEELE 175
[Spectator No. 107. Tuesday, July 3, 1711. Steele.]
^sopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici, Serrumque collocarunt aeterna in basi, Patere honoris scirent ut cuncti viam.*
— PHiEDBUS.
The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed free- dom and quiet, which I meet with here in the country, has confirmed me in the opinion I always had, that the general corruption of manners in servants is owing to the conduct of masters. The aspect of every one in the family carries so much satisfaction that it appears he knows the happy lot which has befallen him in being a member of it. There is one particular which I have sel- dom seen but at Sir Koger's; it is usual, in all other places, that servants fly from the parts of the house through which their master is passing; on the contrary, here, they industriously place themselves in his way; and it is on both sides, as it were, understood as a visit, when the servants appear without calling. This proceeds from the humane and equal temper of the man of the house, who also perfectly well knows how to enjoy a great es- tate with such economy as ever to be much beforehand. This makes his own mind untroubled, and consequently unapt to vent peevish expressions, or give passionate or inconsistent orders to those about him. Thus respect and love go together; and a certain cheerfulness in perform- ance of their duty is the particular distinction of the lower part of this family. When a servant is called before his master, he does not come with an expectation to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to be stripped, or used with any other unbecoming language, which mean masters often give to worthy servants; but it is often to know what road he took that he came so
^ The Athenians erected a large statue to ^sop, and placed him, though a slave, on a lasting pedestal : to show that the way to honor lies open indifferently to alL
176 ADDISON AND STEELE
readily back according to order; whether he passed by such a ground; if the old man who rents it is in good health; or whether he gave Sir Eoger's love to him, or the like.
A man who preserves a respect founded on his benevo- lence to his dependents lives rather like a prince than a master in his family; his orders are received as favors rather than duties; and the distinction of approaching him is part of the reward for executing what is com- manded by him.
There is another circumstance in which my friend ex- cels in his management, which is the manner of reward- ing his servants; he has ever been of opinion that giving his cast clothes to be worn by valets has a very ill effect upon little minds, and creates a silly sense of equality between the parties in persons affected only with outward things. I have heard him often pleasant on this occa- sion and describe a young gentleman abusing his man in that coat which a month or two before was the most pleas- ing distinction he was conscious of in himself. He would turn his discourse still more pleasantly upon the ladies' bounties of this kind; and I have heard him say he knew a fine woman who distributed rewards and punishments in giving becoming or unbecoming dresses to her maids.
But my good friend is above these little instances of good-will in bestowing only trifles on his servants ; a good servant to him is sure of having it in his choice very soon of being no servant at all. As I before observed, he is so good an husband and knows so thoroughly that the skill of the purse is the cardinal virtue of this life, — I say, he knows so well that frugality is the support of generos- ity, that he can often spare a large fine when a tenement falls, and give that settlement to a good servant who has a mind to go into the world, or make a stranger pay the fine to that servant, for his more comfortable mainte- nance, if he stays in his service.
A man of honor and generosity considers it would be miserable to himself to have no will but that of another,
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thougli it were of the best person breathing, and for that reason goes on as fast as he is able to put his servants into independent livelihoods. The greatest part of Sir Eoger's estate is tenanted by persons who have served himself or his ancestors. It was to me extremely pleas- ant to observe the visitants from several parts to welcome his arrival into the country; and all the difference that I could take notice of between the late servants who came to see him and those who stayed in the family, was that these latter were looked upon as finer gentlemen and bet- ter courtiers.
This manumission and placing them in a way of liveli- hood I look upon as only what is due to a good servant, which encouragement will make his successor be as dili- gent, as humble, and as ready as he was. There is some- thing wonderful in the narrowness of those minds which can be pleased and be barren of bounty to those who please them.
One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that great persons in all ages have had of the merit of their dependents, and the heroic services which men have done their masters in the extremity of their fortunes, and shown to their undone patrons that fortune was all the difference between them; but as I design this my speculation only as a gentle admonition to thankless masters, I shall not go out of the occurrences of common life, but assert it, as a general observation, that I never saw, but in Sir Roger's family and one or two more, good servants treated as they ought to be. Sir Roger's kindness extends to their children's children, and this very morning he sent his coachman's grandson to prentice. I shall conclude this paper with an account of a picture in his gallery, where there are many which will deserve my future observation.
At the very upper end of this handsome structure I saw the portraiture of two young men standing in a river, the one naked, the other in a livery. The person sup- ported seemed half dead, but still so much alive as to show in his face exquisite joy and love toward the other.
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I thought the fainting figure resembled my friend. Sir Eoger; and, looking at the butler, who stood by me, for an account of it, he informed me that the person in the livery was a servant of Sir Roger's who stood on the shore while his master was swimming, and observing him taken with some sudden illness, and sink under water, jumped in and saved him. He told me Sir Roger took off the dress he was in as soon as he came home, and by a great bounty at that time, followed by his favor ever since, had made him master of that pretty seat which we saw at a distance as we came to this house. I remem- bered indeed Sir Eoger said there lived a very worthy gentleman, to whom he was highly obliged, without men- tioning anything further. Upon my looking a little dis- satisfied at some part of the picture, my attendant in- formed me that it was against Sir Eoger's will, and at the earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he was drawn in the habit in which he had saved his master.
R.
[Spectator No. 108. Wednesday, July 4, 1711. Addison.]
Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens.*
— Ph^idbus.
As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger before his house, a country fellow brought him a huge fish, which, he told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that very morning; and that he presented it, with his service to him, and intended to come and dine with him. At the same time he delivered him a letter, which my friend read to me as soon as the messenger left him : —
^'SiR Roger, —
*^I desire you to accept of a jack, which is the best I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with you a week, and see how the perch bite in the Black
* "Out of breath to no purpose, and very busy about nothing."
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Eiver. I observed with some concern, the last time I saw you upon the bowling-green, that your whip wanted a lash to it; I will bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last week, which I hope will serve you all the time you are in the country. I have not been out of the saddle for six days last past, having been at Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He takes to his learning hugely. '^I am, sir, your humble servant,
'Will Wimble."
This extraordinary letter and message that accompa- nied it made me very curious to know the character and quality of the gentleman who sent them, which I found to be as follows: Will Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and descended of the ancient family of the Wim- bles. He is now between forty and fifty, but, being bred to no business and bom to no estate, he generally lives with his elder brother as superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs better than any man in the country, and is very famous for finding out a hare. He is extremely well versed in all the little handicrafts of an idle man; he makes a may-fly to a miracle, and fur- nishes the whole country with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured, officious fellow, and very much esteemed upon account of his family, he is a welcome guest at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among all the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in his pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between a couple of friends that live perhaps in the op- posite sides of the county. Will is a particular favorite of all the young heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a net that he has weaved or a setting-dog that he has made himself. He now and then presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to their mothers or sisters, and raises a great deal of mirth among them by inquiring as often as he meets them, hour they wear. These gentleman-like manufactures and obliging little humors make Will the darling of the country.
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Sir Eoger was proceeding in the character of him, when he saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in his hand that he had cut in Sir Eoger's wood, as he came through them, in his way to the house. I was very much pleased to observe on one side the hearty and sincere welcome with which Sir Koger received him, and on the other, the secret joy which his guest discovered at sight of the good old knight. After the first salutes were over, Will desired Sir Eoger to lend him one of his servants to carry a set of shuttlecocks he had with him in a little box to a lady that lived about a mile off, to whom it seems he had promised such a present for above this half year. Sir Eoger's back was no sooner turned but honest Will began to tell me of a large cock-pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neighboring woods, with two or three other adventures of the same nature. Odd and uncom- mon characters are the game that I look for and most delight in; for which reason I was as much pleased with the novelty of the person that talked to me as he could be for his life with the springing of a pheasant, and there- fore listened to him with more than ordinary attention.
In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the pleasure of seeing the huge jack he had caught served up for the first dish in a most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting down to it he gave us a long account how he had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the bank, with several other particulars that lasted all the first course. A dish of wild-fowl that came afterward furnished conversation for the rest of the dinner, which concluded with a late invention of Will's for improving the quail-pipe.
Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was se- cretly touched with compassion toward the honest gen- tleman that had dined with us, and could not but con- sider, with a great deal of concern, how so good an heart and such busy hands were wholly employed in trifles ; that 80 much humanity should be so little beneficial to otherSi
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and so much industry so little advantageous to himself. The same temper of mind and application to affairs might have recommended him to the public esteem and have raised his fortune in another station of life. What good to his country or himself might not a trader or mer- chant have done with such useful though ordinary quali- fications ?
Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of a great family, who had rather see their children starve like gentlemen than thrive in a trade or profession that is beneath their quality. This humor fills several parts of Europe with pride and beggary. It is the hap- piness of a trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons, though incapable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed in such a way of life as may perhaps en- able them to vie with the best of their family. Accord- ingly, we find several citizens that were launched into the world with narrow fortunes, rising by an honest in- dustry to greater estates than those of their elder brothers. It is not improbable that Will was formerly tried at di- vinity, law, or physic ; and that, finding his genius did not lie that way, his parents gave him up at length to his own inventions. But certainly, however improper he might have been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly well turned for the occupations of trade and commerce. As I think this is a point which cannot be too much inculcated, I shall desire my reader to compare what I have here written, with what I have said in my twenty-first si)eculation. L.
[Spectator No. 109. Thursday, July 5, 1711. Steele.]
Abnormis sapiens.^
— ^Horace.
I was this morning walking in the gallery, when Sir Eoger entered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing
* "Of plain good sense, untutored in the schools."
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toward me, said he was glad to meet me among his rela- tions the de Coverleys, and hoped I liked the conversation of so much good company, who were as silent as myself. I know he alluded to the pictures; and, as he is a gen- tleman who does not a liftle value himself upon his an- cient descent, I expected he would give me some account of them. We were now arrived at the upper end of the gallery, when the knight faced toward one of the pictures and, as we stood before it, he entered into the matter, after his blunt way of saying things as they occur to his imagination, without regular introduction or care to pre- serve the appearance of chain of thought.
"It is," said he, "worth while to consider the force of dress, and how the persons of one age differ from those of another merely by that only. One may observe, also, that the general fashion of one age has been followed by one particular set of people in another, and by them preserved from one generation to another. Thus, the vast jetting coat and small bonnet, which was the habit in Harry the Seventh's time, is kept on in the yeomen of the guard; not without a good and politic view, because they look a foot taller and a foot and a half broader; besides that the cap leaves the face expanded, and conse- quently more terrible and fitter to stand at the entrance of palaces.
"This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after this manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than mine, were he in a hat as I am. He was the last man that won a prize in the Tilt Yard, which is now a common street before Whitehall. You see the broken lance that lies there by his right foot: he shivered that lance of his ad- versary all to pieces; and, bearing himself, look you, sir, in this manner, at the same time he came within the target of the gentleman who rode against him, and taking him with incredible force before him on the pommel of his saddle, he in that manner rid the tournament over, with an air that showed he did it rather to perform the rule of the lists than expose his enemy; however, it ap-
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peared he knew how to make use of a victory, and, with a gentle trot, he marched up to a gallery where their mis- tress sat, for they were rivals, and let him down with laudable courtesy and pardonable insolence. I don't know but it might be exactly where the coffee-house is now.
"You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a military genius but fit also for the arts of peace, for he played on the bass-viol as well as any gentleman at court ; you see where his viol hangs by his basket-hilt sword. The action of the Tilt Yard you may be sure won the fair lady, who was a maid of honor and the greatest beauty of her time; here she stands, the next picture. You see, sir, my great-great-great-grandmother has on the new-fashioned petticoat, except that the modern is gath- ered at the waist ; my grandmother appears as if she stood in a large drum, whereas the ladies now walk as if they were in a go-cart. For all this lady was bred at court, she became an excellent country wife; she brought ten children, and, when I show you the library, you shall see, in her own hand (allowing for the difference of the lan- guage), the best receipt now in England both for an hasty-pudding and a white-pot.
"If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis neces- sary to look at the three next pictures at one view, these are three sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very beautiful, died a maid; the next to her, still handsomer, had the same fate against her will; this homely thing in the middle had both their portions added to her own, and was stolen by a neighboring gentleman, a man of strata- gem and resolution, for he poisoned three mastiffs to come at her, and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying her off. Misfortunes happen in all families. The theft of this romp and so much money was no great matter to our estate. But the next heir that possessed it was this soft gentleman, whom you see there; observe the small buttons, the little boots, the laces, the slashes about his clothes, and above all, the posture he is drawn in (which to be sure was his own choosing) ; you see he sits with
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one hand on a desk, writing and looking as it were an- other way, like an easy writer or a sonneteer. He was one of those that had too much wit to know how to live in the world; he was a man of no justice but great good manners; he ruined everybody that had anything to do with him, but never said a rude thing in his life; the most indolent person in the world, he would sign a deed that passed away half his estate, with his gloves on, but would not put on his hat before a lady if it were to save his country. He is said to be the first that made love by squeezing the hand. He left the estate with ten thousand pounds' debt upon it; but, however, by all hands I have been informed that he was every way the finest gentleman in the world. That debt lay heavy on our house for one generation; but it was retrieved by a gift from that hon- est man you see there, a citizen of our name but noth- ing at all akin to us. I know Sir Andrew Ereeport has said behind my back that this man was descended from one of the ten children of the maid of honor I showed you above; but it was never made out. We winked at the thing, indeed, because money was wanting at that time.''
Here I saw my friend a little embarrassed, and turned my face to the next portraiture.
Sir Eoger went on with his account of the gallery in the following manner: "This man" (pointing to him I looked at) "I take to be the honor of our house, Sir Humphrey de Coverley; he was, in his dealings, as punc- tual as a tradesman and as generous as a gentleman. He would have thought himself as much undone by breaking his word as if it were to be followed by bankruptcy. He served his country as knight of this shire to his dying day. He found it no easy matter to maintain an integ- rity in his words and actions, even in things that re- garded the offices which were incumbent upon him, in the care of his own affairs and relations of life, and there- fore dreaded, though he had great talents, to go into em- ployments of state, where he must be exposed to the
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snares of ambition. Innocence of life and great ability were the distinguishing parts of his character; the latter, he had often observed, had led to the destruction of the former, and used frequently to lament that great and good had not the same signification. He was an excellent hus- bandman, but had resolved not to exceed such a degree of wealth; all above it he bestowed in secret bounties many years after the sum he aimed at for his own use was attained. Yet he did not slacken his industry, but to a decent old age spent the life and fortune which was superfluous to himself in the service of his friends and neighbors."
Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Roger ended the discourse of this gentleman by telling me, as we fol- lowed the servant, that this his ancestor was a brave man, and narrowly escaped being killed in the Civil Wars; '^for,^' said he, ^*he was sent out of the field upon a pri- vate message the day before the battle of Worcester."
The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within a day of danger, with other matters above mentioned, mixed with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was more delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity.
R.
[Spectator No. 110. Friday, July 6, 1711. Addison.]
Horror ubique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent.*
— ^Vebgil.
At a little distance from Sir Roger's house, among the ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms, which are shot up so very high that, when one passes under them, the rooks and crows that rest upon the tops of them seem to be cawing in another region. I am very much delighted with this sort of noise, which I consider as a kind of natural prayer to that Being who supplies the wants of His whole creation, and who, in the beauti-
* "All things are full of horror and affright,
And dreadful ev'n the silence of the night." — Drtdbn.
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f ul lan^age of the Psalms, f eedeth the young ravens that call upon Him. I like this retirement the better, be- cause of an ill report it lies under of being haunted; for which reason, as I have been told in the family, no living creature ever walks in it besides the chaplain. My good friend the butler desired me, with a very grave face, not to venture myself in it after sunset, for that one of the footmen had been almost frighted out of his wits by a spirit that appeared to him in the shape of a black horse without an head; to which he added, that about a month ago one of the maids coming home late that way, with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling among the bushes that she let it fall.
I was taking a walk in this place last night, between the hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to ap- pear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder- bushes, the harbors of several solitary birds, which seldom make their appearance till the dusk of the evening. The place was formerly a churchyard, and has still several marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is such an echo among the old ruins and vaults that, if you stamp but a little louder than ordinary, you hear the sound re- peated. At the same time the walk of elms, with the croaking of the ravens, which from time to time are heard from the tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and attention; and when night heightens the awfulness of the place and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds fill it with specters and apparitions.
Mr. Locke, in his chapter on the Association of Ideas, has very curious remarks to show how, by the prejudice of education, one idea often introduces into the mind a whole set that bear no resemblance to one another in the nature of things. Among several examples of this kind, he produces the following instance: "The ideas of gob-
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lins and sprites have really no more to do with dark- ness than light ; yet, let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on the mind of a child and raise them there together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he lives, but darkness shall ever afterward bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined that he can no more bear the one than the other."
As I was walking in the solitude, where the dusk of the evening conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagination that is apt to startle might easily have construed into a black horse without an head; and I dare say the poor footman lost his wits upon some such trivial occasion.
My friend Sir Roger has often told me, with a great deal of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate, he found three parts of his house altogether useless; that the best room in it had the reputation of being haunted, and by that means was locked up; that noises had been heard in his long gallery, so that he could not get a serv- ant to enter it after eight o'clock at night; that the door of one of his chambers was nailed up, because there went a story in the family that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it; and that his mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up half the rooms in the house, in which either her husband, a son, or daughter had died. The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a com- pass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apartments to be flung open and exorcised by his chaplain, who lay in every room one after another, and by that means dis- sipated the fears which had so long reigned in the family.
I should not have been thus particular upon these ridic- ulous horrors, did not I find them so very much prevail in all parts of the country. At the same time, I think a person who is thus terrified with the imagination of ghosts and specters much more reasonable than one who, contrary to the reports of all historians, sacred and pro-
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fane, ancient and modern, and to the traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance of spirits fabulous and groundless. Could not I give myself up to this general testimony of mankind, I should to the relations of par- ticular persons who are now living and whom I cannot distrust in other matters of fact. I might here add, that not only the historians, to whom we may join the poets, but likewise the philosophers of antiquity have favored this opinion. Lucretius himself, though by the course of his philosophy he was obliged to maintain that the soul did not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt of the reality of apparitions, and that men have often ap- peared after their death. This I think very remarkable; he was so pressed with the matter of fact which he could not have the confidence to deny, that he was forced to account for it by one of the most absurd unphilosophical notions that was ever started. He tells us that the sur- faces of all bodies are perpetually flying off from their respective bodies one after another, and that these sur- faces or thin cases that included each other, whilst they were joined in the body, like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when they are separated from it; by which means we often behold the shapes and shadows of persons who are either dead or absent.
I shall dismiss this paper with a story out of Josephus, not so much for the sake of the story itseK as for the moral reflections with which the author concludes it, and which I shall here set down in his own words : —
^'Glaphyra, the daughter of King Archelaus, after the death of her two first husbands (being married to a third, who was brother to her first husband, and so passionately in love with her that he turned off his former wife to make room for this marriage) had a very odd kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her first husband com- ing toward her, and that she embraced him with great tenderness; when in the midst of the pleasure which she expressed at the sight of him, he reproached her after the* following manner: —
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" ^Glaphyra/ says he, Hhou hast made good the old say- ing that women are not to be trusted. Was not I the husband of thy virginity? Have I not children by thee? How couldst thou forget our loves so far as to enter into a second marriage, and after that into a third ? . . . How- ever, for the sake of our past loves I shall free thee from thy present reproach, and make thee mine forever/
"Glaphyra told this dream to several women of her ac- quaintance, and died soon after.
"I thought this story might not be impertinent in this place wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the example deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a most certain proof of the immortality of the soul, and of divine providence. If any man thinks these facts in- credible, let him enjoy his own opinion to himself, but let him not endeavor to disturb the belief of others, who by instances of this nature are excited to the study of virtue." L.
[Spectator No. 112. Monday, July 9, 1711. Addison.]
*A$av6.T0vs nlv irpwra 0eovs, v6/Mi^ cbs dtdicctrai,
— ^Pythagoras.
I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one an- other upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week,
» "First in obedience to thy country's ritea Worship the immortal gods/*
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not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of re- ligion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon the 'Change, the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings.
My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing; he has likewise given a handsome pul- pit-cloth, and railed in the communion-table at his own expense. He has often told me that, at his coming to his estate, he found his parishioners very irregular; and that, in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a common- prayer-book, and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that pur- pose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms ; upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard.
As Sir Eoger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; for, if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recover- ing out of it he stands up and looks about him, and, if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions; sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the Sing- ing-Psalms half a minute after the rest of the congrega- tion have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces "Amen" three or four times to the same prayer; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing.
I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old
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friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not dis- turb the congregation. This John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very- good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behavior; besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his character makes his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities.
As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir Eoger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side, and every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church, — ^which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent.
The chaplain has often told me that, upon a catechizing day, when Sir Eoger had been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement, and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Eoger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; and, that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church service, has promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit.
The fair understanding between Sir Eoger and his chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable because the very next village is fa- mous for the differences and contentions that rise between the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is always preaching at the squire, and the squire, to be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The squire has made all his tenants atheists
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and tithe-stealers ; while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every sermon that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an extremity that the squire has not said his prayers either in public or private this half year; and that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation.
Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the coun- try, are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used to be dazzled with riches that they pay as much def- erence to the understanding of a man of an estate as of a man of learning; and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. L.
[Spectator No. 113. Tuesday, July 10, 1711. Steele.]
Haerent infixi pectore vultus.*
— ^Vebqil.
In my first description of the company in which I pass most of my time, it may be remembered that I men- tioned a great affliction which my friend Sir Eoger had met with in his youth: which was no less than a disap- pointment in love. It happened this evening that we fell into a very pleasing walk at a distance from his house. As soon as we came into it, "It is," quoth the good old man, looking round him with a smile, "very hard that any part of my land should be settled upon one who has used me so ill as the perverse widow did; and yet I am sure I could not see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees but I should reflect upon her and her sever- ity. She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world. You are to know this was the place wherein I used to muse upon her; and by that custom I can never
» "Her looks were deep Imprinted in his heart."
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come into it but the same tender sentiments revive in my mind, as if I had actually walked with that beautiful creature under these shades. I have been fool enough to carve her name on the bark of several of these trees; so unhappy is the condition of men in love to attempt the removing of their passion by the methods which serve pnly to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world.''
Here followed a profound silence; and I was not dis- pleased to observe my friend falling so naturally into a discourse which I had ever before taken notice he indus- triously avoided. After a very long pause he entered upon an account of this great circumstance in his life, with an air which I thought raised my idea of him above what I had ever had before; and gave me the picture of that cheerful mind of his before it received that stroke which has ever since affected his words and actions. But he went on as follows : —
"I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and resolved to follow the steps of the most worthy of my ancestors who have inhabited this spot of earth before me, in all the methods of hospitality and good neighborhood, for the sake of my fame, and in country sports and rec- reations, for the sake of my health. In my twenty-third year I was obliged to serve as sheriff of the county; and in my servants, officers, and whole equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man, who did not think ill of his own person, in taking that public occasion of showing my fig- ure and behavior to advantage. You may easily imagine to yourself what appearance I made, who am pretty tall, rid well, and was very well dressed, at the head of a whole county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and my horse well bitted. I can assure you I was not a little pleased with the kind looks and glances I had from all the balconies and windows, as I rode to the hall where the assizes were held. But when I came there, a beau- tiful creature in a widow's habit sat in court to hear the event of a cause concerning her dower. This commanding
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creature, who was born for destruction of all who behold her, put on such a resignation in her countenance, and bore the whispers of all around the court with such pretty uneasiness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself from one eye to another, till she was perfectly confused by meeting something so wistful in all she encountered, that at last, with a murrain to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met it but I bowed like a great surprised booby; and, knowing her cause to be the first which came on, I cried, like a captivated calf as I was, 'Make way for the defendant's witnesses.' This sud- den partiality made all the county immediately see the sheriff also was become a slave to the fine widow. Dur- ing the time her cause was upon trial, she behaved her- self, I warrant you, with such a deep attention to her business, took opportunities to have little billets handed to her counsel, then would be in such a pretty confusion, occasioned, you must know, by acting before so much com- pany, that not only I but the whole court was prejudiced in her favor; and all that the next heir to her husband had to urge was thought so groundless and frivolous that, when it came to her counsel to reply, there was not half so much said as every one besides in the court thought he could have urged to her advantage. You must under- stand, sir, this perverse woman is one of those unaccount- able creatures that secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge themselves in no further consequences. Hence it is that she has ever had a train of admirers, and she removes from her slaves in town to those in the coun- try according to the seasons of the year. She is a read- ing lady, and far gone in the pleasures of friendship; she is always accompanied by a confidante, who is witness to her daily protestations against our sex, and consequently a bar to her first steps toward love, upon the strength of her own maxims and declarations.
"However, I must needs say this accomplished mistress of mine has distinguished me above the rest, and has been known to declare Sir Roger de Coverley was the tamest
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and most human of all the brutes in the country. I was told she said so by one who thought he rallied me; but, upon the strength of this slender encouragement of being thought least detestable, I made new liveries, new-paired my coach-horses, sent them all to town to be bitted and taught to throw their legs well and move all together, be- fore I pretended to cross the country and wait upon her. As soon as I thought my retinue suitable to the charac- ter of my fortune and youth, I set out from hence to make my addressee. The particular skill of this lady has ever been to inflame your wishes and yet command re- specto To make her mistress of this art, she has a greater share of knowledge, wit, and good sense than is usual even among men of merit. Then she is beautiful be- yond the race of women. If you won't let her go on with a certain artifice with her eyes and the skiU of beauty, she will arm herself with her real charms, and strike you with admiration. It is certain that, if you were to be- hold the whole woman, there is that dignity in her as- pect, that composure in her motion, that complacency in her manner, that if her form makes you hope, her merit makes you fear. But then again, she is such a desperate scholar that no country gentleman can approach her with- out being a jest. As I was going to tell you, when I came to her house I was admitted to her presence with great civility; at the same time she placed herself to be first seen by me in such an attitude, as I think you call the posture of a picture, that she discovered new charms, and I at last came toward her with such an awe as made me speechless. This she no sooner observed but she made her advantage of it, and began a discourse to me con- cerning love and honor, as they both are followed by pre- tenders and the real votaries to them. When she had dis- cussed these points in a discourse which I verily believe was as learned as the best philosopher in Europe could possibly make, she asked me whether she was so happy as to fall in with my sentiments on these important par- ticulars. Her confidante sat by her, and, upon my being
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in the last confusion and silence, this malicious aid of hers, turning to her, says, ^I am very glad to observe Sir Roger pauses upon this subject, and seems resolved to de- liver all his sentiments upon the matter when he pleases to speak/ They both kept their countenances, and after I had sat half an hour meditating how to behave before such profound casuists, I rose up and took my leave. Chance has since that time thrown me very often in her way, and she as often has directed a discourse to me which I do not understand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance from the most beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus also she deals with all mankind, and you must make love to her, as you would conquer the Sphinx, by posing her. But were she like other women, and that there were any talking to her, how constant must the pleasure of that man be who could converse with a creature — But, after all, you may be sure her heart is fixed on some one or other; and yet I have been credibly informed — ^but who can believe half that is said? After she had done speaking to me, she put her hand to her bosom and adjusted her tucker. Then she cast her eyes a little down, upon my beholding her too earnestly. They say she sings excellently ; her voice in her ordinary speech has something in it inexpressibly sweet. You must know I dined with her at a public table the day after I first saw her, and she helped me to some tansy in the eye of all the gentlemen in the country: she has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world. I can assure you, sir, were you to behold her, you would be in the same condition; for as her speech is music, her form is angelic. But I find I grow irregular while I am talking of her; but indeed it would be stupidity to be unconcerned at such perfection. Oh, the excellent creature! she is as inimitable to all women as she is inaccessible to all men." I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led him toward the house, that we might be joined by some other company; and am convinced that the widow is the secret cause of all that inconsistency which appears in
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some parts of my friend's discourse; though he has so much command of himself as not directly to mention her, yet according to that passage of Martial, which one knows not how to render in English, ''Dvrni tacet hanc loquitur/^ I shall end this paper with that whole epigram, which rep- resents with much himior my honest friend's condition:
"Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil est nisi Naevia Rufo; Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur: Cenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit — ^una est Nsevia; si non sit Naevia, mustus erit. Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem, 'N'eevia lux,' inquit, T^aevia lumen, ave.' '*
"Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, Still he can nothing but of Naevia talk; Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, Still he must speak of Naevia, or be mute; He writ to his father, ending with this line,— 'I am, my lovely Naevia, ever thine.' " R.
[Spectator No. 114. Wednesday, July 11, 1711. Steele.]
— ^Paupertatis pudor et fuga— -.*
— ^Horace.
Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon our fortunes which good breeding has upon our conversations. There is a pretending behavior in both cases, which, in- stead of making men esteemed, renders them both miser- able and contemptible. We had yesterday at Sir Roger's a set of country gentlemen who dined with him ; and after dinner the glass was taken, by those who pleased, pretty plentifully. Among others, I observed a person of a tol- erable good aspect, who seemed to be more greedy of liquor than any of the company, and yet, methought, he did not taste it with delight. As he grew warm, he was suspicious of everything that was said; and as he ad-
* — "The dread of nothing more Than to be thought necessitous and poor."
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vanced toward being fuddled, his humor grew worse. At the same time his bitterness seemed to be rather an in- ward dissatisfaction in his own mind than any dislike he had taken at the company. Upon hearing his name, I knew him to be a gentleman of a considerable fortune in this county, but greatly in debt. What gives the un- happy man this peevishness of spirit is, that his estate is dipped, and is eating out with usury ; and yet he has not the heart to sell any part of it. His proud stomach, at the cost of restless nights, constant inquietudes, danger of affronts, and a thousand nameless inconveniences, pre- serves this canker in his fortune, rather than it shall be said he is a man of fewer hundreds a year than he has been commonly reputed. Thus he endures the t jrment of poverty, to avoid the name of being less rich. If you go to his house you see great plenty, but served in a manner that shows it is all unnatural, and that the master's mind is not at home. There is a certain waste and careless- ness in the air of everything, and the whole appears but a covered indigence, a magnificent poverty. That neat- ness and cheerfulness which attends the table of him who lives within compass, is wanting, and exchanged for a libertine way of service in all about him.
This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way of management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be who had but few men under his command, and should take the charge of an extent of country rather than of a small pass. To pay for, personate, and keep in a man's hands a greater estate than he really has, is of all others the most unpardonable vanity, and must in the end re- duce the man who is guilty of it to dishonor. Yet, if we look round us in any county of Great Britain, we shall see many in this fatal error— if that may be called by so soft a name which proceeds from a false shame of ap- pearing what they really are — ^when the contrary behavior would in a short time advance them to the condition which they pretend to.
Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds a year, which is
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mortgaged for six thousand pounds; but it is impossible to convince him that if he sold as much as would pay off that debt he would save four shillings in the pound, which he gives for the vanity of being the reputed master of it Yet, if Laertes did this, he would perhaps be easier in his own fortune; but then, Irus, a fellow of yesterday, who has but twelve hundred a year, would be his equaL Rather than this shall be, Laertes goes on to bring well« born beggars into the world, and every twelvemonth charges his estate with at least one year's rent more by the birth of a child.
Laertes and Irus are neighbors, whose way of living are an abomination to each other. Irus is moved by the fear of poverty, and Laertes by the shame of it. Though the motive of action is of so near affinity in both, and may be .resolved into this, "That to each of them poverty is the greatest of all evils,'' yet are their manners very widely different. Shame of poverty makes Laertes launch into unnecessary equipage, vain expense, and lavish en- tertainments; fear of poverty makes Irus allow himself only plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his own corn, attend his laborers, and be himself a laborer. Shame of poverty makes Laertes go every day a step nearer to it, and fear of poverty stirs up Irus to make every day some further progress from it.
These different motives produce the excesses which men are guilty of in the negligence of and provision for them- selves. Usury, stock-jobbing, extortion, and oppression have their seed in the dread of want; and vanity, riot, and prodigality, from the shame of it; but both these ex- cesses are infinitely below the pursuit of a reasonable creature. After we have taken care to command so much as is necessary for maintaining ourselves in the order of men suitable to our character, the care of superfluities is a vice no less extravagant than the neglect of necessaries would have been before.
Certain it is that they are both out of nature when she is followed with reason and good sense. It is from this
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reflection that I always read Mr. Cowley with the great- est pleasure. His magnanimity is as much above that of other considerable men as his understanding; and it is a true distinguishing spirit in the elegant author who published his works, to dwell so much upon the temper of his mind and the moderation of his desires. By this means he has rendered his friend as amiable as famous. That state of life which bears the face of poverty with Mr. Cowley's "great vulgar," is admirably described; and it is no small satisfaction to those of the same turn of desire, that he produces the authority of the wisest men of the best age of the world to strengthen his opinion of the ordinary pursuits of mankind.
It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life if, accord- ing to that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately mentioned, every man would point to himself what sum he would resolve not to exceed. He might by this means cheat him- self into a tranquillity on this side of that expectation, or convert what he should get above it to nobler uses than his own pleasures or necessities.
This temper of mind would exempt a man from an ig- norant envy of restless men above him, and a more inex- cusable contempt of happy men below him. This would be sailing by some compass, living with some design; but to be eternally bewildered in prospects of future gain, and putting on unnecessary armor against improbable blows of fortune, is a mechanic being which has not good sense for its direction, but is carried on by a sort of acquired instinct toward things below our consideration and unworthy our esteem.
It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at Sir Roger's may have created in me this way of thinking, which is so abstracted from the common relish of the world; but, as I am now in a pleasing arbor, surrounded with a beautiful landscape, I find no inclination so strong as to continue in these mansions, so remote from the os- tentatious scenes of life; and am, at this present writing, philosopher enough to conclude, with Mr. Cowley :
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"If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat, With any wish so mean as to be great, Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove The humble blessings of that life I love!" T.
[Spectator No. 115. Thursday, July 12, 1711. Addison.]
Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.*
— JUVEWAL.
Bodily labor is of two kinds: either that which a man submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes for his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes the name of labor for that of exercise, but differs only from ordinary labor as it rises from another motive.
A country life abounds in both these kinds of labor, and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any other way of life. I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands, or, to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one an- other after so wonderful a manner as to make a proper engine for the soul to work with, This description does not only comprehend the bones, tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and every ligature, which is a composition of fibers that are so many imperceptible tubes or pipes, interwoven on all sides with invisible glands or strainers.
This general idea of a human body, without considering it in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely necessary labor is for the right preservation of it. There must be frequent motions and agitations, to mix, digest, and separate the juices contained in it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers of which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and lasting tone. Labor or exercise ferments the humors, casts them into their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret distri-
' "Pray for a sound mind in a sound body."
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butions without which the body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheerfulness.
I might here mention the effects which this has upon all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understand- ing clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining those spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our intellectual faculties, during the present laws of union between soul and body. It is to a neglect in this par- ticular that we must ascribe the spleen which is so fre- quent in men of studious and sedentary tempers, as well as the vapors to which those of the other sex are so often subject.
Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well- being, nature would not have made the body so proper for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs and such a pliancy to every part as necessarily produce those com- pressionSp extensions, contortions, dilatations, and all other kinds of motions that are necessary for the pres- ervation of such a system of tubes and glands as has been before mentioned. And that we might not want induce- ments to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is proper for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing valu- able can be procured without it. Not to mention riches and honor, even food and raiment are not to be come at without the toil of the hands and sweat of the brows. Providence furnishes materials, but expects that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must be la- bored befo.re it gives its increase; and when it is forced into its several products, how many hands must they pass through before they are fit for use! Manufactures, trade, and agriculture naturally employ more than nineteen parts of the species in twenty; and as for those who are not obliged to labor, by the condition in which they are born, they are more miserable than the rest of mankind unless they indulge themselves in that voluntary labor which goes by the name of exercise.
My friend Sir Eoger has been an indefatigable man in business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his
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house with the trophies of his former labors. The walls of his great hall are covered with the horns of several kinds of deer that he has killed in the chase, which he thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they afford him frequent topics of discourse, and show that he has not been idle. At the lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the knight looks upon with great satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years old when his dog killed himo A little room ad- joining to the hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes and inventions, with which the knight has made great havoc in the woods, and destroyed many thousands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His stable doors are patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the nighf s own hunting dowHo Sir Roger showed me one of them that for distinction sake has a brass nail struck through it, which cost him fifteen hours' riding, carried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost above half his dogSo This the knight looks upon as one of the greatest exploits of his life. The perverse widow, whom I have given some ac- count of, was the death of several foxes; for Sir Eoger has told me that in the course of his amours he patched the western door of his stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, the foxes were sure to pay for it. In proportion as his passion for the widow abated, and old age came on, he left off fox-hunting; but a hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house.
There is no kind of exercise which I would so recom- mend to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is none which so much conduces to health, and is every way accommodated to the body, according to the idea which I have given of it. Dr. Sydenham is very lav- ish in its praises; and if the English reader will see the mechanical effects of it described at length, he may find them in a book published not many years since, under the title of the Medicina Gymnastica,
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Eor my own part, wlien I am in town, for want of these opportunities, I exercise myself an hour every morning upon a dumb bell that is placed in a comer of my room, and pleases me the more because it does everything I re- quire of it in the most profound silence. My landlady and her daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of exercise that they never come into my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing.
When I was some years younger than I am at present, I used to employ myseK in a more laborious diversion, which I learned from a Latin treatise of exercises that is written with great erudition. It is there called the cKLOfjtaxiay or the fighting with a man's own shadow, and consists in the brandishing of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaded with plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, exercises the limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure of boxing, without the blows. I could wish tEat several learned men would lay out that time which they employ in controversies and disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as well as to themselves.
To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I consider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties, and I think I have not fulfilled the business of the day when I do not thus employ the one in labor and exer- cise, as well as the other in study and contemplation.
L.
[Spectator No. 116. FRroAY, July 13, 1711. Addison.]
^Vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron,
Taygetique canes .*
— Vkbgil.
Those who have searched into human nature, observe that nothing so much shows the nobleness of the soul as
i««The echoing hills and chiding hounds invite."
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that its felicity consists in action. Every man has such an active principle in him that he will find out something to employ himself upon, in whatever place or state of life he is posted. I have heard of a gentleman who was under close confinement in the Bastile seven years ; during which time he amused himself in scattering a few small pins about his chamber, gathering them up again, and plac- ing them in different figures on the arm of a great chair. He often told his friends afterward, that unless he had found out this piece of exercise, he verily believed he should have lost his senses.
After what has been said, I need not inform my readers that Sir Eoger, with whose character I hope they are at present pretty well acquainted, has in his youth gone through the whole course of those rural diversions which the country abounds in, and which seem to be extremely well suited to that laborious industry a man may ob- serve here in a far greater degree than in towns and cities. I have before hinted at some of my friend's ex- ploits: he has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of partridges in a season, and tired many a salmon with a line consisting but of a single hair. The constant thanks and good wishes of the neighborhood always at- tended him on account of his remarkable enmity toward foxes, having destroyed more of those vermin in one year than it was thought the whole country could have pro- duced. Indeed, the knight does not scruple to own, among his most intimate friends, that in order to estab- lish his reputation this way, he has secretly sent for great numbers of them out of other counties, which he used to turn loose about the country at night, that he might the better signalize himself in their destruction the next day. His hunting horses were the finest and best man- aged in all these parts: his tenants are still full of the praises of a gray stone-horse that unhappily staked him- self several years since, and was buried with great so- lemnity in the orchard.
Sir Roger, being at present too old for fox-hunting,
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to keep himself in action has disposed of his beagles and got a pack of stop-hounds. What these want in speed he endeavors to make amends for by the deepness of their mouths and the variety of their notes, which are suited in such manner to each other that the whole cry makes up a complete concert. He is so nice in this particular that a gentleman having made him a present of a very fine hound the other day, the knight returned it by the servant with a great many expressions of civility, but de- sired him to tell his master that the dog he had sent was indeed a most excellent bass, but that at present he only wanted a counter-tenor. Could I believe my friend had ever read Shakespeare, I should certainly conclude he had taken the hint from Theseus, in the Midsummer Night's Dream:
'^My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flewed, so sanded, and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew: Crook-kneed and dew-lapped like Thessalian bulls; Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouths, like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never hollaed to, nor cheered with horn."
Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been out almost every day since I came down; and upon the chap- lain's offering to lend me his easy pad, I was prevailed on yesterday morning to make one of the company. I was extremely pleased, as we rid along, to observe the general benevolence of all the neighborhood toward my friend. The farmers' sons thought themselves happy if they could open a gate for the good old knight as he passed by ; which he generally requited with a nod or a smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles.
After we had rid about a mile from home, we came upon a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. They had done so for some time, when, as I was at a little distance from the rest of the company, I saw a hare pop out from a small furze-brake almost under my horse's
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feet. I marked the way she took, which I endeavored to make the company sensible of by extending my arm; but to no purpose, till Sir Eoger, who knows that none of my extraordinary motions are insignificant, rode up to me, and asked me if puss was gone that way. Upon my an- swering "Yes,'' he immediately called in the dogs and put them upon the scent. As they were going off, I heard one of the country fellows muttering to his companion that 'twas a wonder they had not lost all their sport, for want of the silent gentleman's crying "Stole away!"
This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me withdraw to a rising ground, from whence I could have the picture of the whole chase, without the fatigue of keeping in with the hounds. The hare immediately threw them above a mile behind her; but I was pleased to find that instead of running straight forward, or, in hunter's language, "flying the country," as I was afraid she might have done, she wheeled about, and described a sort of cir- cle round the hill where I had taken my station, in such manner as gave me a very distinct view of the sport. I could see her first pass by, and the dogs some time after- ward unraveling the whole track she had made, and fol- lowing her through all her doubles. I was at the same time delighted in observing that deference which the rest of the pack paid to each particular hound, accord- ing to the character he had acquired amongst them: if they were at fault, and an old hound of reputation opened but once, he was immediately followed by the whole cry; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted liar, might have yelped his heart out, without being taken notice of.
The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, and been put up again as often, came still nearer to the place where she was at first started. The dogs pursued her, and these were followed by the jolly knight, who rode upon a white gelding, encompassed by his tenants and servants, and cheering his hounds with all the gaiety of five-and-twenty. One of the sportsmen rode up to me, and told me that he was sure the chase was almost at an
208 ADDISON AND STEELE
end, because the old dogs, which had hitherto lain behind, now headed the pack. The fellow was in the right. Our hare took a large field just under us, followed by the full cry ^^in view.'' I must confess the brightness of the weather, the cheerfulness of everything around me, the chiding of the hounds, which was returned upon us in a double echo from two neighboring hills, with the hol- lowing of the sportsmen, and the sounding of the horn, lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure, which I freely indulged because I was sure it was innocent. If I was under any concern, it was on the account of the poor hare, that was now quite spent, and almost within reach of her enemies; when the huntsman, getting forward, threw down his pole before the dogs. They were now within eight yards of that game which they had been pursuing for almost as many hours; yet, on the signal before men- tioned, they all made a sudden stand, and though they continued opening as much as before, durst not once at- tempt to pass beyond the pole. At the same time Sir Koger rode forward, and, alighting, took up the hare in Hs arms, which he soon delivered up to one of his serv- ants with an order, if she could be kept alive, to let her go in his great orchard, where it seems he has several of these prisoners of war, who live together in a very com- fortable captivity. I was highly pleased to see the dis- cipline of the pack, and the good-nature of the knight, who could not find in his heart to murder a creature that had given him so much diversion.
As we were returning home I remembered that Mon- sieur Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on the '^Mis- ery of Man," tells us that all our endeavors after great- ness proceed from nothing but a desire of being sur- rounded by a multitude of persons and affairs that may hinder us from looking into ourselves, which is a view we cannot bear. He afterward goes on to show that our love of sports comes from the same reason, and is par- ticularly severe upon hunting. "What,'' says he, "unless it be to drown thought, ^an make men throw away so
ADDISON AND STEELE 209
much time and pains upon a silly animal, which they might buy cheaper in the market?" The foregoing re- flection is certainly just when a man suffers his whole mind to be drawn into his sports, and altogether loses himself in the woods; but does not affect those who pro- pose a far more laudable end from this exercise, — I mean, the preservation of health, and keeping all the organs of the soul in a condition to execute her orders. Had that incomparable person, whom I last quoted, been a little more indulgent to himself on this point, the world might probably have enjoyed him much longer; whereas through too great an application to his studies in his youth, he contracted that ill habit of body which, after a tedious sickness, carried him off in the fortieth year of his age; and the whole history we have of his life till that time, is but one continued account of the behavior of a noble soul struggling under innumerable pains and distempers.
For my own part, I intend to hunt twice a week dur- ing my stay with Sir Eoger; and shall prescribe the mod- erate use of this exercise to all my country friends, as the best kind of physic for mending a bad constitution and preserving a good one.
I cannot do this better than in the following lines out of Mr. Dry den:
"The first physicians by debauch were made; Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food; Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood; But we their sons, a pampered race of men, Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. Better to hunt in fields for health unbought Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. The wise for cure on exercise depend: God never made his work for man to mend." X»
210 ADDISON AND STEELE
[Spectator No. 117. Saturday, July 14, 1711. Addison.]
Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt.*
— ^Veegil.
There are some opinions in which a man should stand neuter, without engaging his assent to one side or the other. Such a hovering faith as this, which refuses to settle upon any determination, is absolutely necessary to a mind that is careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. When the arguments press equally on both sides in mat- ters that are indifferent to us, the safest method is to give up ourselves to neither.
It is with this temper of mind that I consider the sub- ject of witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made from all parts of the world, not only from Norway and Lapland, from the East and West Indies, but from every particular nation in Europe, I cannot forbear think- ing that there is such an intercourse and commerce with evil spirits as that which we express by the name of witch- craft. But when I consider that the ignorant and credu- lous parts of the world abound most in these relations, and that the persons among us who are supposed to engage in such an infernal commerce are people of a weak understanding and a crazed imagination, and at the same time reflect upon the many impostures and delusions of this nature that have been detected in all ages, I endeavor to suspend my belief till I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet come to my knowledge. In short, when I consider the question whether there are such per- sons in the world as those we call witches, my mind is divided between the two opposite opinions; or rather (to speak my thoughts freely), I believe in general that there is, and has been, such a thing as witchcraft; but at the same time can give no credit to any particular instance
of it.
' — -i— — ^^^
^ "With voluntary dreams they cheat their minds."
ADDISON AND STEELE 211
I airi engaged in this speculation by some occurrences that I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader an account of at large. As I was walking with my friend Sir Eoger by the side of one of his woods, an old woman applied herself to me for my charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind of the following description in Otway :
•*In a close lane as I pursued my journey, I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red; Cold palsy shook her head; her hands seemed withered; And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped The tattered remnants of an old striped hanging. Which served to keep her carcase from the cold: So there was nothing of a piece about her. Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched With different colored rags — ^black, red, white, yellow — And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness."
As I was musing on this description, and comparing it with the object before me, the knight told me that this very old woman had the reputation of a witch all over the country, that her lips were observed to be always in motion, and that there was not a switch about her house which her neighbors did not believe had carried her several hundreds of miles. If she chanced to stumble, they always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure of a cross before her. If she made any mistake at church, and cried "Amen" in a wrong place, they never failed to conclude that she was saying her prayers backward. There was not a maid in the parish that would take a pin of her, though she would offer a bag of money with it. She goes by the name of Moll White, and has made the country ring with several imaginary exploits which are palmed upon her. If the dairy-maid does not make her butter come so soon as she should have it, Moll White is at the bottom of the chum. If a horse sweats
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in the stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If a hare makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, the huntsman curses Moll White. "Nay," says Sir Roger, 'T. have known the master of the pack, upon such an occa- sion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White had been out that morning."
This account raised my curiosity so far that I begged my friend Sir Eoger to go with me into her hovel, which stood in a solitary corner under the side of the wood. Upon our first entering, Sir Roger winked to me, and pointed at something that stood behind the door, which, upon looking that way, I found to be an old broomstaff. At the same time he whispered me in the ear to take no- tice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney-comer, which, as the old knight told me, lay under as bad a report as Moll White herself; for besides that Moll is said often to accompany her in the same shape, the cat is reported to have spoken twice or thrice in her life, and to have played several pranks above the capacity of an ordinary eat.
I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so much wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not forbear smiling to hear Sir Koger, who is a little puzzled about the old woman, advising her, as a justice of peace, to avoid all communication with the devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbor's cattle. We concluded our visit with a bounty, which was very ac- ceptable.
In our return home. Sir Eoger told me that old Moll had been often brought before him for making children spit pins, and giving maids the nightmare; and that the country people would be tossing her into a pond and try- ing experiments with her every day, if it was not for him and his chaplain.
I have since found, upon inquiry, that Sir Koger was several times staggered with the reports that had been brought him concerning this old woman, and would fre- quently have bound her over to the county sessions had
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not his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the contrary.
I have been the more particular in this account be- cause I hear there is scarce a village in England that has not a Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with ex- travagant fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In the meantime the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils begins to be frighted at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerce and familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This frequently cuts off charity from the great- est objects of compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence toward those poor, decrepit parts of our species in whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage. L.
[Spectator No. 118. Monday, July 16, 1711. Steele.]
Haeret lateri lethalis arundo.^
— ^Vergil.
This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many pleas- ing walks which are struck out of a wood in the midst of which the house stands, that one can hardly ever be weary of rambling from one labyrinth of delight to an- other. To one used to live in a city, the charms of the country are so exquisite that the mind is lost in a certain transport which raises us above ordinary life, and is yet not strong enough to be inconsistent with tranquillity. This state of mind was I in, ravished with the murmur of waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; and whether I looked up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned to the prospects around me, still struck with new sense of pleasure; when I found by the voice of my friend, who walked by me, that we had insensibly strolled
^ "The fatal dart Sticks in his side, and rankles in his heart." — Drydbn.
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into the grove sacred to the widow. "This woman," says he, "is of all others the most unintelligible; she either designs to marry, or she does not. What is the most perplexing of all is, that she doth not either say to her lovers she has any resolution against that condition of life in general, or that she banishes them; but, conscious of her own merit, she permits their addresses without fear of any ill consequence, or want of respect, from their rage or despair. She has that in her aspect against which it is impossible to offend. A man whose thoughts are constantly bent upon so agreeable an object must be excused if the ordinary occurrences in conversation are below his attention. I call her, indeed, perverse, but, alas I why do I call her so? Because her superior merit is such that I cannot approach her without awe, that my heart is checked by too much esteem ; I am angry that her charms are not more accessible, that I am more inclined to worship than salute her; how often have I wished her unhappy that I might have an opportunity of serving her ? and how often troubled in that very imagination, at giving her the pain of being obliged? Well, I have led a miserable life in secret upon her account; but fancy she would have condescended to have some regard for me if it had not been for that watchful animal, her confidante.
"Of all persons under the sun," continued he, calling me by my name, "be sure to set a mark upon confidantes ; they are of all people the most impertinent. What is most pleasant to observe in them is that they assume to themselves the merit of the persons whom they have in their custody. Orestilla is a great fortune, and in won- derful danger of surprises, therefore full of suspicions of the least indifferent thing, particularly careful of new ac- quaintance, and of growing too familiar with the old. Themista, her favorite woman, is every whit as careful of whom she speaks to and what she says. Let the ward be a beauty, her confidante shall treat you with an air of distance; let her be a fortune, and she assumes the suspi-
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cious behavior of her friend and patroness. Thus it is that very many of our unmarried women of distinction are to all intents and purposes married, except the consideration of different sexes. They are directly under the conduct of their whisperer, and think they are in a state of freedom while they can prate with one of these attendants of all men in general and still avoid the man they most like. You do not see one heiress in a hundred whose fate does not turn upon this circumstance of choos- ing a confidante. Thus it is that the lady is addressed to, presented, and flattered, only by proxy, in her woman.
In my case, how is it possible that "
Sir Roger was proceeding in his harangue, when we heard the voice of one speaking very importunately, and repeating these words, "What, not one smile?'' We fol- lowed the sound till we came to a close thicket, on the other side of which we saw a young woman sitting as it were in a personated suUenness just over a transparent fountain. Opposite to her stood Mr. William, Sir Roger's master of the game. The knight whispered me, "Hist, these are lovers." The huntsman, looking earnestly at the shadow of the young maiden in the stream : "O thou dear picture, if thou couldst remain there in the absence of that fair creature, whom you represent in the water, how willingly could I stand here satisfied forever, without troubling my deaj* Betty herself with any mention of her unfortunate William, whom she is angry with; but alas I' when she pleases to be gone, thou wilt also vanish — yet let me talk to thee while thou dost stay. Tell my dearest Betty thou dost not more depend upon her than does her William; her absence will make away with me as well as thee. If she offers to remove thee, I'll jump into these waves to lay hold on thee; herself, her own dear person, I must never embrace again. Still do you hear me with- out one smile? — it is too much to bear." He had no sooner spoke these words but he made an offer of throwing himself into the water; at which his mistress started up, and at the next instant he jumped across the fountain
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and met her in an embrace. She, half recovering from her fright, said in the most charming voice imaginable, and with a tone of complaint, "I thought how well you would drown yourself. No, no, you won't drown your- self till you have taken your leave of Susan HoUiday ." The huntsman, with a tenderness that spoke of the most passionate love, and with his cheek close to hers, whis- pered the softest vows of fidelity in her ear, and cried, "Don't, my dear, believe a word Kate Willow says ; she is spiteful and makes stories, because she loves to hear me talk to herself for your sake."
"Look you there," quoth Sir Eoger, "do you see there, all mischief comes from confidantes! But let us not in- terrupt them; the maid is honest, and the man dares not be otherwise, for he knows Iloved her father; I will interpose in this matter, and hasten the wedding. Kate Willow is a witty, mischievous wench in the neighborhood, who was a beauty; and makes me hope I shall see the perverse widow in her condition. She was so flippant with her answers to all the honest fellows that came near her, and so very vain of her beauty, that she has valued herself upon her charms till they are ceased. She there- fore now makes it her business to prevent other young women from being more discreet than she was herself; however, the saucy thing said the other day well enough, ^Sir Roger and I must make a match, for we are both despised by those we loved.' The hussy has a great deal of power wherever she comes, and has her share of cun- ning.
"However, when I reflect upon this woman, I do not know whether in the main I am the worse for having loved her ; whenever she is recalled to my imagination my youth returns, and I feel a forgotten warmth in my veins. This affliction in my life has streaked all my conduct with a softness of which I should otherwise have been incapable. It is, perhaps, to this dear image in my heart owing, that I am apt to relent, that I easily forgive, and that many de- sirable things are grown into my temper which I should
ADDISON AND STEELE 217
not have arrived at by better motives than the thought of being one day hers. I am pretty well satisfied such a passion as I have had is never well cured; and between you and me, I am often apt to imagine it has had some whimsical effect upon my brain. For I frequently find that in my most serious discourse I let fall some comical familiarity of speech or odd phrase that makes the com- pany laugh; however, I cannot but allow she is a most excellent woman. When she is in the country, I warrant she does not run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of plants ; but has a glass hive, and comes into the garden out of books to see them work, and observe the policies of their commonwealth. She understands everything. I'd give ten pounds to hear her argue with my friend Sir Andrew Freeport about trade. No, no; for all she looks so innocent, as it were, take my word for it she is no fool." T.
[Spectator No. 119. Tuesday, July 1Y, lYll. Addison.]
Urbem quam dicunt Romam, Meliboee, putavi
Stultus ego huic nostrae similem .^
— Vergil.
The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a man who changes the city for the country, are upon the different manners of the people whom he meets with in those two different scenes of life. By manners I do not mean morals, but behavior and good breeding as they show themselves in the town and in the country.
And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great revolution that has happened in this article of good breeding. Several obliging deferences, condescensions, and submissions, with many outward forms and cere- monies that accompany them, were first of all brought up
1 "The city men caU Rome, unskilful clown, I thought resembled this our humble town."
— Wabton.
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among the politer part of mankind, who lived in courts and cities, and distinguished themselves from the rustic part of the species, who on all occasions acted bluntly and naturally, by such a mutual complaisance and inter- course of civilities. These forms of conversation by de- grees multiplied and grew troublesome; the modish world found too great a constraint in them, and have therefore thrown most of them aside. Conversation was so encum- bered with show and ceremony that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its superfluities and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty. At present, therefore, an unconstrained carriage and a certain openness of behavior are the height of good breeding. The fashion- able world is grown free and easy; our manners sit more loose upon us. Nothing is so modish as an agreeable negligence. In a word, good breeding shows itself most where, to an ordinary eye, it appears the least.
If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, we find in them the manners of the last age. They have no sooner fetched themselves up to the fashion of the polite world but the town has dropped them, and are nearer to the first state of nature than to those re- finements which formerly reigned in the court and still prevail in the country. One may now know a man that never conversed in the world by his excess of good breed- ing. A polite country squire shall make you as many bows in half an hour as would serve a courtier for a week. There is infinitely more to do about place and precedency in a meeting of justices' wives than in an assembly of duchesses.
This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of my temper, who generally take the chair that is next me, and walk first or last, in the front or in the rear, as chance directs. I have known my friend Sir Roger's din- ner almost cold before the company could adjust the cere- monial, and be prevailed upon to sit down; and have heartily pitied my old friend, when I have seen him forced to pick and cull his guests as they sat at the several parts
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of his table, that he might drink their healths according to their respective ranks and qualities. Honest Will Wimble, who I should have thought had been altogether uninfected with ceremony, gives me abundance of trouble in this particular. Though he has been fishing all the morning, he will not help himself at dinner till I am served. When we are going out of the hall, he runs behind me; and last night, as we were walking in the fields, stopped short at a stile till I came up to it, and upon making signs to him to get over, told me, with a serious smile that, sure, I believed they had no manners in the country.
