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In short, Mr. Spectator, I am so much | pleasantry; and hope you will show these out of my natural element, that, to recover people that at least they are not witty: in my old way of life, I would be content to which you will save from many a blush a begin the world again, and be plain Jack daily sufferer, who is very much your most Anvil; but, alas! I am in for life, and am humble servant, bound to subscribe myself, with great sorrow of heart, your humble servant, L.



'MR. SPECTATOR,-In yours of Wednesday the 30th past, you and your correspondents are very severe on a sort of men, -Diversum vitio vitium prope majus. any other reason, in my apprehension, than Hor. Ep xviii. Lib. 1. 5. that of paying a shallow compliment to the -Another failing of the mind, fair sex, by accusing some men of imagiGreater than this, of a quite different kind-Pooley.nary faults, that the women may not seem MR. SPECTATOR,-When you talk of to be the more faulty sex; though at the the subject of love, and the relations arising same time you suppose there are some so from it, methinks you should take care to weak as to be imposed upon by fine things leave no fault unobserved which concerns and false addresses. I cannot persuade the state of marriage. The great vexation myself that your design is to debar the sexes that I have observed in it is, that the wed-the benefit of each other's conversation ded couple seem to want opportunities of within the rules of honour; nor will you, being often enough alone together, and are I dare say, recommend to them, or enforced to quarrel and be fond before com- courage the common tea-table talk, much pany. Mr. Hotspur and his lady, in a less that of politics and matters of state: room full of their friends, are ever saying and if these are forbidden subjects of dissomething so smart to each other, and course, then, as long as there are any that but just within rules, that the whole women in the world who take a pleasure company stand in the utmost anxiety and in hearing themselves praised, and can suspense, for fear of their falling into ex-bear the sight of a man prostrate at their tremities which they could not be present feet, so long I shall make no wonder, that at. On the other side, Tom Faddle and there are those of the other sex who will his pretty spouse, wherever they come, pay them those impertinent humiliations. are billing at such a rate, as they think We should have few people such fools as must do our hearts good to behold them. to practise flattery, if all were so wise as Cannot you possibly propose a mean be- to despise it. I do not deny but you would tween being wasps and doves in public? do a meritorious act, if you could prevent I should think, if you advised to hate or all impositions on the simplicity of young love sincerely, it would be better: for if they women; but I must confess, I do not appre would be so discreet as to hate from the hend you have laid the fault on the proper very bottom of their hearts, their aversion persons; and if I trouble you with my would be too strong for little gibes every thoughts upon it, I promise myself your moment; and if they loved with that calm pardon. Such of the sex as are raw and and noble valour which dwells in the heart, innocent, and most exposed to these atwith a warmth like that of life-blood, they tacks, have, or their parents are much to would not be so impatient of their pas-blame if they have not, one to advise and sions as to fall into observable fondness. This method, in each case, would save appearances: but as those who offend on the fond side are by much the fewer, I would have you begin with them, and go on to take notice of a most impertinent licence married women take, not only to be very loving to their spouses in public, but also make nauseous allusions to private familiarities and the like. Lucina is a lady of the greatest discretion, you must know, in the world; and withal very much a physician. Upon the strength of those two qualities there is nothing she will not speak of Defore us virgins; and she every day talks with a very grave air in such a manner as is very improper so much as to be hinted at, but to obviate the greatest extremity. Those whom they call good bodies, notable people, hearty neighbours, and the purest goodest company in the world, are the great offenders in this kind. Here I think I have laid before you an open field for

No. 300.] Wednesday, Feb. 13, 1711-12. whom you call male coquettes; but without

guard them, and are obliged themselves to take care of them; but if these, who ought to hinder men from all opportunities of this sort of conversation, instead of that encourage and promote it, the suspicion is very just that there are some private reasons for it; and I will leave it to you to determine on which side a part is then acted. Some women there are who are arrived at years of discretion, I mean are got out of the hands of their parents and governors, and are set up for themselves, who are yet liable to these attempts; but if these are prevailed upon, you must excuse me if I lay the fault upon them, that their wisdom is not grown with their years. My client, Mr. Strephon whom you summoned to declare himself, gives you thanks, however, for your warning, and begs the favour only to enlarge his time for a week, or to the last day of the term, and then he will appear gratis, and pray no day over. Yours,


in a word, which fills the town with elderly fops and superannuated coquettes.

MR. SPECTATOR,-I was last night to visit a lady whom I much esteem, and always took for my friend; but met with Canidia, a lady of this latter species, so very different a reception from what I passed by me yesterday in a coach. Canidia expected, that I cannot help applying my-was a haughty beauty of the last age, and self to you on this occasion. In the room of that civility and familiarity I used to be treated with by her, an affected strangeness in her looks, and coldness in her behaviour, plainly told me I was not the welcome guest which the regard and tenderness she has often expressed for me gave me reason to flatter myself to think I was. Sir, this is certainly a great fault, and I assure you a very common one; therefore I hope you will think it a fit subject for some part of a Spectator. Be pleased to acquaint us how we must behave ourselves towards this valetudinary friendship, subject to so many heats and colds; and you will oblige, sir, your humble servant, MIRANDA.'

'SIR,-I cannot forbear acknowledging the delight your late Spectators on Saturdays have given me; for they are written in the honest spirit of criticism, and called to my mind the following four lines I had read long since in a prologue to a play called Julius Cæsar,* which has deserved a better fate. The verses are addressed to the little critics:

Show your small talent, and let that suffice ye;
But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye.
For every fop can find out faults in plays;
You'll ne'er arrive at knowing when to praise.

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WE are generally so much pleased with any little accomplishments, either of body or mind, which have once made us remarkable in the world, that we endeavour to persuade ourselves it is not in the power of time to rob us of them. We are eternally pursuing the same methods which first procured us the applauses of mankind. It is from this notion that an author writes on, though he is come to dotage; without ever considering that his memory is impaired, and that he hath lost that life, and those spirits, which formerly raised his fancy, and fired his imagination. The same folly hinders a man from submitting his behaviour to his age, and makes Clodius, who was a celebrated dancer at five-andtwenty, still love to hobble in a minuet, though he is past threescore. It is this, A tragedy, by William Alexander, Earl of Stirling,

printed in 1629.

was followed by crowds of adorers, whose passions only pleased her, as they gave her opportunities of playing the tyrant. She then contracted that awful cast of the eye and forbidding frown, which she has not yet laid aside, and has still all the insolence of beauty without its charms. If she now attracts the eyes of any beholders, it is only by being remarkably ridiculous; even her own sex laugh at her affectation; and the men, who always enjoy an ill-natured pleasure in seeing an imperious beauty humbled and neglected, regard her with the same satisfaction that a free nation sees a tyrant in disgrace.

Will Honeycomb, who is a great admirer of the gallantries in King Charles the Second's reign, lately communicated to me a letter written by a wit of that age to his mistress, who it seems was a lady of Canidia's humour; and though I do not always approve of my friend Will's taste, I liked with which I shall here present my reader: this letter so well, that I took a copy of it,

'To Chloe.

'MADAM,-Since my waking thoughts have never been able to influence you in my favour, I am resolved to try whether my dreams can make any impression on you. To this end I shall give you an account of a very odd one which my fancy presented to me last night, within a few hours after I left you.

'Methought I was unaccountably conveyed into the most delicious place mine eyes ever beheld: it was a large valley divided by a river of the purest water I had ever seen. The ground on each side of it rose by an easy ascent, and was covered with flowers of an infinite variety, which, as they were reflected in the water, doubled the beauties of the place, or rather formed an imaginary scene more beautiful than the real. On each side of the river was a range of lofty trees, whose boughs were loaded with almost as many birds as leaves. Every tree was full of harmony.

I had not gone far in this pleasant valley, when I perceived that it was terminated by a most magnificent temple. The structure was ancient and regular. On the top of it was figured the god Saturn, in the same shape and dress that the poets usually re present Time.

'As I was advancing to satisfy my curiosity by a nearer view, I was stopped by an object far more beautiful than any I had before discovered in the whole place. I fancy, madam, you will easily guess that this could hardly be any thing but yourself; in reality it was so; you lay extended on the flowers by the side of the river, so that your hands, which were thrown in a negligent

which seems too extraordinary to be with-
out a meaning. I am, madam, with the
greatest passion, your most obedient, most
humble servant, &c.'

posture, almost touched the water. Your eyes were closed; but if your sleep deprived me of the satisfaction of seeing them, it left me at leisure to contemplate several other charms which disappear when your eyes are open. I could not but admire the tranquillity you slept in, especially when I con- No. 302.] Friday, February 15, 1711-12. sidered the uneasiness you produce in so many others.