There has happened another revolution in the point of good breeding, which related to the conversation among men of mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extraordinary. It was certainly one of the first distinc- tions of a well-bred man to express everything that had the most remote appearance of being obscene in modest terms and distant phrases; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of conception and expression, clothed his ideas in those plain, homely terms that are the most obvious and natural. This kind of good manners was perhaps carried to an excess, so as to make conversation too stiff, formal, and precise; for which reason, as hy- pocrisy in one age is generally succeeded by atheism in another, conversation is in a great measure relapsed into the first extreme; so that at present several of our men of the town, and particularly those who have been polished in France, make use of the most coarse, uncivilized words in our language, and utter themselves often in such a manner as a clown would blush to hear.
This infamous piece of good breeding which reigns among the coxcombs of the town has not yet made its way into the country; and as it is impossible for such an irrational way of conversation to last long among a people that make any profession of religion or show of modesty, if the country gentlemen get into it they will certainly be left in the lurch. Their good breeding will
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come too late to them, and they will be thought a parcel of lewd clowns, while they fancy themselves talking to- gether like men of wit and pleasure.
As the two points of good breeding which I have hither- to insisted upon regard behavior and conversation, there is a third which turns upon dress. In this, too, the coun- try are very much behindhand. The rural beaus are not yet got out of the fashion that took place at the time of the Revolution, but ride about the country in red coats and laced hats, while the women in many parts are still trying to outvie one another in the height of their head- dresses.
But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western circuit, having promised to give me an account of the several modes and fashions that prevail in the different parts of the nation through which he passes, I shall defer the enlarging upon this last topic till I have received a letter from him, which I expect every post. L.
[Spectator No. 120. Wednesday, July 18, 1711. Addison.]
Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis
Ingenium .^
— Veegil.
My friend Sir Roger is very often merry with me upon my passing so much of my time among his poultry. He has caught me twice or thrice looking after a bird's nest, and several times sitting an hour or two together near an hen and chickens. He tells me he believes I am per- sonally acquainted with every fowl about his house; calls such a particular cock my favorite, and frequently com- plains that his ducks and geese have more of my company than himself.
I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those speculations of nature which are to be made in a country
* " 1 deem their breasts inspired
With a divine sagacity."
ADDISON AND STEELE 221
life; and as my reading has very much lain among books of natural history, I cannot forbear recollecting upon this occasion the several remarks which I have met with in authors, and comparing them with what falls under my own observation, — the arguments for Providence drawn from the natural history of animals being, in my opinion, demonstrative.
The make of every kind of animal is different from that of every other kind; and yet there is not the least turn in the muscles or twist in the fibers of any one, which does not render them more proper for that particular animal's way of life than any other cast or texture of them would have been. . . .
It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that descend from the parent to the young, so far as is absolutely necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some creatures cast their eggs as chance directs them, and think of them no farther, as insects and several kinds of fish; others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to deposit them in, and there leave them, as the serpent, the crocodile, and ostrich; others hatch their eggs and tend the birth till it is able to shift for itseK.
What can we call the principle which directs every different kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of its nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the same model? It cannot be imitation; for though you hatch a crow under a hen, and never let it see any of the works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying of a stick, with all the other nests of the same species. It cannot be reason ; for were animals indued with it to as great a degree as man, their buildings would be as different as ours, according to the different conveniences that they would propose to themselves.
Is it not remarkable that the same temper of weather which raises this genial warmth in animals, should cover the trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security and concealment, and produce such infinite
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swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of their respective broods?
Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should be so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer than is necessary for the preservation of the young ? . . . For so soon as the wants of the latter cease, the mother withdraws her fondness, and leaves them to pro- vide for themselves; and what is a very remarkable cir- cumstance in this part of instinct, we find that the love of the parent may be lengthened out beyond its usual time, if the preservation of the species requires it: as we may see in birds that drive away their young as soon as they are able to get their livelihood, but continue to feed them if they are tied to the nest, or confined within a cage, or by any other means appear to be out of a condi- tion of supplying their own necessities. . . . This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend from the young to the parent, which is not at all necessary for the con- tinuance of the species : nor indeed in reasonable creatures does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads itself down- wards; for in all family affection we find protection granted and favors bestowed are greater motives to love and tenderness than safety, benefits, or life received.
One would wonder to hear skeptical men disputing for the reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride and prejudices that will not allow them the use of that faculty.
Keason shows itself in all occurrences of life; whereas the brute makes no discovery of such a talent but in what immediately regards his own preservation or the continu- ance of his species.
Animals in their generation are wiser than the sons of men, but their wisdom is confined to a few particulars, and lies in a very narrow compass. Take a brute out of his instinct, and you find him wholly deprived of under- standing. To use an instance that comes often under observation :
With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest
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in places unfrequented and free from noise and disturb- ance 1 When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can cover them, what care does she take in turning them frequently, that all parts may partake of the vital warmth ! When she leaves them, to provide for her neces- sary sustenance, how punctually does she return before they have time to cool and become incapable of producing an animal! In the summer you see her giving herself greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above two hours together ; but in winter, when the rigor of the season would chill the principles of life, and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous in her attendance, and stays away but half the time. When the birth approaches, with how much nicety and attention does she help the chick to break its prison! not to take notice of her cover- ing it from the injuries of the weather, providing it proper nourishment, and teaching it to help itself; nor to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its appearance. A chemical operation could not be followed with greater art or diligence than is seen in the hatching of a chick; though there are many other birds that show an infinitely greater sagacity in all the forementioned particulars.
But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming ingenuity, which is indeed absolutely necessary for the propagation of the species, considered in other respects, is without the least glimmerings of thought or common- sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same manner; she is insensible of any increase or diminution in the number of those she lays; she does not distinguish between her own and those of another species; and when the birth appears of never so different a bird will cherish it for her own. In all these circumstances which do not carry an immediate regard to the subsistence of herself or her species, she is a very idiot.
There is not, in my opinion, anything more mysterious in nature than this instinct in animals, which thus
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rises above reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by any properties in matter, and at the same time works after so odd a manner that one cannot think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my own part, I look upon it as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor from any laws of mechanism, but, according to the best notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate im- pression from the first Mover and the Divine Energy act- ing in the creatures. L.
[Spectator No. 122. Fmday, July 20, 1711. Addison.]
Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est.* — PuBLius Sybus.
A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart; his next, to escape the censures of the world. If the last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely neglected; but otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction to an honest mind than to see those approbations which it gives itself seconded by the ap- plauses of the public. A man is more sure of his con- duct when the verdict which he passes upon his own behavior is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of all that know him.
My worthy friend Sir Eoger is one of those who is not only at peace within himself but beloved and esteemed by all about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal benevolence to mankind in the returns of affec- tion and good-will which are paid him by every one that lives within his neighborhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that general respect which is shown to the good old knight. He would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the county assizes. As we were upon the road. Will Wimble joined a couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them
* "An agreeable companion on the road is as good as a coach."
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for some time, during which my friend Sir Eoger ac- quainted me with their characters.
"The first of them," says he, "that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man. He is just within the Game Act, and qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant. He knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a week; and by that means lives much cheaper than those who have not so good an estate as himself. He would be a good neigh- bor if he did not destroy so many partridges; in short he is a very sensible man, shoots flying, and has been sev- eral times foreman of the petty- jury.
"The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a fellow famous for taking the law of everybody. There is not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued for a quarter-sessions. The rogue had once the impudence to go to law with the widow. His head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments; he plagued a couple of honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, till he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecution. His father left him fourscore poimds a year, but he has cast and been cast so often that he is not now worth thirty. I suppose he is going upon the old business of the willow tree."
As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped short till we came up to them. After having paid their respects to Sir Roger, Will told him that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose between them. Will, it seems, had been giving his fellow- traveler an account of his angling one day in such a hole ; when Tom Touchy, instead of hearing out his story, told him that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, might take the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend Sir Roger heard them both, upon a round trot; and, after having paused some time, told them, with the air of a man who would not give Bis judgment rashly, that much might he said on both sides. Th^ were neither
226 ADDISON AND STEELE
of them dissatisfied with the knight's determination, be- cause neither of them found himself in the wrong by it. Upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes.
The court was sat before Sir Roger came; but not- withstanding all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, they made room for the old knight at the head of them ; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion to whisper in the judge's ear that he was glad his lordship had met with so much good weather in his cir- cuit. I was listening to the proceeding of the court with much attention, and infinitely pleased with that great appearance and solemnity which so properly accompanies such a public administration of our laws, when, after about an hour's sitting, I observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, that my friend Sir Roger was getting up to speak. I was in some pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or three sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity.
Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a gen- eral whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger was up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose that I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it; and I believe was not so much designed by the knight himself to inform the court, as to give him a figure in niy eye, and keep up his credit in the country.
I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend, and striving who should compliment him most; at the same time that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little admiring his courage that was not afraid to speak to the judge.
In our return home we met with a very odd accident, which I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how desirous all who know Sir Roger are of giving him marks of their esteem. When we were arrived upon the verge of his estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses. The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly a servant in the knight's family; and, to
ADDISON AND STEELE 227
do honor to his old master, had some time since, unknown to Sir Roger, put him up in a sign-post before the door; so that the knight's head had hung out upon the road about a week before he himself knew anything of the matter. As soon as Sir Eoger was acquainted with it, finding that his servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and good-will, he only told him that he had made him too high a compliment; and when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, added, with a more decisive look, that it was too great an honor for any man under a duke; but told him at the same time that it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly they got a painter, by the knight's directions, to add a pair of whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation to the features to change it into the Saracen's Head. I should not have known this story had not the inn-keeper, upon Sir Roger's alighting, told him in my hearing that his honor's head was brought back last night with the altera- tions that he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this, my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related the par- ticulars above mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the ap- pearance of this monstrous face, under which, notwith- standing it was made to frown and stare in a most extraor- dinary manner, I could still discover a distant resem- blance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought it possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; but upon the knight's conjuring me to tell him whether it was not still more like himself than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best manner I could, and replied that much might be said on both sides.
These several adventures, with the knight's behavior in them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of my travels. L.
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[Spectator No. 123. Saturday, July 21, 1711. Addison.]
Doctrina sed vim promo vet insitam
Rectique cultus pectora roborant; Utcunque defecere mores, Dedecorant bene nata culpae.*
— ^HOBACE,
As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir Koger, we were met by a fresh-colored, ruddy young man, who rid by us full speed, with a couple of servants behind him. Upon my inquiry who he was. Sir Eoger told me that he was a young gentleman of a considerable estate, who had been educated by a tender mother that lives not many miles from the place where we were. She is a very good lady, says my friend, but took so much care of her son's health, that she has made him good for nothing. She quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes, and that writing made his head ache. He was let loose among the woods as soon as he was able to ride on horse- back, or to carry a gun upon his shoulder. To be brief, I found by my friend's account of him, that he had got a great stock of he:^lth, but nothing else; and that, if it were a man's business only to live, there would not be a more accomplished young fellow in the whole country.
The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts I have seen and heard innumerable instances of young heirs and elder brothers who — either from their own reflecting upon the estates they are born to, and therefore thinking all other accomplishments unnecessary; or from hearing these notions frequently inculcated to them by the flattery of their servants and domestics ; or from the same foolish thought prevailing in those who have the care of their education — are of no manner of use but to keep up their
* "Yet the best blood by learning is refined, And virtue arms the solid mind ; Whilst vice will stamp the noblest race, And the paternal stamp efface." — Oldiswobth.
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families, and transmit their lands and houses in a line to posterity.
This makes me often think on a story I have heard of two friends, which I shall give my reader at large under feigned names. The moral of it may, I hope, be useful, though there are some circumstances which make it rather appear like a novel than a true story.
Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small es- tates. They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. They prosecuted their studies together in their earlier years, and entered into such a friendship as lasted to the end of their lives. Eudoxus, at his firsi? setting out in the world, threw himself into a court, where by his natural endowments and his acquired abili- ties he made his way from one post to another, till at length he had raised a very considerable fortune. Leon- tine, on the contrary, sought all opportunities of improv- ing his mind by study, conversation, and travel. He was not only acquainted with all the sciences, but the most eminent professors of them throughout Europe. He knew perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the customs and fashions of their courts, and could scarce meet with the name of an extraordinary person in The Gazette whom he had not either talked to or seen. In short, he had so well mixed and digested his knowledge of men and books that he made one of the most accom- plished persons of his age. During the whole course of his studies and travels he kept up a punctual correspond- ence with Eudoxus, who often made himseK acceptable to the principal men about court by the intelligence which he received from Leontine. When they were both turned of forty — an age in which, according to Mr. Cowley, "there is no dallying with life" — ^they determined, pursuant to the resolution they had taken in the beginning of their lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their days in the country. In order to this, they both of them married much about the same time. Leontine, with his own and his wife's fortune, bought a farm of three hundred a
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year, which lay wiihin the neighborhood of his friend Eudoxus, who had purchased an estate of as many thou- sands. They were both of them fathers about the same time, Eudoxus having a son born to him, and Leontine a daughter; but, to the unspeakable grief of the latter, his young wife, in whom all his happiness was wrapt up, died a few days after the birth of her daughter. His affliction would have been insupportable had not he been comforted by the daily visits and conversations of his friend. As they were one day talking together with their usual intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable he was of giving his daughter a proper education in his own house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary be- havior of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a great estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of chil- dren; namely, that the boy should be bred up with Leon- tine as his son, and that the girl should live with Eudoxus as his daughter, till they were each of them arrived at years of discretion. The wife of Eudoxus, knowing that her son could not be so advantageously brought up as under the care of Leontine, and considering at the same time that he would be perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed upon to fall in with the project. She therefore took Leonilla, for that was the name of the girl, and educated her as her own daughter. The two friends on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual tenderness for the children who were under their direction, that each of them had the real passion of a father, where the title was but imaginary. Florio, the name of the young heir that lived with Leontine, though he had all the duty and affection imaginable for his sup- posed parent, was taught to rejoice at the sight of Eu- doxus, who visited his friend very frequently, and was dictated by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of prudence, to make himself esteemed and beloved by Elorio. The boy was now old enough to know his sup- posed father's circumstances, and that therefore he was to make his way in the world by his own industry. This
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consideration grew stronger in him every day, and pro- duced so good an effect that he applied himself with more than ordinary attention to the pursuit of everything which Leontine recommended to him. His natural abilities, which were very good, assisted by the directions of so excellent a counselor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than ordinary through all the parts of his educa- tion. Before he was twenty years of age, having finished his studies and exercises with great applause, he was removed from the University to the Inns of Court, where there are very few that make themselves considerable pro- ficients in the studies of the place who know they shall arrive at great estates without them. This was not Florio's case; he found that three hundred a year was but a poor estate for Leontine and himself to live upon, so that he studied without intermission till he gained a very good insight into the constitution and laws of his country.
I should have told my reader, that whilst Florio lived at the house of his foster-father he was always an ac- ceptable guest in the family of Eudoxus, where he became acquainted with Leonilla from her infancy. His ac- quaintance with her, by degrees grew into love, which in a mind trained up in all the sentiments of honor and virtue became a very uneasy passion. He despaired of gaining an heiress of so great a fortune, and would rather have died than attempted it by any indirect methods. Leonilla, who was a woman of the greatest beauty joined with the greatest modesty, entertained at the same time a secret passion for Florio, but conducted herself with so much prudence that she never gave him the least inti- mation of it. Florio was now engaged in all those arts and improvements that are proper to raise a man's private fortune, and give him a figure in his country, but secretly tormented with that passion which burns with the great- est fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a sudden summons from Leontine to repair to him into the country the next day. For it seems Eudoxus was so
232 ADDISON AND STEELE
filled with the report of his son's reputation that he could no longer withhold making himself known to him. The morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed father, Leontine told him that Eudoxus had something of great importance to communicate to him; upon which the good man embraced him and wept. Florio was no sooner arrived at the great house that stood in his neigh- borhood but Eudoxus took him by the hand, after the first salutes were over, and conducted him into his closet. He there opened to him the whole secret of his parentage and education, concluding after this manner: "I have no other way left of acknowledging my gratitude to Leontine than by marrying you to his daughter. He shall not lose the pleasure of being your father by the discovery I have made to you. Leonilla, too, shall be still my daugh- ter; her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so exem- plary that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer upon it. You shall have the pleasure of seeing a great estate fall to you, which you would have lost the relish of had you known yourself bom to it. Continue only to deserve it in the same manner you did before you were possessed of it. I have left your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns toward you. She is making the same discoveries to Leonilla which I have made to yourself.'' Florio was so overwhelmed with this profu- sion of happiness that he was not able to make a reply, but threw himseK down at his father's feet, and amidst a flood of tears kissed and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in dumb show those sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude that were too big for utter- ance. To conclude, the happy pair were married, and half Eudoxus's estate settled upon them. Leontine and Eudoxus passed the remainder of their lives together; and received in the dutiful and affectionate behavior of Florio and Leonilla the just recompense, as well as the natural effects, of that care which they had bestowed upon them in their education. L,
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On Party Spirit [Spectator No. 125. Tuesday, July 24, 1711. Addison.]
Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella: Neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires.^
— Vebgll.
My worthy friend, Sir Eoger, when we are talking of the malice of parties, very frequently tells us an acci- dent that happened to him when he was a school-boy, which was at a time when the feuds ran high between the Eoundheads and Cavaliers. This worthy knight, being then but a stripling, had occasion to inquire which was the way to St. Anne's Lane, upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of answering his question, called him a young popish cur, and asked him who had made Anne a saint! The boy, being in some confusion, inquired of the next he met, which was the way to Anne's Lane; but was called a prick-eared cur for his pains, and instead of being shown the way was told that she had been a saint before he was bom, and would be one after he was hanged. "Upon this," says Sir Roger, "I did not think fit to repeat the former question, but going into every lane of the neighborhood, asked what they called the name of that lane." By which ingenious artifice he found out the place he inquired after, without giving offense to any party. Sir Roger generally closes this narrative with reflections on the mischief that parties do in the country; how they spoil good neighborhood, and make honest gentlemen hate one another; besides that they manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land-tax, and the destruction of the game.
There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a government into two distinct people, and makes them greater strangers
1 "This thirst of kindred blood, my sires, detest. Nor turn your force against your country's breast."
— Drydbn.
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and more averse to one another than if they were actually two different nations. The effects of such a division are pernicious to the last degree, not only with regard to those advantages which they give the common enemy, but to those private evils which they produce in the heart of almost every particular person. This influence is very fatal both to men's morals and their understandings; it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys even common sense.
A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full violence, exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed; and when it is under its greatest restraints naturally breaks out in false- hood, detraction, calumny, and a partial administration of justice. In a word, it fills a nation with spleen and rancor, and extinguishes all the seeds of good-nature, compassion, and humanity. Plutarch says, very finely, that a man should not allow himself to hate even his enemies ; — ^^Because," says he, '4f you indulge this passion in some occasions, it will rise of itself in others; if you hate your enemies, you will contract such a vicious habit of mind as by degrees will break out upon those who are your friends, or those who are indifferent to you." I might here observe how admirably this precept of morality, which derives the malignity of hatred from the passion itself, and not from its object., answers to that great rule which was dictated to the world about an hundred years before this philosopher wrote; but instead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real grief of heart, that the minds of man^ good men among us appear soured with party principles, and alienated from one another in such a man- ner as seems to me altogether inconsistent with the dic- tates either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public cause is apt to breed passions in the hearts of virtuous persons to which the regard of their own private interest would never have betrayed them.
If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We often hear a poor, insipid paper or pamphlet cried up, and
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sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those who are of a different principle from the author. One who is actu- ated by this spirit is almost under an incapacity of dis- cerning either real blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a different principle is like an object seen in two different mediums, that appears crooked or broken, how- ever straight or entire it may be in itself. For this rea- son, there is scarce a person of any figure in England who does not go by two contrary characters, as opposite to one another as light and darkness. Knowledge and learn- ing suffer in a particular manner from this strange preju- dice, which at present prevails amongst all ranks and degrees in the British nation. As men formerly became eminent in learned societies by their parts and acquisi- tions, they now distinguish themselves by the warmth and violence with which they espouse their respective parties. Books are valued upon the like considerations. An abusive, scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party notions is called fine writing.
There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, and that is the taking any scandalous story that has been ever whispered or invented of a private man for a known, undoubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. Calumnies that have never been proved, or have been often refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these in- famous scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles granted by all men, though in their hearts they know they are false, or at best very doubtful. When they have laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no wonder that their superstructure is every way answerable to them. If this shameless practise of the present age endures much longer, praise and reproach will cease to be motives of action in good men.
There are certain periods of time in all governments when this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn in pieces by the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and France by those who were for and against the League; but it is very unhappy for a man to be born in such a stormy and
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tempestuous season. It is the restless ambition of artful men that thus breaks a people into factions, and draws several well-meaning persons to their interest by a spe- cious concern for their country. How many honest minds are filled with uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of their zeal for the public good! What cruelties and outrages would they not commit against men of an adverse party, whom they would honor and esteem, if, instead of considering them as they are represented, they knew them as they are ! Thus are persons of the greatest probity seduced into shameful errors and prejudices, and made bad men even by that noblest of principles, the 'love of their country." I cannot here forbear mentioning the famous Spanish proverb, "If there were neither fools nor knaves in the world, all people would be of one mind."
For my own part, I could heartily wish that all honest men would enter into an association for the sup- port of one another against the endeavors of those whom they ought to look upon as their common enemies, what- soever side they may belong to. Were there such an honest body of neutral forces, we should never see the worst of men in great figures of life, because they are use- ful to a party; nor the best unregarded, because they are above practising those methods which would be grateful to their faction. We should then single every criminal out of the herd, and hunt him down, however formidable and overgrown he might appear. On the contrary, we should shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, however beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or defama- tion. In short, we should not any longer regard our fellow subjects as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of merit our friend, and the villain our enemy.
0.
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[Spectator No. 126. Wednesday, July 25, 1711, Addison.]
Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimine habebo.^
— Vebgil.
In my yesterday's paper, I proposed that the honest men of all parties should enter into a kind of association for the defense of one another and the confusion of their common enemies. As it is designed this neutral body should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity, and divest themselves of the little heats and preposses- sions that cleave to parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the following form of an association, which may express their intentions in the most plain and simple manner :
^We whose names are hereunto subscribed, do solemnly declare that we do in our consciences believe two and two make four; and that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who endeavors to persuade us to the contrary.
^We are likewise ready to maintain, with the hazard of all that is near and dear to us, that six is less than seven in all times and all places, and that ten will not be more three years hence than it is at present.
"We do also firmly declare, that it is our resolution as long as we live to call black black, and white white. And we shall upon all occasions oppose such persons that, upon any day of the year, shall call black white, or white black, with the utmost peril of our lives and fortunes."
Were there such a combination of honest men, who without any regard to places would endeavor to extirpate all such furious zealots as would sacrifice one half of their country to the passion and interest of the other; as also
* "Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me.'* — Drtdbn.
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such infamous hypocrites that are for promoting their own advantage under color of the public good; with all the profligate, immoral retainers to each side, that have nothing to recommend them but an implicit submission to their leaders; — we should soon see that furious party spirit extinguished which may in time expose us to the derision and contempt of all the nations about us.
A member of this society that would thus carefully employ himself in making room for merit by throwing down the worthless and depraved part of mankind from those conspicuous stations of life to which they have been sometimes advanced, and all this without any regard to his private interest, would be no small benefactor to his country.
I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus an ac- count of a very active little animal, which I think he calls the ichneumon, that makes it the whole business of his life to break the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always in search after. This instinct is the more remarkable because the ichneumon never feeds upon the eggs he has broken, nor in any other way finds his account in them. Were it not for the incessant labors of this industrious animal, Egypt, says the historian, would be overrun with crocodiles; for the Egyptians are so far from destroying those pernicious creatures that they worship them as gods.
If we look into the behavior of ordinary partizans, we shall find them far from resembling this disinterested ani- mal, and rather acting after the example of the wild Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as think- ing that upon his decease the same talents, whatever post they qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer.
As in the whole train of my speculations I have en- deavored, as much as I am able, to extinguish that per- nicious spirit of passion and prejudice which rages with the same violence in aU parties, I am still the more desirous of doing some good in this particular because I observe that the spirit of party reigns more in the coun-
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try than in the town. It here contracts a kind of brutality and rustic fierceness to which men of a politer conversa- tion are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the return of the bow and the hat ; and at the same time that the heads of parties preserve toward one another an out- ward show of good breeding, and keep up a perpetual intercourse of civilities, their tools that are dispersed in these outlying parts will not so much as mingle together at a cock-match. This humor fills the country with sev- eral periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory fox- hunters, not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter-sessions.
I do not know whether I have observed, in any of my former papers, that my friends Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport are of different principles; the first of them inclined to the landed and the other to the moneyed interest. This humor is so moderate in each of them that it proceeds no farther than to an agreeable raillery, which very often diverts the rest of the club. I find, however, that the knight is a much stronger Tory in the country than in town, which, as he has told me in my ear, is absolutely necessary for the keeping up his interest. In all our journey from London to his house we did not so much as bait at a Whig inn ; or if by chance the coach- man stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir Roger's servants would ride up to his master full speed, and whisper to him that the master of the house was against such an one in the last election. This often betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer; for we were not so inquisitive about the inn as the innkeeper, and, provided our landlord's principles were sound, did not take any notice of the staleness of his provisions. This I found stiU the more inconvenient because the better the host was, the worse generally were his accommodations, — ^the fellow knowing very well that those who were his friends would take up with coarse diet and an hard lodging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the road I dreaded entering into
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an house of any one that Sir Eoger had applauded for an honest man.
Since my stay at Sir Eoger's in the country, I daily find more instances of this narrow party-humor. Being upon a bowling-green at a neighboring market-town the other day (for that is the place where the gentlemen of one side meet once a week), I observed a stranger among them of a better presence and genteeler behavior than ordinary; but was much surprised that, notwith- standing he was a very fair better, nobody would take him up. But, upon inquiry, I found that he was one who had given a disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which reason there was not a man upon that bowling- green who would have so much correspondence with him as to win his money of him.
Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other day relating several strange stories, that he had picked up nobody knows where, of a certain great man, and upon my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such things in the country which had never been so much as whispered in the town. Will stopped short in the thread of his discourse, and after dinner asked my friend Sir Koger in his ear if he was sure that I was not a fanatic'
It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissension in the country; not only as it destroys virtue and common sense, and renders us in a manner bar- barians toward one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our pres- ent passions and prejudices to our posterity. For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions, and therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first principles, the miseries and calamities of our children. C.
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[Spectator No. 127. Thursday, July 26, 1711. Addison.]
Quantum est in rebus Inane?*
— Pees.
It is our custom at Sir Roger's, upon the coming in of the post, to sit about a pot of coffee, and hear the old knight read Dyer's Letter; which he does with his spec- tacles upon liis nose, and in an audible voice, smiling very often at those little strokes of satire which are so fre- quent in the writings of that author. I afterwards com- municate to the knight such packets as I receive under the quality of Spectator. The following letter chancing to please him more than ordinary, I shall publish it at his request: —
"Mr. Spectator,
^TTou have diverted the town almost a whole month at the expense of the country, it is now high time that you should give the country their revenge. Since your with- drawing from this place, the fair sex are run into great extravagancies. Their petticoats, which began to heave and swell before you left us, are now blown up into a most enormous concave, and rise every day more and more: in short, sir, since our women know themselves to be out of the eye of the Spectator, they will be kept within no compass. You praised them a little too soon, for the modesty of their head-dresses; for as the humor of a sick person is often driven out of one limb into an- other, their superfluity of ornaments, instead of being entirely banished, seems only fallen from their heads upon their lower parts. What they have lost in height they have made up in breadth, and contrary to all rules of architecture widen the foundations at the same time that they shorten the superstructure. Were they, like Spanish
1 How much of emptiness we find in things?
242 ADDISON AND STEELE
jennets, to impregnate by the wind, they could not have thought on a more proper invention. But as we do not yet hear any particular use in this petticoat, or that it contains anything more than what was supposed to be in those of scantier make, we are wonderfully at a loss about it.
"The women give out, in defense of these wide bottoms, that they are airy and very proper for the season; but this I look upon to be only a pretense, and a piece of art, for it is well known we have not had a more moderate summer these many years, so that it is certain the heat they complain of cannot be in the weather; besides, I would fain ask these tender-constitutioned ladies, why they should require more cooling than their mothers be- fore them?
"I find several speculative persons are of opinion that our sex has of late years been very saucy, and that the hoop petticoat is made use of to keep us at a distance. It is most certain that a woman's honor cannot be better entrenched than after this manner, in circle within circle, amidst such a variety of out-works and lines of circumval- lation. A female who is thus invested in whale-bone is sufficiently secured against the approaches of an ill-bred fellow, who might as well think of Sir George Etherege's way of making love in a tub, as in the midst of so many hoops.
"Among these various conjectures, there are men of su- perstitious tempers, who look upon the hoop petticoat as a kind of prodigy. Some will have it that it portends the downfall of the French king, and observe that the farth- ingale appeared in England a little before the ruin of the Spanish monarchy. Others are of opinion that it foretells battle and bloodshed, and believe it of the same prognostication as the tail of a blazing star. For my part, I am apt to think it is a sign that multitudes are coming into the world rather than going out of it.
"The first time I saw a lady dressed in one of these petticoats, I could not forbear blaming her in my own thoughts for walking abroad when she was so near her
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time, but soon recovered myself out of my error, when I found all the modish part of the sex as far gone as herself. It is generally thought some crafty women have thus be- trayed their companions into hoops, that they might make them accessory to their own concealments, and by that means escape the censure of the world; as wary generals have sometimes dressed two or three dozen of their friends in their own habit, that they might not draw upon them- selves any particular attacks of the enemy. The strutting petticoat smooths all distinctions, levels the mother with the daughter, and sets maids and matrons, wives and widows, upon the same bottom. In the meanwhile I can- not but be troubled to see so many well-shaped innocent virgins bloated up, and waddling up and down like big- bellied women.
^^Should this fashion get among the ordinary people, our public ways would be so crowded that we should want street-room. Several congregations of the best fashion find themselves already very much straitened, and if the mode increase I wish it may not drive many ordinary women into meetings and conventicles. Should our sex at the same time take it into their heads to wear trunk breeches (as who knows what their indignation at this female treatment may drive them to), a man and his wife would fill a whole pew.
"You know, sir, it is recorded of Alexander the Great, that in his Indian expedition he buried several suits of armor, which by his direction were made much too big for any of his soldiers, in order to give posterity an extraor- dinary idea of him, and make them believe he had com- manded an army of giants. I am persuaded that if one of the present petticoats happen to be hung up in any repository of curiosities, it wiU lead into the same error the generations that lie some removes from us: unless we can believe our posterity will think so disrespectfully of their great-grandmothers, that they made themselves monstrous to appear amiable.
"When I survey this new-fashioned rotonda in all its
244 ADDISON AND STEELE
parts, I cannot but think of the old philosopher, who after having entered into an Egyptian temple, and looked about for the idol of the place, at length discovered a little black monkey enshrined in the midst of it, upon which he could not forbear crying out (to the great scandal of the wor- shipers), what a magnificent palace is here for such a ridiculous inhabitant!
"Though you have taken a resolution, in one of your papers, to avoid descending to particularities of dress, I believe you will not think it below you, on so extraor- dinary an occasion, to unhoop the fair sex, and cure this fashionable tympany that is got among them. I am apt to think the petticoat will shrink of its own accord at your first coming to town; at least a touch of your pen will make it contract itself, like the sensitive plant, and by that means oblige several who are either terrified or astonished at this portentous novelty, and among the rest,
"Your humble Servant, &c ."
0.
[Spectator No. 130. Monday, July 30, 1711. Addison.}
-Semperque recentes
Convectare juvat praedas, et vivere rapto.*
— ^Vebqil.
As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend Sir Eoger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of gipsies. Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was in some doubt whether he should not exert the justice of the peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants; but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary counselor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop; but at the same time gave me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the country, in stealing peo-
* "A plundering race, stiU eager to invade, On spoil they live, and make of theft a trade."
ADDISON AND STEELE 245
ple^s goods and spoiling their servants. "If a stray piece of linen hangs upon an hedge," says Sir Eoger, "they are sure to have it; if the hog loses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey; our geese cannot live in peace for them; if a man prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They gen- erally straggle into these parts about this time of the year, and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for husbands that we do not expect to have any business done as it should be whilst they are in the country. I have an honest dairy-maid who crosses their hands with a piece of silver every summer, and never fails being promised the handsomest young fellow in the parish for her pains. Your friend, the butler, has been fool enough to be seduced by them; and, though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time his fortune is told him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gipsy for above half an hour once in a twelvemonth. Sweet- hearts are the things they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all those that apply themselves to them. You see, now and then, some handsome young jades among them; the sluts have very often white teeth and black eyes."
Sir Eoger, observing that I listened with great atten- tion to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me that if I would they should tell us our fortunes. As I was very well pleased with the knight's proposal, we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra of the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, told me that I loved a pretty maid in a corner ; that I was a good woman's man ; with some other particulars which I do not think proper to relate. My friend Sir Eoger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it; when one of them, who was older and more sunburnt than the rest, told him that he had a widow in his line of life; upon which the knight
246 ADDISON AND STEELE
cried, "Go, go, you are an idle baggage" ; and at the same time smiled upon me. The gipsy, finding he was not displeased in his heart, told him, after a farther inquiry into his hand, that his true love was constant, and that she should dream of him to-night; my old friend cried "Pish!" and bid her go on. The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not be so long; and that he was dearer to somebody than he thought. The knight still repeated she was an idle baggage, and bid her go on. "Ah, master," says the gipsy, "that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's heart ache; you ha'n't that simper about the mouth for nothing — ." The uncouth gibberish with which all this was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. To be sure, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his horse.
As we were riding away. Sir Roger told me that he knew several sensible people who believed these gipsies now and then foretold very strange things; and for half an hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of his good humor, meeting a common beg- gar upon the road who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his pocket was picked, — ^that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous.
I might here entertain my reader with historical re- marks on this idle, profligate people, who infest all the countries of Europe, and live in the midst of governments in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. But instead of entering into observations of this nature, I shall fill the remaining part of my paper with a story which is still fresh in Holland, and was printed in one of our monthly accounts about twenty years ago: —
"As the treJcschuytj or hackney boat, which carries pas- sengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting off, a boy running along the side of the canal desired to be taken in; which the master of the boat refused, because
ADDISON AND STEELE 247
the lad had not quite money enough to pay the usual fare. An eminent merchant being pleased with the looks of the boy, and secretly touched with compassion towards him, paid the money for him, and ordered him to be taken on board.
"Upon talking with him afterward, he found that he could speak readily in three or four languages, and learned upon farther examination that he had been stolen away when he was a child, by a gipsy, and had rambled ever since with a gang of those strollers up and down several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchant, whose heart seems to have inclined toward the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some years before. The parents, after a long search for him, gave him for drowned in one of the canals with which that country abounds; and the mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died for grief of it.
^'Upon laying together all particulars, and examining the several moles and marks by which the mother used to describe the child when he was first missing, the boy proved to be the son of the merchant whose heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of him. The lad was very well pleased to find a father who was so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate: the father, on the other hand, was not a little delighted to see a son return to him, whom he Tiad given up for lost, with such a strength of constitution, 'sharpness of understanding, and skill in languages."
Here the printed story leaves off; but if I may give credit to reports, our linguist having received such ex- traordinary rudiments towards a good education, was afterward trained up in everything that becomes a gentle- man; wearing off by little and little all the vicious habits and practises that he had been used to in the course of his peregrinations. Nay, it is said that he has since been employed in foreign courts upon national business, with
248 ADDISON AND STEELE
great reputation to himself and honor to those who sent him, and that he has visited several countries as a public minister in which he formerly wandered as a gipsy.
0.
[Spectator No. 131. Tuesday, July 31, 1711. Addison.]
Ipsae rursum concedite sylvae.*
— ^Vergil.
It is usual for a man who loves country sports to pre- serve the game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those that belong to his neighbor. My friend Sir Eoger generally goes two or three miles from his house, and gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search of a hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where he is always sure of finding diversion when the worst comes to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has time to increase and multiply; besides that the sport is the more agree- able where the game is the harder to come at, and where it does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or confusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the country gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys near his own home.
In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out of the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen of my species, to try my fortune in the country, where I have started several subjects and hunted them down, with some pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I can spring anything to my mind; whereas in town, whilst I am following one character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my way by another, and put up such a variety of odd creatures in both sexes that they foil the scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and, in town,
> "Once more, ye woods, adieu."
ADDISON AND STEELE 249
to choose it. In the meantime, as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new game upon my return thither.
It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I find the whole neighborhood begin to grow very inquisi- tive after my name and character; my love of solitude, taciturnity, and particular way of life, having raised a great curiosity in all these parts.
The notions which have been framed of me are various : some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, and some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the butler tells me, observing me very much alone, and extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I have killed a man. The country people seem to suspect me for a conjurer; and, some of them hearing of the visit which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that Sir Roger has brought down a cunning man with him, to cure the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So that the character which I go under in part of the neighbor- hood, is what they here call a 'White Witch,"
A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and is not of Sir Roger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his table that he wishes Sir Eoger does not harbor a Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me give some account of myself.
On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid the old knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow, and as they have heard that he converses very promiscuously, when he is in town, do not know but he has brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is sullen and says nothing because he is out of place.
Such is the variety of opinions which are here enter- tained of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected person, and among others for a popish priest; among some for a wizard, and among others for a murderer: and all this for no other reason, that I can imagine, but because
250 ADDISON AND STEELE
I do not hoot and hollow and make a noise. It is true my friend Sir Roger tells them, that it is my way, and that I am only a philosopher; but this will not satisfy them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing.
For these and other reasons I shall set out for London to-morrow, having found by experience that the country is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not love jollity, and what they call good neighborhood. . A man that is out of humor when an unexpected guest breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacriiScing an afternoon to every chance-comer; that will be the master of his own time, and the pursuer of his own inclinations, makes but a very unsociable figure in this kind of life. I shall therefore retire into the town, if I may make use of that phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what specu- lations I please upon others, without being observed my- self, and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of company with all the privileges of solitude. In the mean- while, to finish the month, and conclude these my rural speculations, I shall here insert a letter from my friend Will Honeycomb, who has not lived a month for these forty years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me after his way upon my country life.
^^Dear Spec, —
I suppose this letter will find thee picking of daisies, or smelling to a lock of hay, or passing away thy time in some innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have, however, orders from the club to summon thee up to town, being all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be able to relish our company after thy conversations with Moll White and Will Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories of a cock and a bull, nor frighten the town with spirits and witches. Thy speculations begin to smell confoundedly of woods and meadows. If thou dost not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art in
ADDISON AND STEELE 851
love with one of Sir Roger's dairy-maids. Service to the night. Sir Andrew is grown the cock of the club since he left us, and if he does not return quickly will make every mother's son of us commonwealth's men. "Dear Spec, thine eternally, C. "Will Honeycomb."
[Spectator No. 132. Wednesday, August 1, 1711. Steele.]
Qui aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut se ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est rationem non habet, is ineptus esse dicitur.* — Tully.
Having notified to my good friend Sir Roger that I should set out for London the next day, his horses were ready at the appointed hour in the evening; and attended by one of his grooms, I arrived at the country-town at twilight, in order to be ready for the stage-coach the day following. As soon as we arrived at the inn, the servant who waited upon me, inquired of the chamberlain, in my hearing, what company he had for the coach. The fellow answered, "Mrs. Betty Arable, the great fortune, and the widow, her mother; a recruiting officer (who took a place because they were to go) ; young Squire Quickset, her cousin (that her mother wished her to be married to) ; Ephraim, the Quaker, her guardian ; and a gentleman that had studied himself dumb from Sir Roger de Coverley's." I observed, by what he said of myseK, that according to his office, he dealt much in intelligence ; and doubted not but there was some foundation for his reports of the rest of the company as well as for the whimsical account he gave of me.
The next morning at daybreak we were all called; and
* **That man may be caUed impertinent, who considers not the circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation, or makes himself the subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in."
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I, who know my own natural shyness, and endeavor to be as little liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed immediately, that I might make no one wait. The first preparation for our setting out was, that the captain^s half-pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum behind the coach. In the meantime the drummer, the captain's equipage, was very loud that none of the cap- tain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon which his cloak bag was fixed in the seat of the coach; and the captain himself, according to a frequent though invidious behavior of military men, ordered his man to look sharp that none but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken fronting to the coach-box.
We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and sat with that dislike which people not too good-natured usually conceive of each other at first sight. The coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of familiarity, and we had not moved above two miles when the widow asked the captain what success he had in his recruiting. The officer, with a frankness he believed very graceful, told her that indeed he had but very little luck and had suffered much by desertion, therefore should be glad to end his warfare in the service of her or her fair daughter. ^T.n sl word," continued he, ^^I am a soldier, and to be plain is my char- acter; you see me, madam, young, sound, and impudent; take me yourself, widow, or give me to her; I will be wholly at your disposal. I am a soldier of fortune, ha!" This was followed by a vain laugh of his own, and a deep silence of all the rest of the company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, which I did with all speed. ^^Come," said he, ^^resolve upon it, we will make a wedding at the next town; we will wake this pleasant companion who has fallen asleep, to be the brideman, and," giving the Quaker a clap on the knee, he concluded, ^'this sly saint, who, I'll warrant, understands what's what as well as you or I, widow, shall give the bride as father."
The Quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, answered, "Friend, I take it in good part, that thou hast
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given me the authority of a father over this comely and virtuous child; and I must assure thee that, if I have the giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoreth of folly ; thou art a person of a light mind ; thy drum is a type of thee — it soundeth because it is empty. Yerily, it is not from thy fulness but thy empti- ness that thou hast spoken this day. Eriend, friend, we have hired this coach in partnership with thee, to carry us to a great city; we cannot go any other way. This worthy mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy follies ; we cannot help it, friend, I say — if thou wilt, we must hear thee; but, if thou wert a man of under- standing, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy coura- geous countenance to abash us children of peace. Thou art, thou say est, a soldier; give quarter to us, who cannot resist thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, who feigned himself asleep? He said nothing, but how dost thou know what he containeth? If thou speakest im- proper things in the hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it is an outrage against a distressed person that cannot get from thee: to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this public vehicle, is in some degree assaulting on the high road."
Here Ephraim paused, and the captain, with an happy and uncommon impudence, which can be convicted and support itself at the same time, cries, "Faith, friend, I thank thee; I should have been a little impertinent if thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoky old fellow, and PU be very orderly the ensuing part of the journey. I was going to give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg pardon."
The captain was so little out of humor, and our com- pany was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that Ephraim and he took a particular delight in being agreeable to each other for the future, and assumed their different provinces in the conduct of the company. Our reckonings, apartments, and accommodation fell under
254 ADDISON AND STEELE
Epiiraim; and the captain looked to all disputes on the road, as the good behavior of our coachman, and the right we had of taking place, as going to London, of all vehicles coming from thence.
The occurrences we met with were ordinary, and very little happened which could entertain by the relation of them; but when I considered the company we were in, I took it for no small good fortune that the whole journey was not spent in impertinences, which to one part of us might be an entertainment, to the other a suffering.
What, therefore, Ephraim said when we were almost arrived at London, had to me an air not only of good understanding but good breeding. Upon the young lady's expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and declaring how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim declared him- self as follows : ^^There is no ordinary part of human life which expresseth so much a good mind, and a right in- ward man, as his behavior upon meeting with strangers, especially such as may seem the most unsuitable com- panions to him; such a man, when he falleth in the way with persons of simplicity and innocence, however know- ing he may be in the ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof; but will the rather hide his superiority to them, that he may not be painful unto them. My good friend," continued he, turning to the officer, "thee and I are to part by and by, and peradventure we may never meet again ; but be advised by a plain man : modes and apparel are but trifles to the real man, therefore do not think such a man as thyself terrible for thy garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for mine. When two such as thee and I meet, with affections as we ought to have toward each other, thou shouldst rejoice to see my peace- able demeanor, and I should be glad to see thy strength and ability to protect me in it," T.
ADDISON AND STEELE 255
[Spectator No. 135. Saturday, August 4, 1711.
Addison.]
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia.* — HoB.
I have somewhere read of an eminent person, who used in his private offices of devotion to give thanks to heaven that he was born a Frenchman: for my own part I look upon it as a peculiar blessing that I was born an English- man. Among many other reasons, I think myself very happy in my country, as the language of it is wonderfully adapted to a man who is sparing of his words, and an enemy to loquacity.
As I have frequently reflected on my good fortune in this particular, I shall communicate to the public my speculations upon the English tongue, not doubting but they will be acceptable to all my curious readers.
The English delight in silence more than any other European nation, if the remarks which are made on us by foreigners are true. Our discourse is not kept up in conversation, but falls into more pauses and intervals than in our neighboring countries; as it is observed, that the matter of our writings is thrown much closer to- gether, and lies in a narrower compass than is usual in the works of foreign authors : for, to favor our natural taci- turnity, when we are obliged to utter our thoughts, we do it in the shortest way we are able, and give as quick a birth to our conceptions as possible.
This humor shows itself in several remarks that we may make upon the English language. As first of all by its abounding in monosyllables, which gives us an op- portunity of delivering our thoughts in few sounds. This indeed takes off from the elegance of our tongue, but at the same time expresses our ideas in the readiest man- ner, and consequently answers the first design of speech better than the multitude of syllables, which make the words of other languages more tuneable and sonorous.
* Express your sentiments with brevity.
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The sounds of our English words are commonly like those of string music, short and transient, which rise and per- ish upon a single touch; those of other languages are like the notes of wind instruments, sweet and swelling, and lengthened out into variety of modulation.
In the next place we may observe, that where the words are not monosyllables, we often make them so, as much as lies in our power, by our rapidity of pronunciation; as it generally happens in most of our long words which are derived from the Latin, where we contract the length of the syllables that gives them a grave and solemn air in their own language, to make them more proper for dispatch, and more comfortable to the genius of our tongue. This we may find in a multitude of words, as "liberty," "conspiracy," "theater," "orator," etc.
The same natural aversion to loquacity has of late years made a very considerable alteration in our lan- guage, by closing in one syllable the termination of our preterperfect tense, as in the words "drown'd," "walk'd," "arriVd," for "drowned," "walked," "arrived," which has very much disfigured the tongue, and turned a tenth part of our smoothest words into so many clusters of con- sonants. This is the more remarkable, because the want of vowels in our language has been the general complaint of our politest authors, who nevertheless are the men that have made these retrenchments, and consequently very much increased our former scarcity.
This reflexion on the words that end in "ed," I have heard in conversation from one of the greatest geniuses this age has produced. I think we may add to the fore- going observation, the change which has happened in our language, by the abbreviation of several words that are terminated in "eth," by substituting an "s" in the room of the last syllable, as in "drowns," "walks," "arrives," and innumerable other words, which in the pronunciation of our forefathers were "drowneth," "walketh," "arriv- eth." This has wonderfully multiplied a letter which was before too frequent in the English tongue, and added to
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that hissing in our language, which is taken so much no- tice of by foreigners; but at the same time humors our taciturnity, and eases us of many superfluous syllables.
I might here observe, that the same single letter on many occasions does the office of a whole word, and rep- resents the "his'' and "her" of our forefathers. There is no doubt but the ear of a foreigner, which is the best judge in this case, would very much disapprove of such innovations, which indeed we do ourselves in some meas- ure, by retaining the old termination in writing, and in all the solemn offices of our religion.
As in the instances I have given we have epitomized many of our particular words to the detriment of our tongue, so on other occasions we have drawn two words into one, which has likewise very much untuned our lan- guage, and clogged it with consonants, as "mayn't," "can't," ''shan't," "won't," and the like, for "may not," "can not," "shall not," "will not," etc.
It is perhaps this humor of speaking no more than we needs must, which has so miserably curtailed some of our words, that in familiar writings and conversations they often lose all but their first syllables, as in "mob," "rep." "pos." "incog." and the like; and as all ridiculous words make their first entry into a language by familiar phrases, I dare not answer for these that they will not in time be looked upon as a part of our tongue. We see some of our poets have been so indiscreet as to imitate Hudibras's doggerel expressions in their serious compo- sitions, by throwing out the signs of our substantives, which are essential to the English language. Nay, this humor of shortening our language had once run so far, that some of our celebrated authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Eoger L'Estrange in particular, began to prune their words of all superfluous letters, as they termed them, in o.rder to adjust the spelling to the pro- nunciation; which would have confounded all our ety- mologies, and have quite destroyed our tongue.
We may here likewise observe, that our proper names,
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when familiarized in English, generally dwindle to mono- syllables, whereas in other modern languages, they re- ceive a softer turn on this occasion, by the addition of a new syllable. ^^Nick" in Italian is ^^Nicolini," "Jack" in French "Janot," and so of the rest.
There is another particular in our language which is a great instance of our frugality in words, and that is the suppressing of several particles which must be pro- duced in other tongues to make a sentence intelligible: this often perplexes the best writers, when they find the relatives "whom," "which," or "they," at their mercy whether they may have admission or not; and will never be decided till we have something like an academy, that by the best authorities and rules drawn from the analogy of languages, shall settle all controversies between gram- mar and idiom.
I have only considered our language as it shows the genius and natural temper of the English, which is mod- est, thoughtful and sincere, and which perhaps may recom- mend the people, though it has spoiled the tongue. We might perhaps carry the same thought into other lan- guages, and deduce a great part of what is peculiar to them from the genius of the people who speak them. It is certain the light talkative humor of the French has not a little infected their tongue, which might be shown by many instances ; as the genius of the Italians, which is so much addicted to music and ceremony, has molded all their words and phrases to those particular uses. The stateliness and gravity of the Spaniards shows itself to perfection in the solemnity of their language; and the blunt honest humor of the Germans sounds better in the roughness of the High-Dutch, than it would in a politer tongue.
ADDISON AND STEELE 259
[Spectator No. 169. Saturday, September 1, 1711. Addison.]
— Omnem, quae nunc obducta tuenti
Mortales hebetat visus tibi, et bumida circum
Caligat, nubem eripiam — *
— ViRG. ^n. ii. 604.
When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Ori- ental manuscripts, wbich I have still by me. Among oth- ers I met with one entitled The Visions of Mirza, which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them; and shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows: —
"On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my forefathers I always keep holy, after hav- ing washed myself, and offered up my morning devo- tions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdad, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of hu- man life; and passing from one thought to another, ^Surely,' said I, ^man is but a shadow, and life a dream.' Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I dis- covered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he ap- plied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceedingly sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in Paradise, to wear out the impressions of their last
*The cloud, which, intercepting the clear light, Hangs o'er thy eyes, and blunts thy mortal sight, I will remove —
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agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures.
"I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a Genius; and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The Genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiar- ized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, ^Mirza,' said he, ^I have heard thee in thy solilo- quies; follow me.'
"He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing me on the top of it, ^Cast thy eyes eastward,' said he, 'and tell me what thou seest.' 'I see,' said I, *a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.' 'The valley that thou seest,' said he, 'is the Vale of Misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great Tide of Eternity.' 'What is the reason,' said I, 'that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?' 'What thou seest,' said he, 'is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consum- mation. Examine now,' said he, 'this sea that is bounded with darkn^s at both ends, and tell me what thou dis- coverest in it.' 'I see a bridge,' said I, 'standing in the midst of the tide.' 'The bridge thou seest,' said he, 'is Human Life: consider it attentively.' Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of three-
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score and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the num- ber about a hundred. As I was counting the arches, the Genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. ^But tell me farther,' said he, Vhat thou dis- coverest on it.' 'I see multitudes of people passing over it,' said I, ^and a black cloud hanging on each end of it/ As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the pas- sengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon farther examina- tion, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire.
"There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk.
"I passed some time in the contemplation of this won- derful structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often when they thought themselves within the reach of them, their foot- ing failed and down they sunk. In this confusion of ob- jects, I observed some with scimitars in their hands, and
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others with urinals, wlio ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have es- caped had they not been thus forced upon them.
"The Genius seeing me indulge myself on this melan- choly prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. 'Take thine eyes off the bridge,' said he, ^and tell me if thou yet seest anything thou dost not comprehend.' Upon looking up, What mean,' said I, 'those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feath- ered creatures several little winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches/ 'These,' said the Genius, 'are Envy, Avarice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares and passions that infest human life.'
"I here fetched a deep sigh. 'Alas,' said I, 'Man was made in vain! how is he given away to misery and mor- tality! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death!' The Genius being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. 'Look no more,' said he, 'on man in the first stage of his existence, in his set- ting out for eternity ; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mor- tals that fall into it.' I directed my sight as I was or- dered, and (whether or no the good Genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spread- ing forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and divid- ing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, pass-
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ing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the Genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. ^The islands,' said he, 'that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the sea- shore: there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to- the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them: every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habi- tations worth contending for? Does life appear miser- able that gives thee opportunities of earning such a re- ward? Is death to be feared that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him.' I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, 'Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant.' The Genius making me no answer, I turned me about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long con- templating; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it." 0.
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[Spectator No. 165. Saturday, September 8, 1711. Addison.]
8i forte necesse est, Fingere cinctutis non exavdita Cethegis, Contmget: ddbitv/rque licentia sumpta pudenter.^ — Hob.
I have often -vrislied that, as in our constitution there are several persons whose business it is to watch over our laws, our liberties and commerce, certain men might be set apart as superintendents of our language, to hinder any words of a foreign coin from passing among us; and in particular to prohibit any French phrases from be- coming current in this kingdom, when those of our own stamp are altogether as valuable. The present war has so adulterated our tongue with strange words that it would be impossible for one of our great-grandfathers to know what his posterity have been doing, were he to read their exploits in a modern newspaper. Our warriors are very industrious in propagating the French language, at the same time that they are so gloriously successful in beating down their power. Our soldiers are men of strong heads for action, and perform such feats as they are not able to express. They want words in their own tongue to tell us what it is they achieve, and therefore send us over accounts of their performances in a jargon of phrases, which they learn among their conquered ene- mies. They ought however to be provided with secreta- ries and assisted by our foreign ministers, to tell their story for them in plain English, and to let us know in our mother-tongue what it is our brave countrymen are about. The French would indeed be in the right to pub- lish the news of the present war in English phrases, and make their campaigns unintelligible. Their people might flatter themselves that things are not so bad as they really
^ If you would unheard-of things express,
Invent new words ; we can indulge a muse, Until the license rise to an abuse.
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are, were they thus palliated with foreign terms, and thrown into shades and obscurity : But the English can- not be too clear in their narrative of those actions, which have raised their country to a higher pitch of glory than it ever yet arrived at, and which will be still the more ad- mired the better they are explained.
For my part, by that time a siege is carried on two or three days, I am altogether lost and bewildered in it, and meet with so many inexplicable difficulties, that I scarce know which side has the better of it, till I am informed by the Tower guns that the place is surrendered. I do indeed make some allowances for this part of the war, for- tifications having been foreign inventions, and upon that account abounding in foreign terms. But when we have won battles which may be described in our own language, why are our papers filled with so many unintelligible exploits, and the French obliged to lend us a part of their tongue before we can know how they are conquered ? They must be made accessory to their own disgrace, as the Britons were formerly so artificially wrought in the cur- tain of the Roman theater, that they seemed to draw it up, in order to give the spectators an opportunity of seeing their own defeat celebrated upon the stage: for so Mr. Dry den has translated that verse in Vergil : Atque intertexti tollant aulsea Britanni.
Which interwoven Britons seem to raise,
And show the triumph that their shame displays.
The histories of all our former wars are transmitted to us in our vernacular idiom, to use the phrase of a great modern critic. I do not find in any of our chronicles, that Edward III. ever reconnoitered the enemy, though he often discovered the posture of the French, and as often vanquished them in battle. The Black Prince passed many a river without the help of pontoons, and filled a ditch with faggots as successfully as the generals of oui times do it with fascines. Our commanders lose half their praise, and our people half their joy, by means of those
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hard words and dark expressions in which our news- papers do so much abound. I have seen many a prudent citizen, after having read every article, inquire of his next neighbor what news the mail had brought.
I remember in that remarkable year when our country was delivered from the greatest fears and apprehensions, and raised to the greatest height of gladness it had ever felt since it was a nation; I mean the year of Blenheim, I had the copy of a letter sent me out of the country, which was written from a young gentleman in the army to his father, a man of a good estate and plain sense: as the letter was very modishly chequered with this modem military eloquence, I shall present my reader with a copy of it.
^'SlR,
*^Upon the junction of the French and Bavarian armies they took post behind a great morass which they thought impracticable. Our general the next day sent a party of horse to reconnoiter them from a little hauteur, at about a quarter of an hour's distance from the army, who re- turned again to the camp unobserved through several de- files, in one of which they met with a party of French that had been marauding, and made them all prisoners at discretion. The day after a drum arrived at our camp, with a message which he would communicate to none but the general; he was followed by a trumpet, who they say behaved himself very saucily, with a message from the duke of Bavaria. The next morning our army being di- vided into two corps, made a movement towards the enemy: you will hear in the public prints how we treated them, with the other circumstances of that glorious day. I had the good fortune to be in the regiment that pushed the Gens d'Arms. Several French battalions, who some say were a corps de reserve, made a show of resistance; but it only proved a gasconade, for upon our preparing to fill up a little fosse, in order to attack them, they beat the chamade, and sent us chart e blanche. Their com-
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mandant, with a great many other general officers, and troops without number, are made prisoners of war, and will I believe give you a visit in England, the cartel not being yet settled. Not questioning but these particulars will be very welcome to you, I congratulate you upon them, and am your most dutiful son," etc.