While I was wholly taken up in these reflections, the doors of the temple flew open with a very great noise, and lifting up my eyes, I saw two figures, in human shape, coming into the valley. Upon a nearer survey, I found them to be Youth and Love. The first was encircled with a kind of purple light, that spread a glory over all the place, the other held a flaming torch in his hand. I could observe, that all the way as they came towards us, the colours of the flowers appeared more lively, the trees shot out in blossoms, the birds threw themselves into pairs and serenaded them as they passed: the whole face of nature glowed with new beauties. They were no sooner arrived at the place where you lay, than they seated themselves on each side of you. On their approach methought I saw a new bloom arise in your face, and new charms diffuse themselves over your whole person. You appeared more than mortal; but, to my great surprise, continued fast asleep, though the two deities made several gentle efforts to awaken you.

After a short time, Youth, (displaying a pair of wings, which I had not before taken notice of,) flew off. Love still remained, and holding the torch which he had in his hand before your face, you still appeared as beautiful as ever. The glaring of the light in your eyes at length awakened you, when to my great surprise, instead of acknowledging the favour of the deity, you frowned upon him, and struck the torch out of his hand into the river. The god, after having regarded you with a look that spoke at once his pity and displeasure, flew away. Immediately a kind of gloom overspread the whole place. At the same time I saw a hideous spectre enter at one end of the valley. His eyes were sunk into his head, his face was pale and withered, and his skin puckered up in wrinkles. As he walked on the sides of the bank the river froze, the flowers faded, the trees shed their blossoms, the birds dropped from off the boughs, and fell dead at his feet. By these marks I knew him to be Old Age. You were seized with the utmost horror and amazement at his approach. You endeavoured to have fled, but the phantom caught you in his arms. You may easily guess at the change you suffered in this embrace. For my own part, though I am still too full of the dreadful idea, I will not shock you with a description of it. I was so startled at the sight, that my sleep immediately left me, and I found myself awake, at leisure to consider of a dream

-Lachrymæque decoræ,

Gration et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus. Virg. Ex. v. 343 Becoming sorrows, and a virtuous mind More lovely, in a beauteous form enshrin'd. I READ what I give for the entertainment of this day with a great deal of pleasure, and publish it just as it came to my hands. I shall be very glad to find there are many guessed at for Emilia.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-If this paper has the good fortune to be honoured with a place in because the character of Emilia is not an your writings, I shall be the more pleased, triously obscured the whole by the addition imaginary but a real one. I have indusof one or two circumstances of no conse quence, that the person it is drawn from might still be concealed; and that the writer of it might not be in the least suspected, and for some other reasons, I chose not to give it in the form of a letter; but if, besides the faults of the composition, there be any thing in it more proper for a correspondent than the Spectator himself to write, I submit it other model you think fit. I am, sir, your to your better judgment, to receive any very humble servant.'

There is nothing which gives one so pleasing a prospect of human nature, as the contemplation of wisdom and beauty: the latter is the peculiar portion of that sex which is therefore called fair: but the happy concurrence of both these excellences in the same person, is a character too celestial to be frequently met with. Beauty is an over-weening self-sufficient thing, careless of providing itself any more substantial ornaments; nay, so little does it consult its own interests, that it too often defeats itself, by betraying that innocence which renders it lovely and desirable. As therefore virtue makes a beautiful woman appear more beautiful, so beauty makes a virtuous woman really more virtuous. Whilst I am considering these two perfections gloriously united in one person, I cannot help representing to my mind the image of Emilia.