The father of the young gentleman upon the perusal of the letter found it contained great news, but could not guess what it was. He immediately communicated it to the curate of the parish, who upon the reading of it, being vexed to see anything he could not understand, fell into a kind of passion, and told him, that his son had sent him a letter that was neither fish, flesh, nor good red- herring. "I wish," says he, "the captain may be compos mentis, he talks of a saucy trumpet, and a drum that car- ries messages; then who is this Charte Blanche? He must either banter us, or he is out of his senses." The father, who always looked upon the curate as a learned man, began to fret inwardly at his son's usage, and pro- ducing a letter which he had written to him about three posts afore, "You see here," says he, ^Vhen he writes for money, he knows how to speak intelligibly enough; there is no man in England can express himself clearer, when he wants a new furniture for his horse." In short, the old man was so puzzled upon the point, that it might have fared ill with his son, had he not seen all the prints about three days after filled with the same terms of art, and that Charles only writ like other men.
[Spectator No. 170. FRmAY, September 14, 1711. Addison.]
In amore haec omnia insunt vitia: injurisB,
Suspiciones, inimicitise, induciae,
Bellum, pax rursum * — Teb. Eun.
Upon looking over the letters of my female correspond- ents, I find several from women complaining of jealous
* In love are all these ills : suspicions, quarrels. Wrongs, reconcilements, war and peace again.
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husbands, and at the same time protesting their own in- nocence; and desiring my advice on this occasion. I shall, therefore, take this subject into my consideration, and the more willingly because I find that the Marquis of Halifax, who, in his Advice to a Daughter, has in- structed a wife how to behave herself towards a false, an intemperate, a choleric, a sullen, a covetous, or a silly husband, has not spoken one word of a jealous husband.
Jealousy is that pain which a man feels from the ap- prehension that he is not equally beloved by the person whom he entirely loves. Now, because our inward pas- sions and inclinations can never make themselves visible, it is impossible for a jealous man to be thoroughly cured of his suspicions. His thoughts hang at best in a state of doubtfulness and uncertainty; and are never capable of receiving any satisfaction on the advantageous side; so that his inquiries are most successful when they dis- cover nothing: his pleasure arises from his disappoint* ments, and his life is spent in pursuit of a secret that destroys his happiness if he chance to find it.
An ardent love is always a strong ingredient in this passion; for the same affection which stirs up the jealous man's desires, and gives the party beloved so beautiful a figure in his imagination, makes him believe she kindles the same passion in others, and appears as amiable to all beholders. And as jealousy thus arises from an extraor- dinary love, it is of so delicate a nature, that it scorns to take up with anything less than an equal return of love. Not the warmest expressions of affection, the soft- est and most tender hypocrisy, are able to give any sat- isfaction, where we are not persuaded that the affection is real and the satisfaction mutual. For the jealous man wishes himself a kind of deity to the person he loves: he would be the only pleasure of her senses, the employ- ment of her thoughts ; and is angry at everything she ad- mires, or takes delight in, besides himself.
Phaedria's request to his mistress, upon his leaving her for three days, is inimitably beautiful and natural.
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Cum milite isto praesens, absens ut sies: Dies, noctesque me ames: me desideres: Me somnies: me exspectes: de me cogites: Me speres: me te oblectes: mecum tota sis: Meus fae sis postremo animus, quando ego sum tuus.
— Teb. Eun.^
The jealous man^s disease is of so malignant a nature, that it converts all he takes into its own nourishment. A cool behavior sets him on the rack, and is interpreted as an instance of aversion or indifference; a fond one raises his suspicions, and looks too much like dissimulation and artifice. If the person he loves be cheerful, her thoughts must be employed on another; and if sad, she is certainly thinking on himself. In short, there is no word or ges- ture so insignificant, but it gives him new hints, feeds his suspicions, and furnishes him with fresh matters of discovery: so that if we consider the effects of this pas- sion, one would rather think it proceeded from an invet- erate hatred than an excessive love; for certainly none can meet with more disquietude and uneasiness than a suspected wife, if we except the jealous husband.
But the great unhappiness of this passion is, that it naturally tends to alienate the affection which it is so solicitous to engross; and that for these two reasons, be- cause it lays too great a constraint on the words and actions of the suspected person, and at the same time shews you have no honorable opinion of her; both of which are strong motives to aversion.
Nor is this the worst effect of jealousy; for it often draws after it a more fatal train of consequences, and makes the person you suspect guilty of the very crimes you are so much afraid of. It is very natural for such who are treated ill and upbraided falsely, to find out an intimate friend that will hear their complaints, condole
* When you are in company with that soldier, behave as if you were absent ; but continue to love me by day and by night : want me ; dream of me ; expect me ; think of me ; wish for me ; delight in me ; be wholly with me : in short, be my very soul, as I am yours.
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their sufferings, and endeavor to soothe and assuage their secret resentments. Besides, jealousy puts a woman often in mind of an ill thing that she would not otherwise, perhaps, have thought of, and fills her imagination with such an unlucky idea, as in time grows familiar, excites desire, and loses all the shame and horror which might at first attend it. Nor is it a wonder if she who suffers wrongfully in a man^s opinion of her, and has, therefore, nothing to forfeit in his esteem, resolves to give him reason for his suspicions, and to enjoy the pleasure of the crime, since she must undergo the ignominy. Such probably were the considerations that directed the wise man in his advice to husbands: "Be not jealous over the wife of thy bosom, and teach her not an evil lesson against thyseK." ^
And here, among the other torments which this pas- sion produces, we may usually observe that none are greater mourners than jealous men, when the person who provoked their jealousy is taken from them. Then it is that their love breaks out furiously, and throws off all the mixtures of suspicion which choked and smothered it before. The beautiful parts of the character rise up- permost in the jealous husband's memory, and upbraid him with the ill usage of so divine a creature as was once in his possession; whilst all the little imperfections, that were before so uneasy to him, wear off from his remem- brance, and shew themselves no more.
We may see by what has been said, that jealousy takes the deepest root in men of amorous dispositions; and of these we may find three kinds who are most overrim with it.
The first are those who are conscious to themselves of an infirmity, whether it be weakness, old age, deformity, ignorance, or the like. These men are so well acquainted with the unamiable part of themselves, that they have not the confidence to think they are really beloved; and are so distrustful of their own merits, that all fondness
lEccls. ix. !.•
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towards them puts them out of countenance, and looks like a jest upon their persons. They grow suspicious on their first looking in a glass, and are stung with jealousy at the sight of a wrinkle. A handsome fellow immedi- ately alarms them, and everything that looks young or gay turns their thoughts upon their wives.
A second sort of men, who are most liable to this pas- sion, are those of cunning, wary, and distrustful tempers. It is a fault very justly found in histories composed by politicians, that they leave nothing to chance, or humor, but are still for deriving every action from some plot and contrivance, for drawing up a perpetual scheme^ of causes and events, and preserving a constant correspond- ence between the camp and the council-table. And thus it happens in the affairs of love with men of too refined a thought. They put a construction on a look, and find out a design in a smile; they give new senses and sig- nifications to words and actions; and are ever tormenting themselves with fancies of their own raising: they gen- erally act in a disguise themselves, and therefore mistake all outward shows and appearances for hypocrisy in oth- ers; so that I believe no men see less of the truth and reality of things than these great refiners upon inci- dents, who are so wonderfully subtle and overwise in their conceptions.
Now what these men fancy they know of women by re- flection, your lewd and vicious men believe they have learned by experience. They have seen the poor husband so misled by tricks and artifices, and in the midst of his inquiries so lost and bewildered in a crooked intrigue, that they still suspect an under-plot in every female ac- tion; and especially where they see any resemblance in the behavior of two persons, are apt to fancy it proceeds from the same design in both. These men, therefore, bear hard upon the suspected party, pursue her close through all her turnings and windings, and are too well acquainted with the chase, to be slung off by any false steps or doub- les : besides, their acquaintance and conversation has lain
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wholly among the vicious part of womankind, and there- fore it is no wonder they censure all ahke, and look upon the whole sex as a species of impostors. But if, notwith- standing their private experience, they can get over these prejudices, and entertain a favorable opinion of some women, yet their own loose desires will stir up new sus- picions from another side, and make them believe all men subject to the same inclinations with themselves.
Whether these or other motives are most predominant, we learn from the modern histories of America, as well as from our own experience in this part of the world, that jealousy is no northern passion, but rages most in those nations that lie nearest the influence of the sun. It is a misfortune for a woman to be born between the tropics; for there lie the hottest regions of jealousy, which as you come northward cools all along with the climate, till you scarce meet with anything like it in the polar circle. Our own nation is very temperately situ- ated in this respect; and if we meet with some few dis- ordered with the violence of this passion, they are not the proper growth of our country, but are many degrees nearer the sun in their constitutions than in their cli- mate.
After this frightful account of jealousy, and the per- sons who are most subject to it, it will be but fair to shew by what means the passion may be best allayed, and those who are possessed with it set at ease. Other faults, indeed, are not under the wife's jurisdiction, and should, if possible, escape her observation ; but jealousy calls upon her particularly for its cure, and deser\^es all her art and application in the attempt: besides, she has this for her encouragement, that her endeavors will be always pleas- ing, and that she will still find the affection of her hus- band rising towards her in proportion as his doubts and suspicions vanish; for, as we have seen all along, there is so great a mixture of love in jealousy as is well worth separating. But this shall be the subject of another paper.
L.
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[Spectator No. 174. Wednesday, September 19, 1711. Steele.]
Haec memini et victum frustra contendere Tliyrsin.^
— Yhsjqil,
There is scarce anything more common than animosi- ties between parties that cannot subsist but by their agreement: this was well represented in the sedition of the members of the human body in the old Roman fable. It is often the case of lesser confederate states against a superior power, which are hardly held together, though their unanimity is necessary for their common safety. And this is always the case of the landed and trading in- terest of Great Britain : the trader is fed by the product of the land, and the landed man cannot be clothed but by the skill of the trader; and yet those interests are ever jarring.
We had last winter an instance of this at our club, in Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport, be- tween whom there is generally a constant, though friendly, opposition of opinions. It happened that one of the company, in an historical discourse, was observing that Carthaginian faith was a proverbial phrase to inti- mate breach of leagues. Sir Roger said it could hardly be otherwise; that '^the Carthaginians were the greatest traders in the world, and as gain is the chief end of such a people, they never pursue any other, — the means to it are never regarded. They will, if it comes easily, get money honestly; but if not, they will not scruple to ob- tain it by fraud or cozenage. And, indeed, what is the whole business of the trader's account, but to overreach him who trusts to his memory? But were that not so, what can there great and noble be expected from him whose attention is forever fixed upon balancing his books, and watching over his expenses ? And at best, let f rugal-
* "The whole debate In memory 1 retain,
When Thyrsia argued warmly, but in vain."
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ity and parsimony be the virtues of the merchant, how much is his punctual dealing below a gentleman's char- ity to the poor, or hospitality among his neighbors?"
Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent in hearing Sir Eoger, and had a mind to turn the discourse by taking notice "in general, from the highest to the low- est parts of human society, there was a secret, though un- just, way among men of indulging the seeds of ill-nature and envy, by comparing their own state of life to that of another, and grudging the approach of their neighbor to their own happiness. And on the other side, he who is the less at his ease, repines at the other who, he thinks, has unjustly the advantage over him. Thus the civil and military lists look upon each other with much ill-nature: the soldier repines at the courtier's power, and the courtier rallies the soldier's honor; or, to come to lower instances, the private men in the horse and foot of an army, the carmen and coachmen in the city streets, mutually look upon each other with ill-will, when they are in competi- tion for quarters or the way, in their respective motions."
"It is very well, good captain," interrupted Sir An- drew, ^^ou may attempt to turn the discourse if you think fit; but I must, however, have a word or two with Sir Roger, who, I see, thinks he has paid me off, and been very severe upon the merchant. I shall not," continued he, ^^at this time remind Sir Eoger of the great and noble monuments of charity and public spirit which have been erected by merchants since the Reformation, but at present content myself with what he allows us — parsimony and frugality. If it were consistent with the quality of so ancient a baronet as Sir Eoger to keep an account, or measure things by the most infallible way, that of numbers, he would prefer our parsimony to his hospitality. If to drink so many hogsheads is to be hospitable, we do not contend for the fame of that virtue; but it would be worth while to consider whether so many artificers at work ten days together by my appointment, or so many peasants made merry on Sir Roger's charge, are the men more
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obliged! I believe the families of the artificers will thank me more than the households of the peasants shall Sir Eoger. Sir Eoger gives to his men, but I place mine above the necessity or obligation of my bounty. I am in very little pain for the Eoman proverb upon the Cartha- ginian traders; the Romans were their professed enemies. I am only sorry that no Carthaginian histories have come to our hands ; we might have been taught, perhaps, by them some proverbs against the Eoman generosity, in fighting for and bestowing other people's goods. But since Sir Eoger has taken occasion from an old proverb to be out of humor with merchants, it should be no offense to offer one not quite so old in their defense. When a man happens to break in Holland, they say of him that ^he has not kept true accounts.' This phrase, perhaps, among us would appear a soft or humorous way of speaking; but with that exact nation it bears the highest reproach. For a man to be mistaken in the calculation of his expense, in his ability to answer future demands, or to be imperti- nently sanguine in putting his credit to too great adven- ture, are all instances of as much infamy as, with gayer nations, to be failing in courage or common honesty.
"Numbers are so much the measure of everything that is valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate the success of any action or the prudence of any undertaking, without them. I say this in answer to what Sir Eoger is pleased to say, that ^little that is truly noble can be expected from one who is ever poring on his cash-book or balancing his accounts.' When I have my returns from abroad, I can tell to a shilling, by the help of numbers, the profit or loss by my adventure; but I ought also to be able to show that I had reason for making it, either from my own experience or that of other people, or from a reasonable presumption that my returns will be sufficient to answer my expense and hazard — and this is never to be done without the skill of numbers. For instance, if I am to trade to Turkey, I ought beforehand to know the demand of our manufactures there, as well as
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of their silks in England, and the customary prices that are given for both in each country. I ought to have a clear knowledge of these matters beforehand, that I may presume upon sufficient returns to answer the charge of the cargo I have fitted out, the freight and assurance out and home, the custom to the Queen, and the interest of my own money, and besides all these expenses, a reason- able profit to myself. Now what is there of scandal in this skill? What has the merchant done that he should be so little in the good graces of Sir Roger? He throws down no man's enclosure, and tramples upon no man's corn; he takes nothing from the industrious laborer; he pays the poor man for his work; he communicates his profit with mankind; by the preparation of his cargo, and the manufacture of his returns, he furnishes employment and subsistence to greater numbers than the richest noble- man; and even the nobleman is obliged to him for finding out foreign markets for the produce of his estate, and for making a great addition to his rents ; and yet it is certain that none of all these things could be done by him with- out the exercise of his skill in numbers.
"This is the economy of the merchant; and the conduct of the gentleman must be the same, unless by scorning to be the steward, he resolves the steward shall be the gen- tleman. The gentleman, no more than the merchant, is able, without the help of numbers, to account for the success of any action, or the prudence of any adventure. If, for instance, the chase is his whole adventure, his only returns must be the stag's horns in the great hall and the fox's nose upon the stable door. Without doubt Sir Roger knows the full value of these returns; and if beforehand he had computed the charges of the chase, a gentleman of his discretion would certainly have hanged up all his dogs; he would never have brought back so many fine horses to the kennel; he would never have gone so often, like a blast, over fields of com. If such, too, had been the conduct of all his ancestors, he might truly have boasted, at this day, that the antiquity of his family had
ADDISON AISTD STEELE 27Y
never been sullied by a trade; a merchant had never been permitted with his whole estate to purchase a room for his picture in the gallery of the Coverleys, or to claim his descent from the maid of honor. But ^tis very happy for Sir Roger that the merchant paid so dear for his ambition. 'Tis the misfortune of many other gentlemen to turn out of the seats of their ancestors to make way for such new masters as have been more exact in their accounts than themselves; and certainly he deserves the estate a great deal better who has got it by his industry, than he who has lost it by his negligence," T.
[Spectator No. 236. Thursday, November 29, 1711. Addison.]
— Populares Vincentem strepitus — ^
— HoR. Ars Poet. 81.
There is nothing which lies more within the province of a Spectator than public shows and diversions; and, as among these there are none which can pretend to vie with those elegant entertainments that are exhibited in our theaters, I think it particularly incumbent on me to take notice of every thing that is remarkable in such numerous and refined assemblies.
It is observed, that of late years there has been a cer- tain person in the upper gallery of the play-house, who, when he is pleased with anything that is acted upon the stage, expresses his approbation by a loud knock upon the benches or the wainscot, which may be heard over the whole theater. This person is commonly known by the name of the "Trunk-maker in the upper gallery." Whether it be that the blow he gives on these occasions
* Awes the tumultuous noises of the pit.
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resembles that which is often heard in the shops of such artisans, or that he was supposed to have been a real trunk-maker, who after the finishing of his day's work used to unbend his mind at these public diversions with his hammer in his hand, I cannot certainly tell. There are some, 1 know, who have been foolish enough to imagine it is a spirit which haunts the upper gallery, and from time to time makes those strange noises; and the rather, because he is observed to be louder than ordinary every time the ghost of Hamlet appears. Others have reported, that it is a dumb man, who has chosen this way of utter- ing himself when he is transported with anything he sees or hears. Others will have it to be the play-house thun- derer, that exerts himself after this manner in the upper gallery when he has nothing to do upon the roof.
But having made it my business to get the best in- formation I could in a matter of this moment, I find that the trunk-maker, as he is commonly called, is a large black- man, whom nobody knows. He generally leans forward on a huge oaken plant with great attention to everything that passes upon the stage. He is never seen to smile; but, upon hearing anything that pleases him, he takes up his staff with both hands, and lays it upon the next piece of timber that stands in his way with exceeding vehemence; after which, he composes himself in his former posture, till such time as something new sets him again at work.
It has been observed, his blow is so well timed that the most judicious critic could never except against it. As soon as any shining thought is expressed in the poet, or any uncommon grace appears in the actor, he smites the bench or wainscot. If the audience does not concur with him, he smites a second time; and if the audience is not yet awakened, looks round him with great wrath, and repeats the blow a third time, which never fails to produce the clap. He sometimes lets the audience begin the clap themselves, and at the conclusion of their applause ratifies it with a single thwack.
He is of so great use to the play-house, that it is said
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a former director of it, upon his not being able to pay his attendance by reason of sickness, kept one in pay to officiate for him until such time as he recovered; but the person so employed, though he laid about him with in- credible violence, did it in such wrong places that the audience soon found out that it was not their old friend the trunk-maker.
It has been remarked, that he has not yet exerted him- self with vigor this season. He sometimes plies at the opera; and, upon Nicolini's first appearance, was said to have demolished three benches in the fury of his applause. He has broken half-a-dozen oaken plants upon Dogget, and seldom goes away from a tragedy of Shakespeare without leaving the wainscot extremely shattered.
The players do not only connive at his obstreperous ap- probation, but very cheerfully repair at their own cost whatever damages he makes. They once had a thought of erecting a kind of wooden anvil for his use, that should be made of a very sounding plank, in order to render his strokes more deep and mellow ; but as this might not have been distinguished from the music of a kettle drum, the project was laid aside.
In the meanwhile, I cannot but take notice of the great use it is to an audience that a person should thus preside over their heads like the director of a concert, in order to awaken their attention, and beat time to their ap- plauses; or, to raise my simile, I have sometimes fancied the trunk-maker, in the upper gallery, to be like VirgiFs ruler of the wind, seated upon the top of a mountain, who, when he struck his scepter upon the side of it, roused an hurricane, and set the whole cavern in an uproar.
It is certain the trunk-maker has saved many a good play, and brought many a graceful actor into reputation, who would not otherwise have been taken notice of. It is very visible, as the audience is not a little abashed, if they find themselves betrayed into a clap when their friend in the upper gallery does not come into it; so the actors do not value themselves upon the clap, but regard
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it as a mere hrutum fulmen, or empty noise, when it has not the sound of the oaken plant in it. I know it has been given out by those who are enemies to the trunk- maker, that he has sometimes been bribed to be in the interest of a bad poet, or a vicious player; but this is a surmise which has no foundation: his strokes are always just, and his admonitions seasonable: he does not deal about his blows at random, but always hits the right nail upon the head. That inexpressible force wherewith he lays them on, sufficiently shows the evidence and strength of his conviction. His zeal for a good author is indeed outrageous, and breaks down every fence and partition, every board and plank, that stands within the expression of his applause.
As I do not care for terminating my thoughts in bar- ren speculations, or in reports of pure matter of fact, without drawing something from them for the advantage of my countrymen, I shall take the liberty to make an humble proposal, that whenever the trunk-maker shall depart this life, or whenever he shall have lost the spring of his arm by sickness, old age, infirmity, or the like, some able-bodied critic should be advanced to this post, and have a competent salary settled on him, to be furnished with bamboos for operas, crab-tree cudgels for comedies, and oaken plants for tragedy, at the public expense. And to the end that this place should be always disposed of according to merit, I would have none preferred to it who has not given convincing proofs both of a sound judgment and a strong arm, and who could not upon occasion, either knock down an ox, or write a comment upon Hor- ace's Art of Poetry. In short, I would have him a due composition of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly quali- fied for this important office, that the trunk-maker may not be missed by our posterity. 0.
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[Spectator No. 251. Tuesday, December 18, 1711. Addison.]
— Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum, Ferrea vox — ^
— ViRG. ^n. vi. 625.
There is nothing which more astonishes a foreigner, and frights a country squire, than the Cries of London. My good friend Sir Roger often declares that he cannot get them out of his head, or go to sleep for them, the first week that he is in town. On the contrary. Will Honeycomb calls them the Ramage de la Ville, and prefers them to the sounds of larks and nightingales, with all the music of the fields and woods. I have lately received a letter from some very odd fellow upon this subject, which I shall leave with my reader, without saying anything farther of it.
^^SiR,
"I am a man out of all business, and would willingly turn my hand to anything for an honest livelihood. I have invented several projects for raising many millions of money without burdening the subject, but I cannot get the parliament to listen to me, who look upon me, for- sooth, as a crack and a projector; so that, despairing to enrich either myself or my country by this public-spirited- ness, I would make some proposals to you relating to a design which I have very much at heart, and which may procure me a handsome subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend it to the cities of London and Westminster.
"The post I would aim at, is to be Comptroller-General of the London Cries, which are at present under no man- ner of rules and discipline. I think I am pretty well qualified for this place, as being a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into all the branches of our
^ — A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, And throats of brass inspir'd with iron lungs.
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British trades and manufactures, and of a competent skill in music.
"The Cries of London may be divided into vocal and instrumental. As for the latter, they are at present under a very great disorder. A freeman of London has the privi- lege of disturbing a whole street for an hour together, with the twanking of a brass kettle or frying-pan. The watchman's thump at midnight startles us in our beds, as much as the breaking in of a thief. The sowgelder's horn has indeed something musical in it, but this is seldom heard within the liberties. I would therefore propose, that no instrument of this nature should be made use of, which I have not tuned and licensed, after having carefully examined in what manner it may affect the ears of her Majesty's liege subjects.
^^Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and indeed so full of incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a distracted city to foreigners, who do not comprehend the meaning of such enormous outcries. Milk is generally sold in a note above E-la, and in sounds so exceedingly shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge. The chimney- sweeper is confined to no certain pitch; he sometimes utters himself in the deepest base, and sometimes in the sharpest treble; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes in the lowest note of the gamut. The same observation might be made on the retailers of small-coal, not to men- tion broken glasses or brick-dust. In these, therefore, and the like cases, it should be my care to sweeten and mellow the voices of these itinerant tradesmen, before they make their appearance in our streets, as also to acommodate their cries to their respective wares: and to take care in particular, that those may not make the most noise who have the least to sell, which is very observable in the vendors of card-matches, to whom I cannot but apply the old proverb of ^Much cry but little wool.'
"Some of these last-mentioned musicians are so very loud in the sale of these trifling manufactures, that an honest splenetic gentleman of my acquaintance bargained
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with one of tliem never to come into the street where he lived. But what was the effect of this contract ? Why, the whole tribe of card match-makers, which frequent that quarter, passed by his door the very next day, in hopes of being bought off after the same manner.
"It is another great imperfection in our London Cries, that there is no just time nor measure observed in them. Our news should indeed be published in a very quick time, because it is a commodity that will not keep cold. It should not, however, be cried with the same precipita- tion as fire. Yet this is generally the case. A bloody battle alarms the town from one end to another in an instant. Every motion of the French is published in so great a hurry, that one would think the enemy were at our gates. This likewise I would take upon me to regu- late in such a manner, that there should be some distinc- tion made between the spreading of a victory, a march, or an encampment, a Dutch, a Portugal, or a Spanish mail. Nor must I omit under this head those excessive alarms with which several boisterous rustics infest our streets in turnip-season; and which are more inexcusable, because these are wares which are in no danger of cooling upon their hands.
"There are others who affect a very slow time, and are in my opinion much more tuneable than the former. The cooper in particular swells his last note in an hollow voice, that is not without its harmony; nor can I forbear being inspired with a most agreeable melancholy, when I hear that sad and solemn air with which the public are very often asked, if they have any chairs to mend ? Your own memory may suggest to you many other lamentable ditties of the same nature, in which the music is wonder- fully languishing and melodious.
"I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which is proper for the pickling of dill and cucum- bers ; but, alas ! this cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months. It would therefore be
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worth while to consider, whether the same air might not in some eases be adapted to other words.
^^It might likewise deserve our most serious considera- tion, how far, in a well-regulated city, those humorists are to be tolerated, who, not contented with the traditional cries of their forefathers, have invented particular songs and tunes of their own : such as was, not many years since, the pastryman, commonly known by the name of the CoUy- MoUy-Puff ; ^ and such as is at this day the vendor of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly informed, goes under the name of Powder-Wat.
^T[ must not here omit one particular absurdity which runs through this whole vociferous generation, and which renders their cries very often not only incommodious, but altogether useless to the public. I mean that idle accom- plishment, which they all of them aim at, of crying so as not to be understood. Whether or not they have learned this from several of our affected singers, I will not take upon me to say; but most certain it is, that people know the wares they deal in rather by their tunes than by their words; insomuch that I have sometimes seen a country boy run out to buy apples of a bellows-mender, and ginger- bread from a grinder of knives and scissors. Nay, so strangely infatuated are some very eminent artists of this particular grace in a cry, that none but their acquaintance are able to guess at their profession; for who else can know, that Vork if I had it,' should be the signification of a corn-cutter.
^Torasmuch, therefore, as persons of this rank are seldom men of genius or capacity, I think it would be proper that some man of good sense and profound judg- ment should preside over these public cries, who should permit none to lift up their voices in our streets, that have not tuneable throats, and are not only able to overcome the noise of the crowd, and the rattling of coaches, but
* This little man was only able to support the basket of pastry which he carried on his head, and sung in a very peculiar tone the cant words which passed into his name. Colly-Molly-Puff.
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also to vend their respective merchandise in apt phrases, and in the most distinct and agreeable sounds. I do therefore himibly recommend myseli as a person rightly qualified for this post ; and, if I meet with fitting encour- agement, shall communicate some other projects which I have by me, that may no less conduce to the emolument of the public.
'1 am, 'Sir, &c. C. 'TRalph Crotchet/'
[Spectator No. 269. Tuesday, January 8, 1711-12. Addison.]
JEvo rarissima nostro
Simplicitas .* — Ovm.
I was this morning surprised with a great knocking at the door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me and told me that there was a man below desired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was a very grave, elderly person, but that she did not know his name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to be the coachman of my worthy friend. Sir Roger de Coverley. He told me that his master came to town last night, and would be glad to take a turn with me in Gray's Inn Walks. As I was wondering in myself what had brought Sir Eoger to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he told me that his master was come up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desired I would immediately meet him.
I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more than once in private discourse that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so the knight always calls him) to be a greater man than Scanderbeg.
I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I
» ''Most rare is now our old simpUcity." — Dbtdih.
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heard my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself with great vigor, for he loves to clear his pipes in good air (to make use of his own phrase), and is not a little pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems.
I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old man, who before he saw me was engaged in conver- sation with a beggarman that had asked an alms of him. I could hear my friend chide him for not finding out some work; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his pocket and give him sixpence.
Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consist- ing of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affec- tionate looks which we cast upon one another. After which the knight told me my good friend his chaplain was very well, and much at my service, and that the Sunday before he had made a most incomparable sermon out of Doctor Barrow. "I have left," says he, "all my affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty marks, to be dis- tributed among his poor parishioners.''
He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob and presented me, in his name, with a tobacco-stopper, telling me that Will had been busy all the beginning of the winter in turning great quantities of them, and that he made a present of one to every gentleman in the country who has good principles and smokes. He added that poor Will was at present under great tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges.
Among other pieces of news which the knight brought from his country-seat, he informed me that Moll White was dead; and that about a month after her death the wind was so very high that it blew down the end of one of his barns. ^TBut for my own part," says Sir Koger, ^^I do not think that the old woman had any hand in it."
He afterward fell into an account of the diversions
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which had passed in his house during the holidays ; for Sir Roger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from him that he had killed eight fat hogs for the season, that he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst hia neighbors, and that in particular he had sent a string of hog's-puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. ^^I have often thought," says Sir Eoger, "it happens very well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of the winter. It is the most dead, uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gam- bols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it a running for twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shews a thousand roguish tricks upon these occasions."
I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then launched out into the praise of the late Act of Parlia- ment for securing the Church of England, and told me, with great satisfaction, that he believed it already began to take effect, for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to dine at his house on Christmas Day, had been observed to eat very plentifully of his plum-porridge.
After having dispatched all our country matters. Sir Koger made several inquiries concerning the club, and particularly of his old antagonist. Sir Andrew Freeport. He asked me with a kind of smile whether Sir Andrew had not taken advantage of his absence to vent among them some of his republican doctrines; but soon after, gathering up his countenance into a more than ordinary
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seriousness, ^Tell me truly/* says he, "don't you think Sir Andrew had a hand in the Pope's Procession!" — ^but without giving me time to answer him, "Well, well," says he, ^^I know you are a wary man, and do not care to talk of public matters."
The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, and made me promise to get him a stand in some con- venient place, where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence does so much honor to the British nation.
He dwelt very long on the praises of this great general, and I found that, since I was with him in the country, he had drawn many observations together out of his read- ing in Baker's Chronicle, and other authors who always lie in his hall window, which very much redound to the honor of this prince.
Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in hearing the knight's reflections, which were partly private and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I love the old man, I take delight in complying with every- thing that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax candle, and The Supplement, with such an air of cheerfulness and good humor that all the boys in the coffee-room, who eeemed to take pleasure in serving him, were at once employed on his several errands, inso- much that nobody else could come at a dish of tea till the knight had got all his conveniences about him.
L.
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[Spectator No. 275. Tuesday, January 15, 1711-12. Addison.]
— tribus Anticyris caput insanabile — *
—Hob. Ars Poet. 300.
I was yesterday engaged in an assembly of virtuosos, where one of them produced many curious observations which he had lately made in the anatomy of an human body. Another of the company communicated to us sev- eral wonderful discoveries, which he had also made on the same subject by the help of very fine glasses. This gave birth to a great variety of uncommon remarks, and furnished discourse for the remaining part of the day.
The different opinions which were started on this occa- sion, presented to my imagination so many new ideas, that, by mixing with those which were already there, they employed my fancy all the last night, and composed a very wild extravagant dream.
I was invited methought to the dissection of a beau's head and of a coquette's heart, which were both of them laid on a table before us. An imaginary operator opened the first with a great deal of nicety, which, upon a cursory and superficial view, appeared like the head of another man; but upon applying our glasses to it, we made a very odd discovery, namely, that what we looked upon as brains, were not such in reality, but an heap of strange materials wound up in that shape and texture, and packed together with wonderful art in the several cavities of the skull. For, as Homer tells us that the blood of the gods is not real blood, but only something like it; so we found that the brain of a beau is not a real brain, but only some- thing like it.
The pineal gland, which many of our modem philoso- phers suppose to be the seat of the soul, smelt very strong of essence and orange-flower water, and was encompassed
*A head no hellebore can cure.
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with a kind of homy substance, cut into a thousand little faces or mirrors which were imperceptible to the naked eye, insomuch that the soul, if there had been any here, must have been always taken up in contemplating her own beauties.
We observed a large antrum or cavity in the sinciput, that was filled with ribands, lace and embroidery, wrought together in a most curious piece of net-work, the parts of which were likewise imperceptible to the naked eye. Another of these antrums or cavities was stuffed with invisible billet-doux, love-letters, pricked dances, and other trumpery of the same nature. In another we found a kind of powder, which set the whole company a sneezing, and by the scent discovered itself to be right Spanish. The several other cells were stored with commodities of the same kind, of which it would be tedious to give the reader an exact inventory.
There was a large cavity on each side the head, which I must not omit. That on the right side was filled with fictions, flatteries, and falsehoods, vows, promises, and protestations; that on the left, with oaths and impreca- tions. There issued out a duct from each of these cells, which ran into the root of the tongue, where both joined together, and passed forward in one common duct to the tip of it. We discovered several little roads or canals running from the ear into the brain, and took particular care to trace them out through their several passages. One of them extended itseK into a bundle of sonnets and little musical instruments. Others ended in several blad- ders which were filled either with wind or froth. But the large canal entered into a great cavity in the skull, from whence there went another canal into the tongue. This great cavity was filled with a kind of spongy substance, which the French anatomists called galimatias, and the English, nonsense.
The skins of the forehead were extremely tough and thick, and, what very much surprised us, had not in them any single blood-vessel that we were able to dis-
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cover, either with or without our glasses; from whence we concluded, that the party when alive must have been entirely deprived of the faculty of blushing.
The OS cribriforme was exceedingly stuffed, and in some places damaged with snuff. We could not but take notice in particular of that small muscle which is not often discovered in dissections, and draws the nose upwards, when it expresses the contempt which the owner of it has, upon seeing anything he does not like, or hearing any- thing he does not understand. I need not tell my learned reader, this is that muscle which performs the motion so often mentioned by the Latin poets, when they talk of a man's cocking his nose, or playing the rhinoceros.
We did not find anything very remarkable in the eye, saving only that the musculi amatorii, or, as we may translate it into English, the ogling muscles, were very much worn and decayed with use; whereas, on the con- trary, the elevator, or the muscle which turns the eye towards heaven, did not appear to have been used at all.
I have only mentioned in this dissection such new dis- coveries as we were able to make, and have not taken any notice of those parts which are to be met with in common heads. As for the skull, the face, and indeed the whole outward shape and figure of the head, we could not discover any difference from what we observe in the heads of other men. We were informed that the person to whom this head belonged, had passed for a man above five and thirty years ; during which time he ate and drank like other people, dressed well, talked loud, laughed fre- quently, and on particular occasions had acquitted him- self tolerably at a ball or an assembly; to which one of the company added, that a certain knot of ladies took him for a wit. He was cut off in the flower of his age by the blow of a paring shovel, having been surprised by an eminent citizen, as he was tendering some civilities to his wife.
When we had thoroughly examined this head with all its apartments, and its several kinds of furniture, we put
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up the brain, such as it was, into its proper place, and laid it aside under a broad piece of scarlet cloth, in order to be prepared, and kept in a great repository of dissec- tions; our operator telling us that the preparation would not be so difficult as that of another brain, for that he bad observed several of the little pipes and tubes which ran through the brain were already filled with a kind of mercurial substance, which he looked upon to be true quicksilver.
He applied himself in the next place to the coquette's heart, which he likewise laid open with great dexterity. There occurred to us many particularities in this dissec- tion; but being unwilling to burthen my reader's memory too much, I shall reserve this subject for the speculation of another day. L.
[Spectator No. 280. Monday, January 21, 1711-12. Steele.]
Principibus placuisse viris non ultima laus est.*
— Hob. 1 Ep. xvii. 35.
The desire of pleasing makes a man agreeable or un- welcome to those with whom he converses, according to the motive from which that inclination appears to flow. If your concern for pleasing others arises from an innate benevolence, it never fails of success; if from a vanity to excel, its disappointment is no less certain. What we call an agreeable man, is he who is endowed with that natural bent to do acceptable things from a delight he takes in them merely as such; and the affectation of that character is what constitutes a fop. Under these leaders one may draw up all those who make any manner of figure, except in dumb show. A rational and select conversation is composed of persons who have the talent of pleasing with delicacy of sentiments, flowing from
* To please the great is not the smaUest praise.
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habitual chastity of thought; but mixed company is fre- quently made up of pretenders to mirth, and is usually pestered with constrained, obscene, and painful witticisms. Now and then you meet with a man so exactly formed for pleasing, that it is no matter what he is doing or saying, that is to say, that there need be no manner of importance in it, to make him gain upon everybody who hears or beholds him. This felicity is not the gift of nature only, but must be attended with happy circum- stances, which add a dignity to the familiar behavior which distinguishes him whom we call an agreeable man. It is from this that everybody loves and esteems Poly- carpus. He is in the vigor of his age and the gaiety of life, but has passed through very conspicuous scenes in it : though no soldier, he has shared the danger, and acted with great gallantry and generosity on a decisive day of battle. To have those qualities which only make other men conspicuous in the world as it were supernumerary to him, is a circumstance which gives weight to his most indifferent actions; for as a known credit is ready cash to a trader, so is acknowledged merit immediate distinc- tion, and serves in the place of equipage, to a gentleman. This renders Polycarpus graceful in mirth, important in business, and regarded with love in every ordinary occur- rence. But not to dwell upon characters which have such particular recommendations to our hearts, let us turn our thoughts rather to the methods of pleasing which must carry men through the world, who cannot pretend to such advantages. Falling in with the particular humor or manner of one above you, abstracted from the general rules of good behavior, is the life of a slave. A parasite differs in nothing from the meanest servant, but that the footman hires himseK for bodily labor, subjected to go and come at the will of his master, but the other gives up his very soul : he is prostituted to speak, and professes to think after the mode of him whom he courts. This servitude to a patron, in an honest nature, would be more grievous than that of wearing his livery; therefore we
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shall speak of those methods only which are worthy and ingenuous.
The happy talent of pleasing either those above you or below you, seems to be wholly owing to the opinion they have of your sincerity. This quality is to attend the agree- able man in all the actions of his life; and I think there need be no more said in honor of it, than that it is what forces the approbation even of your opponents. The guilty man has an honor for the judge who with justice pronounces against him the sentence of death itself. The author of the sentence at the head of this paper was an excellent judge of human life, and passed his own in company the most agreeable that ever was in the world. Augustus lived amongst his friends as if he had his fortune to make in his own court. Candor and affability, accompanied with as much power as ever mortal was vested with, were what made him in the utmost manner agreeable among a set of admirable men, who had thoughts too high for ambition, and views too large to be gratified by what he could give them in the disposal of an empire, without the pleasures of their mutual conversation. A certain unanimity of taste and judgment, which is natu- ral to all of the same order in the species, was the band of this society; and the emperor assumed no figure in it but what he thought was his due from his private talents and qualifications, as they contributed to advance the pleasures and sentiments of the company.
Cunning people, hypocrites, all who are but half virtu- ous, or half wise, are incapable of tasting the refined pleasures of such an equal company as could wholly ex- clude the regard of fortune in their conversations. Horace, in the discourse from whence I take the hint of the present speculation, lays down excellent rules for con- duct in conversation with men of power; but he speaks it with an air of one who had no need of such an appli- cation for anything which related to himself. It shows he understood what it was to be a skiKul courtier, by just admonitions against importunity, and showing how
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forcible it was to speak modestly of your own wants. There is indeed something so shameless in taking all opportunities to speak of your own affairs, that he who is guilty of it towards him upon whom he depends, fares like the beggar who exposes his sores, which, instead of moving compassion, makes the man he begs of turn away from the object.
I cannot tell what is become of him, but I remember about sixteen years ago an honest fellow, who so justly understood how disagreeable mention or appearance of his wants would make him, that I have often reflected upon him as a counterpart of Irus, whom I have formerly mentioned. This man, whom I have missed for some years in my walks, and have heard was some way em- ployed about the army, made it a maxim, that good wigs, delicate linen, and a cheerful air, were to a poor depen- dent the same that working tools are to a poor artificer. It was no small entertainment to me, who knew his circumstances, to see him, who had fasted two days, attribute the thinness they told him of, to the violence of some gallantries he had lately been guilty of. The skilful dissembler carried this on with the utmost address ; and if any suspected his affairs were narrow, it was attributed to indulging himself in some fashionable vice rather than an irreproachable poverty, which saved his credit with those on whom he depended.
The main art is to be as little troublesome as you can, and make all you hope for come rather as a favor from your patron than claim from you. But I am here prating of what is the method of pleasing so as to succeed in the world, when there are crowds who have, in city, town, court, and country, arrived to considerable acquisitions, and yet seem incapable of acting in any constant tenor of life, but have gone on from one successful error to an- other: therefore I think I may shorten this inquiry after the method of pleasing ; and as the old beau said to his son, once for all, ^Tray, Jack, be a fine gentleman;" so may I
296 ADDISON AND STEELE
to my reader, abridge my instructions, and finish the art of pleasing in a word, "Be rich/' T.
[Spectator No. 281. Tuesday, January 22, 1711-12. Addison.]
Pectoribus inhians spirantia consulit erta.^
— ViBQ. -^n. iv. 64.
Having already given an account of the dissection of a beau's head, with the several discoveries made on that occasion; I shall here, according to my promise, enter upon the dissection of a coquette's heart, and communicate to the public such particularities as we observed in that curious piece of anatomy.
I should perhaps have waived this undertaking, had not I been put in mind of my promise by several of my unknown correspondents, who are very importunate wtth me to make an example of the coquette, as I have already done of the beau. It is therefore, in compliance with the request of friends, that I have looked over the minutes of my former dream, in order to give the public an exact relation of it, which I shall enter upon without farther preface.
Our operator, before he engaged in this visionary dis- section, told us that there was nothing in his art more difficult than to lay open the heart of a coquette, by reason of the many labyrinths and recesses which are to be found in it, and which do not appear in the heart of any other animal.
He desired us first of all to observe the pericardium, or outward case of the heart, which we did very atten- tively; and by the help of our glasses discerned in it millions of little scars, which seemed to have been occa- sioned by the points of innumerable darts and arrows, that from time to time had glanced upon the outward
* Anxious the reeking entrails he consults.
ADDISON AND STEELE 297
coat; thougli we could not discover the smallest orifice by which any of them had entered and pierced the inward substance.
Every smatterer in anatomy knows that this pericar- dium, or case of the heart, contains in it a thin reddish liquor, supposed to be bred from the vapors which exhale out of the heart, and being stopped here, are condensed into this watery substance. Upon examining this liquor, we found that it had in it all the qualities of that spirit which is made use of in the thermometer to show the change of weather.
Nor must I here omit an experiment one of the company assured us he himseK had made with this liquor, which he found in great quantity about the heart of a coquette whom he had formerly dissected. He affirmed to us, that he had actually inclosed it in a small tube made after the manner of a weather-glass; but that, instead of ac- quainting him with the variations of the atmosphere, it showed him the qualities of those persons who entered the room where it stood. He affirmed also, that it rose at the approach of a plume of feathers, an embroidered coat, or a pair of fringed gloves; and that it fell as soon as an ill-shaped periwig, a clumsy pair of shoes, or an unfashionable coat came into his house. Nay, he pro- ceeded so far as to assure us, that upon his laughing aloud when he stood by it, the liquor mounted very sensibly, and immediately sunk again upon his looking serious. In short, he told us that he knew very well by this invention, whenever he had a man of sense or a coxcomb in his room.
Having cleared away the pericardium, or the case, and liquor above-mentioned, we came to the heart itself. The outward surface of it was extremely slippery, and the mucro, or point, so very cold withal, that upon endeavor- ing to take hold of it, it glided through the fingers like a smooth piece of ice.
The fibers were turned and twisted in a more intricate and perplexed manner than they are usually found in
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other hearts; insomuch that the whole heart was wound up together like a Gordian knot, and must have had very irregular and unequal motions, while it was employed in its vital function.
One thing we thought very observable, namely, that upon examining all the vessels which came into it, or issued out of it, we could not discover any communica- tion that it had with the tongue.
We could not but take notice likewise that several of those little nerves in the heart which are affected by the sentiments of love, hatred, and other passions, did not descend to this before us from the brain, but from the muscles which lie about the eye.
Upon weighing the heart in my hand, I found it to be extremely light, and consequently very hollow, which I did not wonder at, when, upon looking into the inside of it, I saw multitudes of cells and cavities running one within another, as our historians describe the apartments of Rosamond's bower. Several of these little hollows were stuffed with innumerable sorts of trifles, which I shall forbear giving any particular account of, and shall, therefore, only take notice of what lay first and upper- most, which, upon our unfolding it, and applying our microscopes to it, appeared to be a flame-colored hood.
We are informed that the lady of this heart, when living, received the addresses of several who made love to her, and did not only give each of them encourage- ment, but made everyone she conversed with believe that she regarded him with an eye of kindness; for which reason we expected to have seen the impression of multi- tudes of faces among the several plaits and foldings of the heart; but to our great surprise not a single print of this nature discovered itself till we came into the very core and center of it. We there observed a little figure, which, upon applying our glasses to it, appeared dressed in a very fantastic manner. The more I looked upon it, the more I thought I had seen the face before, but could not possibly recollect either the place or time; when at
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length one of the company, who had examined this figure more nicely than the rest, showed us plainly by the make of its face, and the several turns of its features, that the little idol which was thus lodged in the very middle of the heart was the deceased beau, whose head I gave some account of in my last Tuesday's paper.
As soon as we had finished our dissection, we resolved to make an experiment of the heart, not being able to determine among ourselves the nature of its substance, which differed in so many particulars from that in the heart of other females. Accordingly, we laid it into a pan of burning coals, when we observed in it a certain salamandrine quality, that made it capable of living in the midst of fire and flame, without being consumed or so much as singed.
As we were admiring this strange phenomenon, and standing round the heart in a circle, it gave a most prodigious sigh, or rather crack, and dispersed all at once in smoke and vapor. This imaginary noise, which me- thought was louder than the burst of a cannon, produced such a violent shake in my brain, that it dissipated the fumes of sleep, and left me in an instant broad awake.
L.
[Spectator No. 295. Thursday, February 7, 1711-12. Addison.]
Prodiga non sen tit pereuntem foemina censum: At, velut exhausta redivivus pullulet area Nummus, et e pleno semper tollatur acervo, Non unquam reputat, quanti sibi gaudia constent.*
— Juv. Sat. vi. 362.
'^Mr. Spectator,
"I am turned of my great climacteric, and am naturally a man of a meek temper. About a dozen years ago I was
1 But womankind, that never knows a mean, Down to the dregs their sinking fortunes drain : Hourly they give, and spend, and waste, and wear, And think no pleasure can be bought too dear.
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married, for my sins, to a young woman of a good family and of a high spirit; but could not bring her to close with me before I had entered into a treaty with her longer than that of the grand alliance. Among other articles, it was therein stipulated that she should have £400 a-year for pin-money, which I obliged myself to pay quarteriy into the hands of one who acted as her plenipotentiary in that affair. I have ever since reli- giously observed my part in this solemn agreement. Now, sir, so it is, that the lady has had several children since I married her; to which, if I should credit our malicious neighbors, her pin-money has not a little contributed. The education of these my children, who, contrary to my expectation, are born to me every year, straitens me so much that I have begged their mother to free me from the obligation of the above-mentioned pin-money, that it may go towards making a provision for her family. This proposal makes her noble blood swell in her veins, insomuch, that finding me a little tardy in her last quarter's payment, she threatens me every day to arrest me; and proceeds so far as to tell me, that if I do not do her justice, I shall die in a jail. To this she adds, when her passion will let her argue calmly, that she has several play-debts on her hand, which must be discharged very suddenly, and that she cannot lose h"er money as becomes a woman of her fashion if she makes me any abatements in this article. I hope, sir, you will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if there are any precedents for this usage among our ancestors; or whether you find any mention of pin-money in Grotius, Puffendorff, or any other of the civilians.
^^I am ever the humblest of your admirers, ^'JosuH Fribble, Esq."
As there is no man living who is a more professed advocate of the fair sex than myself, so there is none that would be more unwilling to invade any of their ancient
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rights and privileges; but as the doctrine of pin-money is of a very late date, unknown to our great-grandmothers, and not yet received by many of our modern ladies, I think it is for the interest of both sexes to keep it from spread- ing.
Mr. Fribble may not perhaps be much mistaken where he intimates that the supplying a man's wife with pin- money, is furnishing her with arms against himself, and in a manner becoming accessory to his own dishonor. We may indeed generally observe that in proportion as a woman is more or less beautiful, and her husband ad- vanced in years, she stands in need of a greater or less number of pins, and, upon a treaty of marriage, rises and falls in her demands accordingly. It must likewise be owned, that high quality in a mistress does very much inflame this article in the marriage-reckoning.
But where the age and circumstances of both parties are pretty much upon a level, I cannot but think the in- sisting upon pin-money is very extraordinary; and yet we find several matches broken off upon this very head. What would a foreigner, or one who is stranger to this practise, think of a lover that forsakes his mistress because he is not willing to keep her in pinsl But what would he think of the mistress should he be informed that she asks five or six hundred pounds a-year for this usel Should a man, unacquainted with our customs, be told the sums which are allowed in Great Britain under the title of pin-money, what a prodigious consumption of pins would he think there was in this island? "A pin a day,'' says our frugal proverb, "is a groat a year;" so that, according to this calculation, my friend Fribble's wife must every year make use of eight millions six hun- dred and forty thousand new pins.
I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege they comprehend under this general term several other con- veniences of life; I could therefore wish, for the honor of my country-women, that they had rather called it needle-money, which might have implied something of
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good housewifery, and not have given the malicious world occasion to think that dress and trifles have always the uppermost place in a woman's thoughts.
I know several of my fair reasoners urge, in defense of this practise, that it is but a necessary provision they make for themselves in case their husband proves a churl or a miser; so that they consider this allowance as a kind of alimony which they may lay their claim to without actually separating from their husbands. But with sub- mission, I think a woman who will give up herself to a man in marriage, where there is the least room for such an apprehension, and trust her person to one whom she will not rely on for the conunon necessaries of life, may very properly be accused (in the phrase of a homely prov- erb) of being "penny wise and pound foolish."
It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they never engage in a battle without securing a retreat in case the event should not answer their expectations; on the other hand, your greatest conquerors have burnt their ships, and broke down the bridges behind them, as being deter- mined either to succeed or die in the engagement. In the same manner I should very much suspect a woman who takes such precautions for her retreat, and contrives methods how she may live happily, without the affection of one to whom she joins herself for life. Separate purses between man and wife axe, in my opinion, as unnatural as separate beds. A marriage cannot be happy where the pleasures, inclinations, and interests of both parties are not the same. There is no greater incitement to love in the mind of man than the sense of a person's depending upon him for her ease and happiness; as a woman uses all her endeavors to please the person whom she looks upon, as her honor, her comfort, and her support.
For this reason I am not very much surprised at the behavior of a rough country squire, who, being not a little shocked at the proceeding of a young widow that would not recede from her demands of pin-money, was so en- raged at her mercenary femper, that he told her in great
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wrath, "As much as she thought him her slave, he would show all the world he did not care a pin for her." Upon which he flew out of the room, and never saw her more.
Socrates, in Plato's Alcihiades, says he was informed by one who had traveled through Persia, that as he had passed over a great tract of land, and inquired what the name of the place was, they told him it was the Queen's Girdle: to which he adds, that another wide field, which lay by it, was called the Queen's Veil; and that in the same manner there was a large portion of ground set aside for every part of her Majesty's dress. These lands might not be improperly called the Queen of Persia's pin-money.
I remember my friend Sir Eoger, who, I dare say, never read this passage in Plato, told me some time since, that upon his courting the perverse widow (of whom I have given an account in former papers), he had disposed of a hundred acres in a diamond ring, which he would have presented her with had she thought fit to accept it; and that, upon her wedding day, she should have carried on her head fifty of the tallest oaks upon his estate. He farther informed me, that he would have given her a coal-pit to keep her in clean linen, that he would have allowed her the profits of a windmill for her fans, and have presented her once in three years with the shearing of his sheep for her under-petticoats. To which the knight always adds, that though he did not care for fine clothes himself, there should not have been a woman in the country better dressed than my Lady Coverley. Sir Roger, perhaps, may in this, as well as in many other of his devices, appear something odd and singular; but if the humor of pin-money prevails, I think it would be very proper for every gentleman of an estate to mark out so many acres of it under the title of "The Pins." L.
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[Spectator No. 317. Tuesday, March 4, 1712. Addison.] Fruges consmnere nati.* — HoR.
Augustus, a few moments before his death, asked his friends who stood about him, if they thought he had acted his part well; and upon receiving such an answer as was due to his extraordinary merit, "Let me then," says he, "go off the stage with your applause'' ; using the expres- sion with which the Eoman actors made their exit at the conclusion of a dramatic piece. I could wish that men, while they are in health, would consider well the nature of the part they are engaged in, and what figure it will make in the minds of those they leave behind them: Whether it was worth coming into the world for, whether it be suitable to a reasonable being; in short, whether it appears graceful in this life, or will turn to an advan- tage in the next. Let the sycophant, or buffoon, the satirist, or the good companion, consider with himself, when his body shall be laid in the grave, and his soul pass into another state of existence, how much it will redound to his praise to have it said of him, that no man in England eat better, that he had an admirable talent at turning his friends into ridicule, that nobody outdid him at an ill-natured jest, or that he never went to bed before he had despatched his third bottle. These are, however, very common funeral orations, and eulogiums on deceased persons who have acted among mankind with some figure and reputation.
But if we look into the bulk of our species, they are such as are not likely to be remembered a moment after their disappearance. They leave behind them no traces of their existence, but are forgotten as though they had never been. They are neither wanted by the poor, re- gretted by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. They are neither missed in the Commonwealth, nor lamented by private persons. Their actions are of no significancy
* Born to drink and eat.
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to mankind, and might have been performed by creatures of much less dignity, than those who are distinguished by the faculty of reason. An eminent French author speaks somewhere to the following purpose: I have often seen from my chamber-window two noble creatures, both of them of an erect countenance, and endowed with rea- son. These two intellectual beings are employed from morning to night, in rubbing two smooth stones one upon another; that is, as the vulgar phrase it, in polishing marble.
My friend. Sir Andrew Freeport, as we were sitting in the Club last night, gave us an account of a sober citizen, who died a few days since. This honest man being of greater consequence in his own thoughts, than in the eye of the world, had for some years past kept a jour- nal of his life. Sir Andrew showed us one week of it. Since the occurrences set down in it mark out such a road of action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my reader with a faithful copy of it; after having first informed him, that the deceased person had in Jiis youth been bred to trade, but finding himself not so well turned for business, he had for several years last past lived altogether upon a moderate annuity.
MONDAY, Eight a clock. I put on my clothes and walked into the parlor.
Nine a clock, ditto. Tied my knee-strings, and washed my hands.
Hours Ten, Eleven and Twelve. Smoked three pipes of Virginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant, Things go ill in the North. Mr. Nisby's opinion there- upon.
One a clock in the afternoon. Chid Ealph for mislay- ing my tobacco-box.
Two a clock. Sat down to dinner. Mem. Too many plums, and no suet.
From Three to Four, Took my afternoon's nap.
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From Four to Six. Walked into the fields. Wind, S.S.E.
From Six to Ten. At the Club. Mr. Nisby's opinion about the peace.
Ten a clock. Went to bed, slept sound.
TUESDAY, BEING HOLIDAY, Eight a clocJc. Eose as usual.
Nine a clock. Washed hands and face, shaved, put on my double soled shoes.
Ten, Eleven, Twelve. Took a walk to Islington.
One. Took a pot of Mother Cob's mild.
Between Two and Three. Returned, dined on a knuckle of veal and bacon. Mem. Sprouts wanting.
Three. Nap as usual.
From Four to Six. Coffee-house. Read the News. A dish of twist. Grand Vizier strangled.
From Six to Ten. At the Club. Mr. Nisby's account of the great Turk.
Ten. Dream of the Grand Yizier. Broken sleep.
WEDNESDAY. Eight a clock. Tongue of my shoe- buckle broke. Hands but not face.
Nine. Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To be al- lowed for the last leg of mutton.
Ten, Eleven. At the coffee-house. More work in the north. Stranger in a black wig asked me how stocks went.
From Twelve to One. Walked in the fields. Wind to the south.
From One to Two. Smoked a pipe and a half.
Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good.
Three. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter-dish. Mem. Cook-maid in love, and grown careless.
From Four to Six. At the Coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna, that the Grand Vizier was first of all strangled, and afterwards beheaded.
Six a clock in the evening. Was half an hour in the
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Club before any body else came. Mr. Nisby of opinion that the Grand Vizier was not strangled the sixth instant. Ten at night. Went to bed. Slept without waking till nine next morning.
THURSDAY, Nine a clocJc. Staid within till two a clock for Sir Timothy. Who did not bring me my annuity according to his promise.