Who ever beheld the charming Emilia without feeling in his breast at once the glow of love, and the tenderness of virtuous friendship? The unstudied graces of her behaviour, and the pleasing accents of her tongue, insensibly draw you on to wish for a nearer enjoyment of them, but even her smiles carry in them a silent reproof of the impulses of licentious love. Thus, though the attractives of her beauty play almost irresistibly upon you, and create desire, you

immediately stand corrected not by the | me by the prevailing brightness of her virseverity, but the decency of her virtue. tues. So rare a pattern of female excellence That sweetness and good-humour, which ought not to be concealed, but should be is so visible in her face, naturally diffuses set out to the view and imitation of the itself into every word and action: a man world; for how amiable does virtue appear, must be a savage, who, at the sight of Emi- thus, as it were, made visible to us, in so lia, is not more inclined to do her good, fair an example! than gratify himself. Her person as it is thus studiously embellished by nature, thus adorned with unpremeditated graces, is a fit lodging for a mind so fair and lovely: there dwell rational piety, modest hope, and cheerful resignation.

Many of the prevailing passions of mankind do undeservedly pass under the name of religion; which is thus made to express itself in action, according to the nature of the constitution in which it resides; so that were we to make a judgment from appearances, one would imagine religion in some is little better than sullenness and reserve, in many fear, in others the despondings of a melancholy complexion, in others the formality of insignificant unaffecting observances, in others severity, in others ostentation. In Emilia it is a principle founded in reason, and enlivened with hope; it does not break forth into irregular fits and sallies of devotion, but is a uniform and consistent tenour of action: it is strict without severity, compassionate without weakness; it is the perfection of that good-humour which proceeds from the understanding, not the effect of an easy constitution.

Honoria's disposition is of a very different turn: her thoughts are wholly bent upon conquests and arbitrary power. That she has some wit and beauty nobody denies, and therefore has the esteem of all her acquaintance as a woman of an agreeable person and conversation; but (whatever her husband may think of it) that is not sufficient for Honoria: she waives that title to respect as a mean acquisition, and demands veneration in the right of an idol; for this reason her natural desire of life is continually checked with an inconsistent fear of wrinkles and old age.

Emilia cannot be supposed ignorant of her personal charms, though she seems to be so; but she will not hold her happiness upon so precarious a tenure, whilst her mind is adorned with beauties of a more exalted and lasting nature. When in the full bloom of youth and beauty we saw her surrounded with a crowd of adorers, she took no pleasure in slaughter and destruction, gave no false deluding hopes which might increase the torments of her disappointed lovers; but having for some time given to the decency of a virgin coyBy a generous sympathy in nature, we ness, and examined the merit of their sefeel ourselves disposed to mourn when any veral pretensions, she at length gratified of our fellow-creatures are afflicted: but her own, by resigning herself to the ardent injured innocence and beauty in distress is passion of Bromius. Bromius was then an object that carries in it something inex-master of many good qualities and a modepressibly moving: it softens the most manly heart with the tenderest sensations of love and compassion, until at length it confesses its humanity, and flows out into tears.

Were I to relate that part of Emilia's life which has given her an opportunity of exerting the heroism of Christianity, it would make too sad, too tender a story; but when I consider her alone in the midst of her distresses, looking beyond this gloomy vale of affliction and sorrow, into the joys of heaven and immortality, and when I see her in conversation thoughtless and easy, as if she were the most happy creature in the world, I am transported with admiration. Surely never did such a philosophic soul inhabit such a beauteous form! For beauty is often made a privilege against thought and reflection; it laughs at wisdom, and will not abide the gravity of its instructions.

Were I able to represent Emilia's virtues in their proper colours, and their due proportions, love or flattery might perhaps be thought to have drawn the picture larger than life; but as this is but an imperfect draught of so excellent a character, and as I cannot, I will not hope to have any interest in her person, all that I can say of her is but impartial praise, extorted from

rate fortune, which was soon after unexpectedly increased to a plentiful estate. This for a good while proved his misfortune, as it furnished his unexperienced age with the opportunities of evil company, and a sensual life. He might have longer wandered in the labyrinths of vice and folly, had not Emilia's prudent conduct won him over to the government of his reason. Her ingenuity has been constantly employed in humanizing his passions, and refining his pleasures. She has showed him by her own example, that virtue is consistent with decent freedoms, and good humour, or rather that it cannot subsist without them. Her good sense readily instructed her, that a silent example, and an easy unrepining behaviour, will always be more persuasive than the severity of lectures and admonitions; and that there is so much pride interwoven into the make of human nature, that an obstinate man must only take the hint from another, and then be left to advise and correct himself. Thus by an artful train of management, and unseen persuasions, having at first brought him not to dislike, and at length to be pleased with that which otherwise he would not have bore to hear of, she then knew how to press and secure this advantage, by approving

-Some choose the clearest light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing eye.