Two in the afternoon. Sat down to Dinner. Loss of appetite. Small beer sour. Beef over-corned.
Three. Could not take my nap.
Four and Five. Gave Ealph a box on the ear. Turned off my cook-maid. Sent a message to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not go to the Club to-night. Went to bed at nine a clock.
FKIDAT. Passed the morning in meditation upon Sir Timothy, who was with me a quarter before twelve.
Twelve a clock. Bought a new head to my cane, and a tongue to my buckle. Drank a glass of purl to recover appetite.
Two arid Three. Dined, and slept well.
From Four to Six. Went to the coffee-house. Met Mr. Nisby there. Smoked several pipes. Mr. Nisby of opin- ion that laced coffee is bad for the head.
Six a clocJc. At the Club as steward. Sat late.
Twelve a cloch. Went to bed, dreamt that I drank small-beer with the Grand Vizier.
SATTJEDAT. Waked at eleven, walked in the fields, Wind N.E.
Twelve. Caught in a shower.
One in the afternoon. Keturned home, and dried my- self.
Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First course marrow- bones, second, ox-cheek, with a bottle of Brook's and Hellier.
Three a clock. Overslept myself.
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Six. Went to the Club. Like to have fallen into a ^tter. Grand Vizier certainly dead, etc.
I question not, but the reader will be surprised to find the above-mentioned journalist taking so much care of a life that was filled with such inconsiderable actions, and received so very small improvements; and yet, if we look into the behavior of many whom we daily con- verse with, we shall find that most of their hours are taken up in those three important articles of eating, drink- ing, and sleeping. I do not suppose that a man loses his time, who is not engaged in public affairs, or in an illustrious course of action. On the contrary, I believe our hours may very often be more profitably laid out in such transactions as make no figure in the world, than in such as are apt to draw upon them the attention of mankind. One may become wiser and better by several methods of employing one's self in secrecy and silence, and do what is laudable without noise, or ostentation. I would, however, recommend to every one of my readers, the keeping a journal of their lives for one week, and setting down punctually their whole series of employments, during that space of time. This kind of self-examina- tion would give them a true state of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are about. One day would rectify the omissions of another, and make a man weigh all those indifferent actions, which, though they are easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for.
[Spectator No. 323. Tuesday, March 11, 1712. Addison.]
Mode vir, mode femina.^ — Virg.
The Journal with which I presented my reader on Tuesday last, has brought me in several letters with ac- counts of many private lives cast into that form. I have
^ Sometimes a man, sometimes a woman.
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the Eake's Journal, the Sot's Journal, the Whoremaster'8 Journal, and among several others a very curious piece, entitled, The Journal of a Mohock. By these instances I find that the intention of my last Tuesday's paper has been mistaken by many of my readers. I did not design so much to expose vice as idleness, and aimed at those persons who pass away their time rather in trifles and impertinence, than in crimes and immoralities. Of- fenses of this later kind are not to be dallied with, or treated in so ludicrous a manner. In short, my journal only holds up folly to the light, and shows the disagree- ableness of such actions as are indifferent in themselves, and biameable only as they proceed from creatures en- dowed with reason.
My following correspondent, who calls herself Clarinda, is such a journalist as I require: she seems by her letter to be placed in a modish state of indifference between vice and virtue, and to be susceptible of either, were there proper pains taken with her. Had her journal been filled with gallantries, or such occurrences as had shown her wholly divested of her natural innocence, notwithstanding it might have been more pleasing to the generality of readers, 1 should not have published it; but as it is only the picture of a life filled with a fashionable kind of gaiety and laziness, 1 shall set down five days of it, as I have received it from the hand of my correspondent.
Dear Mr. Spectator,
You having set your readers an exercise in one of your last week's papers, I have performed mine according to your orders, and herewith send it you enclosed. You must know, Mr, Spectator, that I am a maiden lady of a good fortune, who have had several matches offered me for these ten years last past, and have at present warm applications made to me by a very pretty fellow. As I am at my own disposal, I come up to town every winter, and pass my time after the manner you will find in the
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following journal, which I began to write upon the very day after your Spectator upon that subject.
Tuesday night. Could not go to sleep tiU one in the morning for thinking of my journal.
Wednesday. From Eight till Ten. Drank two dishes of chocolate in bed, and fell asleep after them.
From Ten to Eleven. Eat a slice of bread and butter, drank a dish of bohea, read the Spectator.
From Eleven to One. At my toilette, tried a new head. Gave orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in blue.
From One till half an hour after Two. Drove to the Change. Cheapened a couple of fans.
Till Four. At dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new liveries.
From Four to Six. Dressed, paid a visit to old Lady Blithe and her sister, having before heard they were gone out of town that day.
From Six to Eleven. At basset. Mem. Never set again upon the ace of diamonds.
Thursday. From Eleven at night to Eight in the morning. Dreamed that I punted to Mr. Froth.
From Eight to Ten. Chocolate. Kead two acts in Aurenzehe a-bed.
From Ten to Eleven. Tea-table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddle's Cupid for Veny. Kead the play-bills. Received a letter from Mr. Froth. Mem. Locked it up in my strong box.
Rest of the morning. Fontange, the tire-woman, her account of my Lady Blithe's wash. Broke a tooth in my little tortoise-shell comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectic rested after her monkey's leaping out at win- dow. Looked pale. Fontange tells me my glass is not true. Dressed by Three.
From Three to Four. Dinner cold before I sat down.
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From Four to Eleven. Saw company. Mr. Frotli's opinion of Milton. His account of the Mohocks. His fancy for a pin-cushion. Picture in the lid of his snuff- box. Old Lady Faddle promises me her woman to cut my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp.
Twelve a clock at night Went to bed.
FwDAY. Eight in the morning. A-bed. Eead over all Mr. Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny.
Ten a clock. Stayed within all day, not at home.
From Ten to Twelve. In conference with my mantua- maker. Sorted a suit of ribands. Broke my blue china cup.
From Twelve to One. Shut myself up in my chamber, practised Lady Betty Modely's skuttle.
One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered hand- kerchief. Worked half a violet leaf in it. Eyes ached and head out of order. Threw by my work, and read over the remaining part of Aurenzehe.
From Three to Four. Dined.
From Four to Twelve. Changed my mind, dressed, went abroad, and played at crimp till midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home. Conversation: Mrs. Brilliant's necklace false stones. Old Lady Loveday going to be mar- ried to a young fellow that is not worth a groat. Miss Prue gone into the country. Tom Townley has red hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my ear that she had something to tell me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true.
Between Twelve and One. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my feet, and called me Indamora.
Saturday. Kose at eight a clock in the morning. Sat down to my toilette.
From Eight to Nine. Shifted a patch for half an hour before I could determine it. Fixed it above my left eye- brow.
From Nine to Twelve. Drank my tea, and dressed.
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From Twelve to Two. At chapel. A great deal of good company. Mem. The third air in the new opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully.
From Three to Four. Dined. Mrs. Kitty called upon me to go to the opera before I was risen from table.
From dinner to Six. Drank tea. Turned off a foot- man for being rude to Veny.
Six a clocJc. Went to the opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the beginning of the second act. Mr. Froth talked to a gentleman in a black wig. Bowed to a lady in the front box. Mr, Froth and his friend clapped Nico- lini in the third act. Mr. Froth cried out Ancora. Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think he squeezed my hand.
Eleven at night. Went to bed. Melancholy dreams. Methought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth,
Sunday. Indisposed.
Monday. Eight a cloch [Waked] by Miss Kitty. Aurenzele lay upon the chair by me. Kitty repeated without book the eight best lines in the play. Went in our mobs to the dumb man, according to appointment. Told me that my lover's name began with a G. Mem. The conjurer was within a letter of Mr. Froth's name, etc.
Upon looking back into this my journal, I find that I am at a loss to know whether I pass my time well or ill; and indeed never thought of considering how I did it, before I perused your speculation upon that subject. I scarce find a single action in these five days that 1 can thoroughly approve of, except the working upon the violet leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first day I am at leisure. As for Mr. Froth and Veny, I did not think they took up so much of my time and thoughts, as I find they do upon my journal. The latter of them I will turn off if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth does not bring matters to a conclusion very suddenly, I will not let my life run away in a dream.
Your humble servant,
Olarenda.
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To resume one of the morals of my first paper, and to confirm Clarinda in her good inclinations, I would have her consider what a pretty figure she would make among posterity, were the history of her whole life published like these five days of it. I shall conclude my paper with an epitaph written by an uncertain author on Sir Philip Sidney's sister, a lady who seems to have been of a tem- per very much different from that of Clarinda. The last thought of it is so very noble, that I dare say my reader will pardon the quotation.
On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke Underneath this marhle hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; Death, ere thou hast killed another, Fair and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
[Specjtator No. 329. Tuesday, March 18, 1711-12. Addison.]
Ire tamen restat, Numa quo devenit et Ancus.*
— HORAC?E,
My friend Sir Eoger de Coverley told me t'other night that he had been reading my paper upon Westminster Abbey, in which, says he, there are a great many in- genious fancies. He told me, at the same time, that he observed I had promised another paper upon the tombs, and that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not having visited them since he had read history. I could not at first imagine how this came into the knight's head, till I recollected that he had been very busy all last summer upon Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted several times in his disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport,
*"With Ancus, and with Numa, kings of Rome, We must descend into the silent tomb."
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since his last coming to town. Accordingly, I promised to call upon him the next morning, that we might go to- gether to the Abbey.
I found the knight under his butler's hands, who al- ways shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for a glass of the Widow Trueby's water, which he told me he always drank before he went abroad. He recommended me to a dram of it at the same time with so much heartiness that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable; upon which the knight, observing that I had made sev- eral wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against the stone or gravel.
I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to com- plain, and I knew what he had done was out of good- will. Sir Eoger told me, further, that he looked upon it to be very good for a man, whilst he stayed in town, to keep off infection; and that he got together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness being at Dantzic. When, of a sudden, turning short to one of his servants, who stood behind him, he bid him call a hackney-coach, and take care it was an elderly man that drove it.
He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby^s water, telling me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more good than all the doctors and apothecaries in the country; that she distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her; that she distributed her water gratis among all sorts of people: to which the knight added that she had a very great jointure, and that the whole country would fain have it a match between him and her; "And truly," said Sir Eoger, "if I had not been engaged, per- haps I could not have done better."
His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after hav- ing cast his eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axle-tree was good; upon the fellow's telling him
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he would warrant it, the knight turned to me, told me he looked like an honest man, and went in without further ceremony.
We had not gone far when Sir Eoger, popping out his head, called the coachman down from his box and, upon his presenting himself at the window, asked him if he smoked; as I was considering what this would end in, he bid him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's, and take in a roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material happened in the remaining part of our journey till we were set down at the west end of the Abbey.
As we went up the body of the church, the knight pointed at the trophies upon one of the new monuments, and cried out, "A brave man, I warrant him!" Passing afterward by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and cried, "Sir Cloudesley Shovel! a very gallant man!" As we stood before Busby's tomb, the knight ut- tered himself again after the same manner: — ^*^Dr. Busby — a great man ! he whipped my grandfather — a very great man! I should have gone to him myself if I had not been a blockhead — a very gj-eat man !"
We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on the right hand. Sir Eoger, planting himself at our historian's elbow, was very attentive to everything he said, particularly to the account he gave us of the lord who had cut off the King of Morocco's head. Among several other figures, he was very well pleased to see the states- man Cecil upon his knees; and, concluding them all to be great men, was conducted to the figure which repre- sents that martyr to good housewifery who died by the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us that she was a maid of honor to Queen Elizabeth, the knight was very inquisitive into her name and family, and, after having regarded her finger for some time, "I wonder," says he, ^^that Sir Kichard Baker has said nothing of her in his Chronicle."
We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, where my old friend, after having heard that the stone
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underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down in the chair, and, looking like the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our interpreter what authority they had to say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland. The fellow, instead of returning him an answer, told him that he hoped his honor would pay his forfeit. I could ob- serve Sir Roger a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned ; but, our guide not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered his good humor, and whispered in my ear that if Will Wimble were with us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard but he would get a tobacco* stopper out of one or t'other of them.
Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Ed- ward the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, gave us the whole history of the Black Prince; con- cluding that, in Sir Richard Baker's opinion, Edward the Third was one of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the English throne.
We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who touched for the evil; and afterward Henry the Fourth's, upon which he shook his head and told us there was fine reading in the casualties in that reign.
Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there is the figure of one of our English kings without an head; and upon giving us to know that the head, which was of beaten silver, had been stolen away sev- eral years since, ^^Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says Sir Roger; "you ought to lock up your kings better; they will carry off the body too, if you don't take care."
The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Elizabeth gave the knight great opportunities of shin- ing and of doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our knight observed with some surprise, had a great many kings in him whose monuments he had not seen in the Abbey.
For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see
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the knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his country and such a respectful gratitude to the mem- ory of its princes.
I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old friend, which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extraordinary man; for which reason he shook him by the hand at parting, telling him that he should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Nor- folk Buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at leisure. L.
[Spectator No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. Addison.]
Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces.*
— Horace.
My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met together at the club, told me that he had a great mind to see the new tragedy with me, assuring me, at the same time, that he had not been at a play these twenty years. ^^The last I saw," said Sir Eoger, "was The Committee, which I should not have gone to, neither, had I not been told beforehand that it was a good Church of England comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who this Distressed Mother was, and, upon hearing that she was Hector's widow, he told me that her husband was a brave man, and that when he was a school-boy he had read his life at the end of the dictionary. My friend asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be abroad. "I assure you," says he, "I thought I had fallen into their hands last night, for I observed two or three lusty
* "Keep Nature's great original in view,
And thence the living images pursue." — ^Francis.
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black men that followed me half way up Fleet Street, and mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must know," continued the knight, with a smile, ^T fancied they had a mind to hunt me, for I remember an honest gentleman in my neigh- borhood who was served such a trick in King Charles the Second's time; for which reason he has not ventured himself in town ever since. I might have shown them very good sport had this been their design; for, as I am an old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their lives before." Sir Eoger added that if these gen- tlemen had any such intention they did not succeed very well in it; "for I threw them out," says he, "at the end of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the comer and got shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what had become of me. However," says the knight, "if Cap- tain Sentry will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we may be at the house before it is full, I will have my own coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the fore wheels mended."
The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed hour, bid Sir Eoger fear nothing, fo.r that he had put on the same sword which he made use of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among the rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided them- selves with good oaken plants to attend their master upon this occasion. When he had placed him in his coach, with myself at his left hand, the captain before him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we con- voyed him in safety to the playhouse, where, after hav- ing marched up the entry in good order, the captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and the candles lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about him with that pleasure which a mind seasoned with human- ity naturally feels in itself at the sight of a multitude
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of people who seem pleased with one another and par- take of the same common entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old man stood up in the mid- dle of the pit, that he made a very proper center to a tragic audience. Upon the entering of Pyrrhus, the knight told me that he did not believe the King of France himself had a better strut. I was, indeed, very attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a piece of natural criticism; and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for Andromache, and a little while after as much for Hermione; and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus.
When Sir Eoger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to her lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear that he was sure she would never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary vehemence, *^ou can't imagine, sir, what 'tis to have to do with a widow.'* Upon Pyrrhus his threatening afterward to leave her, the knight shook his head, and muttered to himself, "Aye, do if you can." This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagination that at the close of the third act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered in my ear, "These widows, sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. But pray," says he, "you that are a critic, is this play according to your dramatic rules, as you call them? Should your people in tragedy always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single sentence in this play that I do not know the meaning of."
The fourth act very luckily begun before I had time to give the old gentleman an answer. "Well," says the knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, "I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost." He then renewed his attention, and, from time to time, fell a-praising the widow. He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, whom at his first entering he took for Astyanax; but he quickly eet himself right in that particular, though.
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at the same time, he owned he should have been very glad to have seen the little boy, ^'who/' says he, "must needs be a very fine child by the account that is given of him.''
Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Eoger added, ^^On my word, a notable young baggage!''
As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in the audience during the whole action, it was natural for them to take the opportunity of these intervals be- tween the acts to express their opinion of the players and of their respective parts. Sir Eoger, hearing a cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them that he thought his friend Pylades was a very sensible man; as they were afterward applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Eoger put in a second time: '^And let me tell you," says he, "though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as well as any of them." Captain Sentry, see- ing two or three wags, who sat near us, lean with an at- tentive ear toward Sir Eoger, and fearing lest they should smoke the knight, plucked him by the elbow, and whis- pered something in his ear that lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The knight was wonderfully attentive to the account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, and, at the conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody piece of work that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. Seeing afterward Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an evil conscience, adding that Orestes in his madness looked as if he saw some- thing.
As we were the first that came into the house, so we were the last that went out of it; being resolved to have a clear passage for our old friend, whom we did not care to venture among the jostling of the crowd. Sir Eoger went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we guarded him to his lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to the playhouse; being highly pleased, for
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my own part, not only with the performance of the ex- cellent piece which had been presented but with the sat- isfaction which it had given to the old man. L.
[Spectator No. 383. Tuesday, May 20, 1712. Addison.] Criminibus debent hortos .*
— JirVENAL.
As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a sub- ject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three irregular bounces at my landlady's door, and upon the opening of it, a loud, cheerful voice inquiring whether the philoso- pher was at home. The child who went to the door an- swered very innocently that he did not lodge there. \ I immediately recollected that it was my good friend Sir Roger's voice, and that I had promised to go with him on the water to Spring Garden, in case it proved a good evening. J The knight put me in mind of my promise from the bottom of the staircase, but told me that if I was speculating he would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down, I found all the children of the family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him, being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon the head, and bidding him be a good child and mind his book.
We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were walking toward it, "You must know," says Sir Roger, "I never make use of anybody to row me that has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would rather bate him a few strokes of his oar than not employ an
* "A beauteous garden, but by vice maintained."
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honest man that had been wounded in the Queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg."
My old friend, after having seated himseK, and trimmed the boat with his coachman, who, being a very sober man, always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made the beet of our way for Fox-hall. Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and, hearing that he had left it at La Hogue, with many par- ticulars which passed in that glorious action, the knight in the triimaph of his heart, made several reflections on the greatness of the British nation; as, that one English- men could beat three Frenchmen; that we could never be in danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet; that the Thames was the noblest river in Europe; that London Bridge was a greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders of the world; with many other hon- est prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a true Englishman.
After some short pause, the old knight, turning about his head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great metropolis, bid me observe how thick the city was set with churches, and that there was scarcely a single steeple on this side Temple Bar. *^A most heathenish sight!" says Sir Eoger; "there is no religion at this end of the town. The fifty new churches will very much mend the prospect; but church work is slow, church work is slowl"
I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned, in Sir Roger's character, his custom of saluting everybody that passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all his country neighbors that it is thought to have gone a good way in making him once or twice knight of the shire.
He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with any one in his morning or eve- ning walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed
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by us upon the water; but to the knight's great surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead of return- ing the civility, asked us what queer old put we had in the boat, with a great deal of the like Thames ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but at length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that if he were a Middlesex justice he would make such vagrants know that her Majesty's subjects were no more to be abused by water than by land.
We now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fragrancy 6i the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose tribe of peo- ple that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahonfetan paradise. Sir Eoger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales, '^ou must understand,'' says the knight, "there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator ! the many moonlight nights that I have walked by myself and thought on the widow by the music of the nightingales!" He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came be- hind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with her. But the knight, being startled at so unexpected a fa- miliarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her she was a wanton baggage, and bid her go about her business.
We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and a slice of hung beef. When we had done eating, our- selves, the knight called a waiter to him and bid him carry the remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I perceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the message, and was going to be saucy, upon which I
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ratified the knight's commands with a peremptory look. As we were going out of the garden, my old friend thinking himself obliged, as a member of the quorum, to animadvert upon the morals of the place, told the mistress of the house, who sat at the bar, that he should be a bet- ter customer to her garden if there were more nightin- gales and fewer masks. I.
[Spectator No. 617. Thursday, October 23, 1712. Addison.]
Heu pietas! heu prisca fides! .*
-— VntGiL.
We last night received a piece of ill news at our club which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense. Sir Koger de Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspond- ents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly pro- moting an address of his own penning, in which he suc- ceeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig justice of peace, who was always Sir Soger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from the chap- lain and Captain Sentry which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honor of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others have passed over in silence, I shaU give my reader a copy of his letter without any alteration or diminution.
» **Alas for the charity ! alas for the old-time faith,*'
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"Honored Sir,
"Knowing that you was my old Master's good Friend, I could not forbear sending you the melancholy News of his Death, which has afflicted the whole Country, as well as his poor Servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our Lives. I am afraid he caught his Death the last County Sessions, where he would go to see Justice done to a poor Widow Woman and her Fatherless Chil- dren, that had been wronged by a neighboring Gentle- man; for you know. Sir, my good Master was always the poor Man's Friend. Upon his coming home, the first Complaint he made was, that he had lost his Koast-Beef Stomach, not being able to touch a Sirloin, which was served vp according to Custom; and you know he used to take great Delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good Heart to the last. Indeed, we were once in great Hope of his Re- covery, upon a kind Message that was sent him from the Widow Lady whom he had made love to the Forty last Tears of his Life; but this only proved a Lightening be- fore Death. He has bequeathed to this Lady, as a token of his Love, a great Pearl Necklace, and a Couple of Silver Bracelets set with Jewels, which belonged to my good old Lady his Mother: He has bequeathed the fine white Gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting upon, to his Chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him, and has left you all his Books. He has, moreover, be- queathed, to the Chaplain a very pretty Tenement with good Lands about it. It being a very cold Day when he made his Will, he left for Mourning, to every Man in the Parish, a great Frize-Coat, and to every Woman a black Kiding-hood. It was a most moving Sight to see him take leave of his poor Servants, commending us all for our Fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a Word for weeping. As we most of us are grown Gray-headed in our Dear Master's Service, he has left us Pensions and Legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon, the remaining part of our Days. He has bequeathed a great
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deal more in Charity, wliich is not yet come to my Knowledge, and it is peremptorily said in the Parish, that he has left Mony to build a Steeple to the Church ; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived two Years longer, Coverley Church should have a Steeple to it. The Chaplain tells everybody that he made a very good End, and never speaks of him without Tears. He was buried according to his own Directions, among the Family of the Coverlies, on the Left Hand of his Fv.\tr, Sir Arthur. The Coffin was carried by Six of his .^'^n- ants, and the Pall held up by Six of the Quorum: The whole Parish foUow'd the Corps with heavy Hearts, and in their Mourning Suits, the Men in Prize, and the Women in Eiding-Hoods. Captain Sentry, my Master's Nephew, has taken Possession of the Hall-House, and the whole Estate. When my old Master saw him a little be- fore his Death, he shook him by the Hand, and wished him Joy of the Estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make good Use of it, and to pay the several Legacies, and the Gifts of Charity which he told him he had left as Quit-rents upon the Estate. The Captain truly seems a courteous Man, though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my Master loved, and shews great Kindness to the old House-dog, that you know my poor Master was so fond of. It would have gone to your Heart to have heard the Moans the dumb Creature made on the Day of my Master's Death. He has ne'er joyed himself since; no more has any of us. 'Twas the melancholiest Day for the poor People that ever happened in Worcestershire. This being all from, "Honored Sir,
"Your most Sorrowful Servant,
"Edward Biscuit."
'T. 8. My Master desired, some Weeks before he died, that a Book which comes up to you by the Carrier should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport, in his Name.''
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This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew, opening the book, found it to be a collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in par- ticular the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or three points which he had dis- puted with Sir Eoger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club. O.
[The Freeholder No. 22. Monday, March 6, 1716. Addison.]
Studiis rudis, sermone barbarus, impetu strenuus, manu promptus, cogitatione celer.^*^ — ^Vell. Paterc.
For the honor of his Majesty, and the safety of his government, we cannot but observe, that those who have appeared the greatest enemies to both, are of that rank of men, who are commonly distinguished by the title of Foxhunters. As several of these have had no part of their education in cities, camps, or courts, it is doubtful whether they are of greater ornament or use to the na- tion in which they live. It would be an everlasting re- proach to politics, should such men be able to overturn an establishment which has been formed by the wisest laws, and is supported by the ablest heads. The wrong notions and prejudices which cleave to many of these country gentlemen, who have always lived out of the way of being better informed, are not easy to be conceived by a person who has never conversed with them.
* Uncultivated in taste, rude in speech, restlessly impetuoil9» quick to blows, hasty in thought.
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That I may give my readers an image of these rural statesm.en, I shall, without farther preface, set down an account of a discourse I chanced to have with one of them some time ago. I was traveling towards one of the re- mote parts of England, when about three o'clock in the afternoon, seeing a country gentleman trotting before me with a spaniel by his horse's side, I made up to him. Our conversation opened, as usual, upon the weather; in which we were very unanimous; having both agreed that it was too dry for the season of the year. My fellow- traveler, upon this, observed to me, that there had been no good weather since the Eevolution. I was a little startled at so extraordinary a remark, but would not in- terrupt him till he proceeded to tell me of the fine weather they used to have in King Charles the Second's reign. I only answered that I did not see how the badness of the weather could be the king's fault; and, without wait- ing for his reply, asked him whose house it was we saw upon a rising ground at a little distance from us. He told me it belonged to an old fanatical cur, Mr. Such-a- one. 'TTou must have heard of him," says he, ^Tie's one of the Eump." I knew the gentleman's character upon hearing his name, but assured him that to my knowledge he was a good churchman: "Aye!" says he with a kind of surprise, "We were told in the country, that he spoke twice in the queen's time against taking off the duties upon French claret." This naturally led us in the pro- ceedings of late Parliaments, upon which occasion he af- firmed roundly, that there had not been one good law passed since King William's accession to the throne, except the act for preserving the game. I had a mind to see him out, and therefore did not care for contra- dicting him. 'T[s it not hard," says he, "that honest gen- tlemen should be taken into custody of messengers to prevent them from acting according to their consciences ? But," says he, "what can we expect when a parcel of fac- tious sons of " He was going on in great passion, but
chanced to miss his dog, who was amusing himself about
ADDISON AND STEELE 329
a bush, that grew at some distance behind us. We stood still till he had whistled him up ; when he fell into a long panegyric upon his spaniel, who seemed indeed excellent in his kind: but I found the most remarkable adventure of his life was, that he had once like to have worried a dissenting teacher. The master could hardly sit on his horse for laughing all the while he was giving me the particulars of this story, which I found had mightily endeared his dog to him, and as he himself told me, had made him a great favorite among all the honest gentle- men of the country. We were at length diverted from this piece of mirth by a post-boy, who winding his horn at us, my companion gave him two or three curses, and left the way clear for him. '^I fancy," said I, "that post brings news from Scotland. I shall long to see the next Gazette." "Sir," says he, "I make it a rule never to be- lieve any of your printed news. We never see, sir, how things go, except now and then in Dyer's Letter, and I read that more for the style than the news. The man has a clever pen it must be owned. But is it not strange that we should be making war upon Church of England men, with Dutch and Swiss soldiers, men of anti-mon- archical principles? these foreigners will never be loved in England, sir; they have not that wit and good-breeding that we have." I must confess I did not expect to hear my new acquaintance value himself upon these qualifica- tions, but finding him such a critic upon foreigners, I asked him if he had ever traveled; he told me, he did not know what traveling was good for, but to teach a man to ride the great horse, to jabber French, and to talk against passive obedience: to which he added, that he scarce ever knew a traveler in his life who had not for- sook his principles, and lost his hunting-seat. "For my part," says he, "I and my father before me have always been for passive obedience, and shall be always for op- posing a Prince who makes use of ministers that are of another opinion. But where do you intend to inn to- night? (for we were now come in sight of the next town)
330 ADDISON AND STEELE
I can help you to a very good landlord if you will go along with me. He is a lusty jolly fellow, that lives well, at least three yards in the girt, and the best Church of England man upon the road.'^ I had a curiosity to see this high-church inn-keeper, as well as to enjoy more of the conversation of my fellow-traveler, and therefore read- ily consented to set our horses together for that night. As we rode side by side through the town, I was let into the characters of all the principal inhabitants whom we met in our way. One was a dog, another a whelp, an- other a cur, and another the son of a bitch, under which several denominations were comprehended all that voted on the Whig side in the last election of burgesses. As for those of his own party, he distinguished them by a nod of his head, and asking them how they did by their Christian names. Upon our arrival at the inn, my com- panion fetched out the jolly landlord, who knew him by his whistle. Many endearments, and private whispers passed between them; though it was easy to see, by the landlord's scratching his head, that things did not go to their wishes. The landlord had swelled his body to a prodigious size, and worked up his complexion to a stand- ing crimson by his zeal for the prosperity of the church, which he expressed every hour of the day, as his cus- tomers dropped in, by repeated bumpers. He had not time to go to church himself, but, as my friend told me in my ear, had headed a mob at the pulling down of two or three meeting-houses. While supper was prepared, he enlarged upon the happiness of the neighboring shire; *Tor," says he, "there is scarce a Presbyterian in the whole county, except the bishop." In short, I found by his discourse that he had learned a great deal of politics, but not one word of religion, from the parson of his par- ish; and, indeed, that he had scarce any other notion of religion, but that it consisted in hating Presbyterians. I had a remarkable instance of his notions in this par- ticular. Upon seeing a poor decrepit old woman pass under the window where we sat, he desired me to take
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notice of her; and afterwards informed me, that she was generally reputed a witch by the country people, but that, for his part, he was apt to believe she was a Presbyterian. Supper was no sooner served in, than he took occasion, from a shoulder of mutton that lay before us, to cry up the plenty of England, which would be the happiest coun- try in the world, provided we would live within our- selves. Upon which, he expatiated on the inconveniences of trade, that carried from us the commodities of our country, and made a parcel of upstarts as rich as men of the most ancient families of England. He then declared frankly, that he had always been against all treaties and alliances with foreigners; *'Our wooden walls,'' says he, "are our security, and we may bid defi- ance to the whole world, especially if they should attack us when the militia is out." I ventured to reply, that I had as great an opinion of the English fleet as he had; but I could not see how they could be paid, and manned, and fitted out, unless we encouraged trade and naviga- tion. He replied with some vehemence that he would undertake to prove trade would be the ruin of the Eng- lish nation. I would fain have put him upon it; but he contented himself with affirming it more eagerly, to which he added two or three curses upon the London merchants, not forgetting the directors of the Bank. After supper he asked me if I was an admirer of punch; and immedi- ately called for a sneaker. I took this occasion to insinu- ate the advantages of trade, by observing to him, that water was the only native of England that could be made use of on this occasion: but that the lemons, the brandy, the sugar, and the nutmeg were all foreigners. This put him into some confusion ; but the landlord, who overheard me, brought him off, by affirming, that for constant use, there was no liquor like a cup of English water, pro- vided it had malt enough in it. My squire laughed heart- ily at the conceit, and made the landlord sit down with us. We sat pretty late over our punch; and, amidst a great deal of improving discourse, drank the healths of
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several persons in the country, whom I had never heard of, that, they both assured me, were the ablest statesmen in the nation : and of some Londoners, whom they extolled to the skies for their wit, and who, I knew, passed in town for silly fellows. It being now midnight, and my friend perceiving by his almanac that the moon was up, he called for his horses, and took a sudden resolution to go to his house, which was at three miles' distance from the town, after having bethought himself that he never slept well out of his own bed. He shook me very heartily by the hand at parting, and discovered a great air of satisfac- tion in his looks, that he had met with an opportunity of showing his parts, and left me a much wiser man than he found me.
[The Freeholder No. 44. Monday, May 21, 1716. Addison.]
Multaque prseterea variarum monstra ferarum Centauri in foribus stabulant, Scyllseque biformes, Et centum geminus Briareus, ac bellua Lernse, Horrendum stridens, flammisque armata Chimaera, Gorgones, Harpyiaeque, et forma tricorporis umbrae. Corripit hie subita trepidus formidine ferrum ^neas, strictamque aciem venientibus offert. Et in docta comes tenues sinex corpore vitas Admoneat volitare cava sub imagine tormse, Irruant, et frustra ferro diverberet umbras.^ — ^Virg.
As I was last Friday taking a walk in the park, I saw a country gentleman at the side of Rosamond's pond, pulling a handful of oats out of his pocket, and with a
^ There are the phantoms, besides, of a myriad monsters prodigious ; Centaurs abide at the gates, with Scylla, half beast and half numan, Hundred-handed Briareus, too, and the Dragon of Lerna, Horribly hissing; and, armed with breathings of flame, the
Chimaera ; Gorgons, and Harpies dire, and Geryon's three-headed spectre. Here, ^Eneas, in sudden alarm unsheathing his dagger. Flashes the naked blade in defiance of all who approach him ; And did his wiser guide not warn him that light, unsubstantial Beings are flitting about in the shadowy semblance of bodies, He would attack with the sword, and vainly strike shadows asunder.
ADDISON AND STEELE 833
great deal of pleasure, gathering the ducks about him. Upon my coming up to him, who should it be but my friend the foxhunter, whom I gave some account of in my twenty-second paper! I immediately joined him; and partook of his diversion, till he had not an oat left in his pocket. We then made the tour of the park together, when after having entertained me with the description of a decoy-pond that lay near his seat in the country, and of a meeting-house that was going to be rebuilt in a neigh- boring market-town, he gave me an account of some very odd adventures which he had met with that morning; and which I shall lay together in a short and faithful his- tory, as well as my memory will give me leave.
My friend, who has a natural aversion to London, would never have come up, had not he been subpoenaed to it, as he told me, in order to give his testimony for one of the rebels, whom he knew to be a very fair sports- man. Having traveled all night, to avoid the inconven- iences of dust and heat, he arrived with his guide, a little after break of day, at Charing Cross; where, to his great surprise, he saw a running footman carried in a chair, followed by a waterman in the same kind of vehicle. He was wondering at the extravagance of their masters, that furnished them with such dresses and accommodations, when on a sudden he beheld a chimney-sweeper, con- veyed after the same manner, with three footmen run- ning before him. During his progress through the Strand, he met with several other figures no less wonder- ful and surprising. Seeing a great many in rich morn- ing-gowns, he was amazed to find that persons of quality were up so early: and was no less astonished to see many lawyers in their bar-gowns, when he knew by his almanac the term was ended. As he was extremely puzzled and confounded in himself what all this should mean, a hack- ney-coach chancing to pass by him, four bats popped out their heads all at once, which very much frighted both him and his horse. My friend, who always takes care to cure his horse of such starting fits, spurred him up to
334 ADDISON AND STEELE
the very side of the coach, to the no small diversion of the bats; who, seeing him with his long whip, horse-hair periwig, jockey-belt, and coat without sleeves, fancied him to be one of the masqueraders on horseback, and received him with a loud peal of laughter. His mind being full of idle stories, which are spread up and down the na- tion by the disaffected, he immediately concluded that all the persons he saw in these strange habits were foreign- ers, and conceived a great indignation against them, for pretending to laugh at an English country-gentleman. But he soon recovered out of his error, by hearing the voices of several of them, and particularly of a shep- herdess quarreling with her coachman, and threatening to break his bones in very intelligible English, though with a masculine tone. His astonishment still increased upon him, to see a continued procession of harlequins, scaramouches, punchineUos, and a thousand other merry dresses, by which people of quality distinguish their wit from that of the vulgar.
Being now advanced as far as Somerset House, and observing it to be the great hive whence this swarm of chimeras issued forth from time to time, my friend took his station among a cluster of mob, who were making themselves merry with their betters. The first that came out was a very venerable matron, with a nose and chin, that were within a very little of touching one another. My friend, at the first view fancying her to be an old woman of quality, out of his good breeding put off his hat to her, when the person pulling off her mask, to his great surprise appeared a smock-faced young fellow. His at- tention was soon taken off from this object, and turned to another that had very hollow eyes and a wrinkled face, which flourished in all the bloom of fifteen. The white- ness of the lily was blended in it with the blush of the rosa He mistook it for a very whimsical kind of mask; but upon a nearer view he found that she held her vizard in her hand, and that what he saw was oniy her natural
ADDISON AND STEELE 335
countenance, touched up with the usual improvements of an aged coquette.
The next Y^ho showed herself was a female quaker, so very pretty, that he could not forbear licking his lips, and saying to the mob about him, ^^It is ten thousand pities she is not a church-woman." The quaker was followed by half a dozen nuns, who filed off one after another up Catherine Street, to their respective convents in Drury Lane.
The squire observing the preciseness of their dress, began now to imagine after all, that this was a nest of sectaries; for he had often heard that the town was full of them. He was confirmed in this opinion upon seeing a conjuror, whom he guessed to be the holderforth. How- ever, to satisfy himself he asked a porter, who stood next him, what religion these people were of? The porter re- plied, "They are of no religion; it is a masquerade." "Upon that (says my friend), I began to smoke that they were a parcel of mummers" ; and being himself one of the quorum in his own country, could not but wonder that none of the Middlesex justices took care to lay some of them by the heels. He was the more provoked in the spirit of magistracy, upon discovering two very unseemly objects: the first was a judge, who rapped out a great oath at his footman; and the other a big-bellied woman, who upon taking a leap into the coach, miscarried of a cushion. What still gave him greater offense was a drunken bishop, who reeled from one side of the court to the other, and was very sweet upon an Indian queen. But his worship, in the midst of his austerity, was molli- fied at the sight of a very lovely milk-maid, whom he be- gan to regard with an eye of mercy, and conceived a par- ticular affection for her, until he found, to his great amazement, that the standers-by suspected her to be a duchess.
I must not conclude this narrative without mention- ing one disaster which happened to my friend on this oc« casion. Having for his better convenience dismounted.
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and mixed among tte crowd, lie found, upon his arrival at the inn, that he had lost his purse and his almanac. And though it is no wonder such a trick should be played him by some of the curious spectators, he cannot beat it out of his head, but that it was a cardinal who picked his pocket, and that this cardinal was a Presbyterian in dis* guise.
[The Freeholder No. 45. FRroAY, May 25, 1716.
Addison.]
Nimium risus pretium est si probitatis impendio constat.*
— QUINTIL.
I have lately read, with much pleasure, the essays upon several subjects published by Sir Eichard Blackmore; and though I agree with him in many of his excellent ob- servations, I cannot but take that reasonable freedom, which he himself makes use of with regard to other writ- ers, to dissent from him in some few particulars. In his reflections upon works of wit and humor, he observes how unequal they are to combat vice and folly; and seems to think, that the finest raillery and satire, though directed by these generous views, never reclaimed one vicious man, or made one fool depart from his folly.
This is a position very hard to be contradicted, be- cause no author knows the number or names of his con- verts. As for the Tatlers and Spectators in particular, which are obliged to this ingenious and useful author for the character he has given of them, they were so gener- ally dispersed in single sheets, and have since been printed in so great numbers, that it is to be hoped they have made some proselytes to the interests, if not to the practise of wisdom and virtue, among such a multitude of readers.
I need not remind this learned gentleman, that Socrates,
1 The price of a laugh is too great if it involves the sacrifice of propriety.
ADDISON AND STEELE 837
who wa8 the greatest propagator of morality in the heathen world, and a martyr for the unity of the God- head, was so famous for the exercise of this talent among the politest people of antiquity, that he gained the name of ( oEipcov ) the Droll.
There are very good effects which visibly arose from the above-mentioned performances, and others of the like nature; as, in the first place, they diverted raillery from improper objects, and gave a new turn to ridicule, which for many years had been exerted on persons and things of a sacred and serious nature. They endeavored to make mirth instructive, and if they failed in this great end, they must be allowed at least to have made it innocent. If wit and humor begin again to relapse into their for- mer licentiousness, they can never hope for approbation from those who know that raillery is useless when it has no moral under it, and pernicious when it attacks any- thing that is either unblamable or praiseworthy. To this we may add, what has been commonly observed, that it is not difficult to be merry on the side of vice, as serious objects are the most capable of ridicule; as the party, which naturally favors such a mirth, is the most numer- ous; and as there are the most standing jests and pat- terns for imitation in this kind of writing.
In the next place : such productions of wit and humor, as have a tendency to expose vice and folly, furnish use- ful diversions to all kinds of readers. The good or pru- dent man may, by these means, be diverted, without prejudice to his discretion or morality, Eaillery, under such regulations, unbends the mind from serious studies and severer contemplations, without throwing it off from its proper bias. It carries on the same design that is promoted by authors of a graver turn, and only does it in another manner. It also awakens reflection in those who are the most indifferent in the cause of virtue or knowledge, by setting before them the absurdity of such practises as are generally unobserved, by reason of their being common or fashionable; nay, it sometimes catches
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the dissolute and abandoned before they are aware of it; who are often betrayed to laugh at themselves, and upon reflection find, that they are merry at their own expense. I might farther take notice, that by entertainments of this kind, a man may be cheerful in solitude, and not be forced to seek for company every time he has a mind to be merry.
The last advantage I shall mention from compositions of this nature, when thus restrained, is, that they show wisdom and virtue are far from being inconsistent with politeness and good humor. They make morality appear amiable to people of gay dispositions, and refute the com- mon objection against religion, which represents it as only fit for gloomy and melancholy tempers. It was the motto of a bishop very eminent for his piety and good works in King Charles the Second's reign, Inservi Deo et Icetare, Serve God and be cheerful. Those therefore who supply the world with such entertainments of mirth as are in- structive, or at least harmless, may be thought to deserve well of mankind; to which I shall only add, that they retrieve the honor of polite learning, and answer those sour enthusiasts who affect to stigmatize the finest and most elegant authors, both ancient and modern (which they have never read) as dangerous to religion, and de- structive of all sound and saving knowledge.
Our nation are such lovers of mirth and humor, that it is impossible for detached papers, which come out on stated days, either to have a general run, or long con- tinuance, if they are not diversified, and enlivened from time to time, with subjects and thoughts, accommodated to this taste which so prevails among our countrymen. No periodical author, who always maintains his gravity, and does not sometimes sacrifice to the Graces, must ex- pect to keep in vogue for any considerable time. Po- litical speculations in particular, however just and im- portant, are of so dry and austere a nature, that they will not go down with the public without frequent seasonings of this kind. The work may be well performed, but will
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never take, if it is not set off with proper scenes and decorations. A mere politician is but a dull companion, and, if he is always wise, is in great danger of being tire- some or ridiculous.
Besides, papers of entertainment are necessary to in- crease the number of readers, especially among those of different notions and principles; who by this means may be betrayed to give you a fair hearing, and to know what you have to say for yourself. I might likewise observe, that in all political writings there is something that grates upon the mind of the most candid reader, in opinions which are not conformable to his own way of thinking; and that the harshness of reasoning is not a little soft- ened and smoothed by the infusions of mirth and pleas- antry.
Political speculations do likewise furnish us with sev- eral objects that may very innocently be ridiculed, and which are regarded as such by men of sense in all parties ; of this kind are the passions of our stateswomen, and the reasonings of our foxhunters.
A writer who makes fame the chief end of his endeav- ors, and would be more desirous of pleasing than of im- proving his readers, might find an inexhaustible fund of mirth in politics. Scandal and satire are never-failing gratifications to the public. Detraction and obloquy are received with as much eagerness as wit and humor. Should a writer single out particular persons, or point his raillery at any order of men, who by their profession ought to be exempt from it; should he slander the inno- cent, or satirize the miserable; or should he, even on the proper subjects of derision, give the full play to his mirth, without regard to decency and good manners; he might be sure of pleasing a great part of his readers, but must be a very ill man, if by such a proceeding he could please himself.
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[The Freeholder No. 47. Friday, June 1, 1Y16. Addison.]
Cessit furor, et rabida ora quierunt.* — ^ViEG.
I question not but most of my readers will be very well pleased to hear, that my friend the foxhunter, of whose arrival in town I gave notice in my forty-fourth paper, is become a convert to the present establishment, and a good subject to King George. The motives to his conversion shall be the subject of this paper, as they may be of use to other persons who labor under those preju- dices and prepossessions, which hung so long upon the mind of my worthy friend. These I had an opportunity of learning the other day, when, at his request, we took a ramble together, to see the curiosities of this great town.
The first circumstance, as he ingeniously confessed to me (while we were in the coach together) which helped to disabuse him, was seeing King Charles I. on horseback, at Charing Cross ; for he was sure that prince could never have kept his seat there, had the stories been true he had heard in the country, that forty-one was come about again.
He owned to me that he looked with horror on the new church that is half built in the Strand, as taking it at first sight to be half demolished: but upon inquiring of the workmen, was agreeably surprised to find, that instead of pulling it down, they were building it up; and that fifty more were raising in other parts of the town.
To these I must add a third circumstance, which I find had no small share in my friend's conversion. Since his coming to town, he chanced to look into the church of St. Paul, about the middle of sermon-time, where having first examined the dome, to see if it stood safe, (for the screw-plot still ran in his head) he observed, that the lord mayor, aldermen, and city sword were a part of the congregation. This sight had the more weight
*Tlie uproar ceased, and the world forces were still.
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with him, as by good luck not above two of that venerable body were fallen asleep.
This discourse held us till we came to the Tower; for our first visit was to the lions. My friend, who had a great deal of talk with their keeper, inquired very much after their health, and whether none of them had fallen sick upon the taking of Perth, and the flight of the Pre- tender? and hearing they were never better in their lives, I found he was extremely startled : for he had learned from his cradle, that the lions in the Tower were the best judges of the title of our British kings, and always sym- pathized with our sovereigns.
After having here satiated our curiosity, we repaired to the Monument, where my fellow-traveler, being a well- breathed man, mounted the ascent with much speed and activity. I was forced to halt so often in this perpendicu- lar march, that, upon my joining him on the top of the pillar, I found he had counted all the steeples and towers which were discernible from this advantageous situation, and was endeavoring to compute the number of acres they stood upon. We were both of us very well pleased with this part of the prospect; but I found he cast an evil eye upon several warehouses, and other buildings, that looked like barns, and seemed capable of receiving great multitudes of people. His heart misgave him that these were so many meeting-houses, but, upon communicating his suspicions to me, I soon made him easy in this par- ticular.
We then turned our eyes upon the river, which gave me an occasion to inspire him with some favorable thoughts of trade and merchandise, that had filled the Thames with such crowds of ships, and covered the shore with such swarms of people.
We descended very leisurely, my friend being careful to count the steps, which he registered in a blank leaf of his new almanac. Upon our coming to the bottom, observing an English inscription upon the basis, he read it over several times, and told me he could scarce believe
342 ADDISON AND STEELE
his own eyes, for tliat lie had often heard from an old at- torney, who lived near him in the country, that it was the Presbyterians who burned down the city; whereas, says he, this pillar positively affirms in so many words, that "the burning of this ancient city was begun and carried on by the treachery and malice of the Popish faction, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot for extirpating the Protestant religion, and old English liberty, and in- troducing Popery and slavery/' This account, which he looked upon to be more authentic, than if it had been in print, I found, made a very great impression upon him.
We now took coach again, and made the best of our way for the Koyal Exchange, though I found he did not much care to venture himself into the throng of that place; for he told me he had heard they were, generally speaking, republicans, and was afraid of having his pocket picked amongst them. But he soon conceived a better opinion of them, when he spied the statue of King Charles II. standing up in the middle of the crowd, and most of the kings in Baker's Chronicle ranged in order over their heads; from whence he very justly concluded, that an antimonarchical assembly could never choose such a place to meet in once a day.
To continue this good disposition in my friend, after a short stay at Stocks Market, we drove away directly for the Mews, where he was not a little edified with the sight of those fine sets of horses which have been brought over from Hanover, and with the care that is taken of them. He made many good remarks upon this occasion, and was so pleased with his company, that I had much ado to get him out of the stable.
In our progress to St. James's Park (for that was the end of our journey) he took notice, with great satis- faction, that, contrary to his intelligence in the country, the shops were all open and full of business ; that the sol- diers walked civilly in the streets; that clergymen, in- stead of being affronted, had generally the wall given them; and that he had heard the bells ring to prayers
ADDISON AND STEELE 343
from morning to night, in some part of the town or an- other.
As he was full of these honest reflections, it happened very luckily for us that one of the King's coaches passed by with the three young princesses in it, whom by an ac- cidental stop we had an opportunity of surveying for some time : my friend was ravished with the beauty, inno- cence, and sweetness, that appeared in all their faces. He declared several times, that they were the finest children he had ever seen in all his life; and assured me that, before this sight, if any one had told him it had been possible for three such pretty children to have been born out of England he should never have believed them.
We were now walking together in the park, and as it is usual for men who are naturally warm and heady, to be transported with the greatest flush of good nature when they are once sweetened; he owned to me very frankly, he had been much imposed upon by those false accounts of things he had heard in the country ; and that he would make it his business, upon his return thither, to set his neighbors right, and give them a more just notion of the present state of affairs.
What confirmed my friend in this excellent temper of mind, and gave him an inexpressible satisfaction, was a message he received, as we were walking together, from the prisoner, for whom he had given his testimony in his late trial. This person having been condemned for his part in the late rebellion, sent him word that his Majesty had been graciously pleased to reprieve him, with sev- eral of his friends, in order, as it was thought, to give them their lives; and that he hoped before he went out of town they should have a cheerful meeting, and drink health and prosperity to King George.
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With an Introduction by ODELL SHEPARD
Professor of English at Trinity College
**. . . Here was a man who stood with his head in the clouds, perhaps, but with his feet firmly planted on rubble and grit. He was true to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. Thoreau's eminently practical thought was really concerned, in the last anal- ysis with definite human problems. The major question how to Hve was at the end of all his vistas."
EMERSON'S ESSAYS
Selected and edited, with an Introduction, by ARTHUR HOBSON QUINN
Professor of English and Dean of the College University of Pennsylvania
"Among the shifting values in our literary history, Emerson stands secure. As a people we are rather prone to underestimate our native writers in relation to English and continental authors, but even among those who have been content to treat our literature as a by- product of British letters, Emerson's significance has become only more apparent with time."
THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
THE ESSAYS OF ADDISON AND STEELE
Selected and edited by WILL D. HOWE
Professor of English at Indiana University
With the writings of these two remarkable essayists modem prose began. It is not merely that their style even to-day, after two cen- turies, commands attention, it is equally noteworthy that these men were among the first to show the possibilities of our language in developing a reading public.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND JONATHAN EDWARDS
With an Introduction by CARL VAN DOREN
Franklin and Edwards often sharply contrasted in thought are, however, in the main, complimentary to each other. In religion, Franklin was the utilitarian, Edwards the mystic. Franklin was more interested in practical morality than in revelation; Edwards sought a spiritual exaltation in religious ecstasy. In science Frank- lin was the practical experimenter, Edwards the detached observer, the theoretical investigator of causes.
THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN
By Sir Walter Scott
With an Introduction by WILLIAM P. TRENT
Professor of English at Columbia University
Universally admitted one of the world's greatest story-tellers, "Bcott himself considered "The Heart of Midlothian" his master- piece, and it has been accepted as such by most of his admirers.
THE MODERN STUDENrS LIBRARY
THE ORDEAL OF
RICHARD FEVEREL
By George Meredith
With an Introduction by FRANK W. CHANDLER
Professor of English at the University of Cincinnati
"The Ordeal of Richard Feverel," published in 1859, was Mere- dith's first modern novel and probably his best. Certainly it was, and has remained, the most generally popular of all this author's books and among the works of its type it stands pre-eminent. The story embodies in the most beautiful form the idea that in life the whole truth and nothing but the truth is best.
MEREDITH'S ESSAY ON COMEDY
With an Introduction, Notes, and Biographical Sketch by LANE COOPER
Professor of English at Cornell University
"Good comedies," Meredith tells us, "are such rare productions that, notwithstanding the wealth of our literature in the comic element, it would not occupy us long to run over the English list."
The "Essay on Comedy" is in a peculiarly intimate way the ex- position of Meredith's attitude toward life and art. It helps us to understand more adequately the subtle delicacies of his novels.
CRITICAL ESSAYS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
Selected and edited, with an Introduction, by RAYMOND M. ALDEN
Professor of English at Leland Stanford University
The essays in this volume include those of Wordsworth, Copleston, Jejffrey, Scott, Coleridge, Lockhart, Lamb, Hazlitt, Byron, Shelley, Newman, DeQuincey, Macaulay, Wilson, and Hunt.
TEE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
ENGLISH POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
Selected and Edited by ERNEST BERNBAUM
Professor of English at the University of Illinois
The great age of the eighteenth century is, more than any other, perhaps, mirrored in its poetry, and this anthology reveals its man- ners and ideals.
While the text of the various poems is authentic, it is not bur- dened with scholastic editing and marginal comment. The collec- tion and its form is one which satisfies in an unusual way the in- terest of the general reader as well as that of the specialist.
PILGRIM'S PROGRESS By John Bunyan
With an Introduction and Notes by DR. S. M. CROTHERS
This book is one of the most vivid and entertaining in the English language, one that has been read more than any other in our lan- guage, except the Bible.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE By Jane Austen
With an Introduction by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
To have this masterpiece of realistic literature introduced by so eminent a critic as William Dean Howells is, in itself, an event in the literary world. We cannot better comment upon the edition than by quoting from Mr. Howells' s introduction:
He says: **When I came to read the book the tenth or fifteenth time for the purposes of this introduction, I found it as fresh as when I read it first in 1889, after long shying off from it."
TEE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
NINETEENTH CENTURY LETTERS
Selected and Edited by BYRON JOHNSON REES
Professor of English at Williams College
Contains letters from William Blake, William Wordsworth, Sydney Smith, Robert Southey, Charles Lamb, Washington Irving, Benjamin Robert Haydon, John Keats, Jane Welsh Carlyle, Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Sterling, Abraham Lincoln, William Make- peace Thackeray, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Matthew Arnold, Thomas Henry Huxley, George Meredith, "Lewis Carroll," Phillips Brooks, Sidney Lanier, and Robert Louis Stevenson.
PAST AND PRESENT
By Thomas Carlyle
With an Introduction by EDWIN W. MIMS
Professor of English at Vanderbilt University
"Past and Present," written in 1843, when the industrial revolu- tions had just taken place in England and when democracy and freedom were the watchwords of liberals and progressives, reads like a contemporary volume on industrial and social problems,
BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON
Abridged and edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by CHARLES G. OSGOOD
Professor of English at Princeton University
Boswell has created one of the great masterpieces of the world. Seldom has an abridgment been made with as great skill in omit- ting nothing vital and keeping proper proportions as this edition by Professor Osgood.
THE MODERN STUDENTS LIBRARY BACON'S ESSAYS
Selected, with an Introduction and Notes, by MARY AUGUSTA SCOTT
Late Professor of English Literature at Smith College
These essays, the distilled wisdom of a great observer upon the affairs of common life, are of endless interest and profit. The more one reads them the more remarkable seem their compactness and their vitality.
ADAM BEDE By George Eliot
With an Introduction by LAURA J. WYLIE
Professor of English at Vassar College
With the publication of "Adam Bede'* in 1859, it was evident both to England and America that a great novelist had appeared. **Adam Bede*' is the most natural of George Eliot's books, simple in problem, direct in action, with the freshness and strength of the Derbyshire landscape and character and speech in its pages.
THE RING AND THE BOOK By Robert Browning
With an Introduction by FREDERICK MORGAN PADELFORD
Professor of English at Washington University
" *The Ring and the Book,' " says Dr. Padelford in his introduc- tion, "is Browning's supreme literary achievement. It was written after the poet had attained complete mastery of his very individual style; it absorbed his creative activity for a prolonged period; and it issued with the stamp of his characteristic genius on every page."
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THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON'S ESSAYS
With an Introduction by WILLIAM LYON PHELPS
Professor of English at Yale University
This volume includes not only essays in formal literary criticism^ but also of personal monologue and gossip, as well as philosophical essays on the greatest themes that can occupy the mind of man. All reveal the complex, whimsical, humorous, romantic, imaginative, puritanical personality now known everywhere by the formula R. L. S.
PENDENNIS By Thackeray
With an Introduction by ROBERT MORSS LOVETT
Professor of English at the University of Chicago
"Pendennis" stands as a great representative of biographical fiction and reflects more of the details of Thackeray's life than all his other writings. Of its kind there is probably no more interesting book in our literature.
THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE
By Thomas Hardy
With an Introduction and Notes by JOHN W. CUNLIFFE
Professor of English at Columbia University
"The Return of the Native" is probably Thomas Hardy's great tragic masterpiece. It carries to the highest perfection the rare genius of the finished writer. It presents in the most remarkable way Hardy's interpretation of nature in which there is a perfect unison between the physical world and the human character.
THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY
RUSKIN'S SELECTIONS AND ESSAYS
With an Introduction by FREDERICK WILLIAM ROE
Assistant Professor of English at University of Wisconsin
"Ruskin," said John Stuart Mill, "was one of the few men in Europe who seemed to draw what he said from a source within him- self."^^ Carlyle delighted in the "fierce lightning bolts" that Ruskin was "copiously and desperately pouring into the black world of anarchy all around him/'
The present volume, by its wide selection from Ruskin's writings, affords an unusual insight into this remarkable man's interests and character.
THE SCARLET LETTER By Nathaniel Hawthorne
With an Introduction by STUART P. SHERMAN
Professor of English at University of Illinois
" *T^®. ^^^^'^* Letter' appears to be as safe from competitors as 'Pilgrim's Progress' or * Robinson Crusoe.' It is recognized as the classical treatment of its particular theme. Its symbols and scenes of guilt and penitence— the red letter on the breast of Hester Prynne, Arthur Dimmesdale on the scaffold — have fixed themselves in the memory of men like the figure of Crusoe bending over the footprints in the sand, and have become a part of the common stock of images like Christian facing the lions in the way.
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
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