I HAVE seen, in the works of a modern philosopher, a map of the spots in the sun. My last paper of the faults and blemishes in Milton's Paradise Lost may be considered

it as his thought, and seconding it as his proposal. By this means she has gained an | interest in some of his leading passions, and made them accessary to his reformation. There is another particular of Emilia's conduct which I cannot forbear mentioning: to some, perhaps, it may at first sight appear but a trifling inconsiderable circum- as a piece of the same nature. To pursue stance: but, for my part, I think it highly the allusion: as it is observed, that among worthy of observation, and to be recom- the bright parts of the luminous body abovemended to the consideration of the fair sex. mentioned, there are some which glow more I have often thought wrapping-gowns and intensely, and dart a stronger light than dirty linen, with all that huddled economy others; so, notwithstanding I have already of dress which passes under the general shown Milton's poem to be very beautiful name of a mob,' the bane of conjugal in general, I shall now proceed to take nolove, and one of the readiest means imaginable to alienate the affection of a husband, especially a fond one. I have heard some ladies, who have been surprised by company in such a dishabille, apologize for it after this manner: Truly, I am ashamed to be caught in this pickle: but my husband and I were sitting all alone by ourselves, and I did not expect to see such good company.'-This, by the way, is a fine compliment to the good man, which it is ten to one but he returns in dogged answers and a churlish behaviour, without knowing what it is that puts him out of humour.

Emilia's observation teaches her, that as little inadvertencies and neglects cast a blemish upon a great character; so the neglect of apparel, even among the most intimate friends, does insensibly lessen their regards to each other, by creating a familiarity too low and contemptible. She understands the importance of those things which the generality account trifles; and considers every thing as a matter of consequence, that has the least tendency towards keeping up or abating the affection of her husband; him she esteems as a fit object to employ her ingenuity in pleasing, because he is to be pleased for life.

By the help of these, and a thousand other nameless arts, which it is easier for her to practise than for another to express, by the obstinacy of her goodness and unprovoked submission, in spite of all her afflictions and ill usage, Bromius is become a man of sense and a kind husband, and Emilia a happy wife.

tice of such beauties as appear to me more
exquisite than the rest. Milton has pro-
posed the subject of his poem in the follow-
ing verses:

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heav'nly muse!——

These lines are, perhaps, as plain, simple, and unadorned, as any of the whole poem, in which particular the author has conformed himself to the example of Homer, and the precept of Horace.

His invocation to a work, which turns in a great measure upon the creation of the world, is very properly made to the Muse who inspired Moses in those books from whence our author drew his subject, and to the Holy Spirit who is therein represented as operating after a particular manner in the first production of nature. This whole exordium rises very happily into noble language and sentiments, as I think the transition to the fable is exquisitely beautiful and natural.

The nine days' astonishment, in which the angels lay entranced after their dreadful overthrow and fall from heaven, before they could recover either the use of thought or speech, is a noble circumstance, and very finely imagined. The division of hell into seas of fire, and into firm ground impregnated with the same furious element, with that particular circumstance of the exclusion of Hope from those infernal regions, are instances of the same great and fruitful invention.

Ye guardian angels, to whose care heaven has intrusted its dear Emilia, guide her still The thoughts in the first speech and deforward in the paths of virtue, defend her scription of Satan, who is one of the princifrom the insolence and wrongs of this un-pal actors in this poem, are wonderfully discerning world: at length when we must proper to give us a full idea of him. His no more converse with such purity on earth, pride, envy, and revenge, obstinacy, delead her gently hence, innocent and unre-spair, and impenitence, are all of them provable, to a better place, where, by an very artfully interwoven. In short, his first easy transition from what she now is, she may shine forth an angel of light.


No. 303.] Saturday, Feb. 16, 1711-12.

-Volet hæc sub luce videri,
Judicis argutum quæ non formidat acumen.
Hor. Ars Port. ver. 363.

speech is a complication of all those passions which discover themselves separately in several other of his speeches in the poem. The whole part of this great enemy of mankind is filled with such incidents as are very apt to raise and terrify the reader's imagination. Of this nature, in the book now before us, is his being the first that awakens

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