abashed, if they find themselves betrayed | dispositions are strangely averse to conjugal 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 it as a mere brutum 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. The 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 barren 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 for life, to be furnished with bamboos for operas, crabtree 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 Horace's Art of Poetry, In short, I would have him a due composition of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly qualified for this important office, that the .trunk-maker may not be missed by our posterity. C. No. 236.] Friday, November 30, 1711. -Dare jura maritis.-Hor. Ars Poet. v. 398. With laws connubial tyrants to restrain. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-You have not spoken in so direct a manner upon the subject of marriage, as that important case deserves. It would not be improper to observe upon the peculiarity in the youth of Great Britain of railing and laughing at that institution; and when they fall into it, from a profligate habit of mind, being insensible of the satisfaction in that way of life, and treating their wives with the most barbarous disrespect. friendship) but no one, I believe, is by his own natural complexion prompted to tease and torment another for no reason but being nearly allied to him. And can there be any thing more base, or serve to sink a man so much below his own distinguishing characteristic, (I mean reason,) than returning evil for good in so open a manner, as that of treating a helpless creature with unkindness, who has had so good an opinion of him as to believe what he said relating to one of the greatest concerns of life, by delivering her happiness in this world to his care and protection? Must not that man be abandoned even to all manner of humanity, who can deceive a woman with appearances of affection and kindness, for no other end but to torment her with more ease and authority? Is any thing more unlike a gentleman than when his honour is engaged for the performing his promises, because nothing but that can oblige him to it, to become afterwards false to his word, and be alone the occasion of misery to one whose happiness he but lately pretended was dearer to him than his own? Qught such a one to be trusted in his common affairs? or treated but as one whose honesty consisted only in his incapacity of being otherwise? There is one cause of this usage no less absurd than common, which takes place among the more unthinking men; and that is, the desire to appear to their friends free and at liberty, and without those trammels they have so much ridiculed. To avoid this they fly into the other extreme, and grow tyrants that they may seem masters. Because an uncontrollable command of their own actions is a certain sign of entire dominion, they will not so much as recede from the government even in one muscle of their faces. A kind look they believe would be fawning, and a civil answer yielding the superiority. To this we must attribute an austerity they betray in every action. What but this can put a man out of humour in his wife's company, though he is so dintinguishingly pleasant every where else? The bitterness of his replies, and the severity of his frowns to the tenderest of wives, clearly demonstrate that an ill-grounded fear of being thought too submissive, is at the bottom of this, as I am willing to call it, affected moroseness; but if it be such, only put on to convince his acquaintance of his entire dominion, let him take care of the consequence, which will be certain and worse than the present evil; his seeming indifference will by degrees grow into real contempt, and if it doth not wholly alienate the affections of his wife for ever from him, make both him and her more miserable than if it really did so. However inconsistent it may appear, to 'Particular circumstances, and cast of be thought a well-bred person has no small temper, must teach a man the probability share in this clownish behaviour. A disof mighty uneasiness in that state; (for un-course therefore relating to good-breeding questionably some there are whose very towards a loving and a tender wife, would T. be of great use to this sort of gentlemen. I yet taken any notice of it: if you mention it Could you but once convince them, that to in your paper, it may perhaps have a very be civil at least is not beneath the character good effect. What I mean is, the disturbof a gentleman, nor even tender affection ance some people give to others at church, towards one who would make it reciprocal, by their repetition of the prayers after the betrays any softness or effeminacy that the minister; and that not only in the prayers, most masculine disposition need be ashamed but also in the absolution; and the comof; could you satisfy them of the generosity mandments fare no better, which are in a of voluntary civility, and the greatness of particular manner the priest's office. This soul that is conspicuous in benevolence with- I have known done in so audible a manner, out immediate obligations; could you re- that sometimes their voices have been as commend to people's practice the saying of loud as his. As little as you would think it, the gentleman quoted in one of your specu- this is frequently done by people seemingly lations, "That he thought it incumbent devout. This irreligious inadvertency is a upon him to make the inclinations of a wo- thing extremely offensive: But I do not reman of merit go along with her duty;" commend it as a thing I give you liberty to could you, I say, persuade these men of the ridicule, but hope it may be amended by beauty and reasonableness of this sort of the bare mention. Sir, your very humble behaviour, I have so much charity, for servant, 'T. S.' some of them at least, to believe you would convince them of a thing they are only ashamed to allow. Besides, you would recommend that state in its truest, and consequently its most agreeable colours: and the gentlemen, who have for any time been such professed enemies to it, when occasion should serve, would return you their thanks for assisting their interest in prevailing over heir prejudices. Marriage in general would oy this means be a more easy and comfortable condition; the husband would be no where so well satisfied as in his own parlour, nor the wife so pleasant as in the company of her husband. A desire of being agreeable in the lover would be increased in the husband, and the mistress be more amiable by becoming the wife. Besides all which, I am apt to believe we should find the race of men grow wiser as their progenitors grew kinder, and the affection of their parents would be conspicuous in the wisdom of their children; in short, men would in general be much better humoured than they are, did they not so frequently exercise the worst turns of their temper where they ought to exert the best,' 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a woman who left the admiration of the whole town to throw myself (for love of wealth) into the arms of a fool. When I married him, I could have had any one of several men of sense who languished for me; but my case is just. I believed my superior understanding would form him into a tractable creature. But, alas! my spouse has cunning and suspicion, the inseparable companions of little minds; and every attempt I make to divert, by putting on an agreeable air, a sudden cheerfulness, or kind behaviour, he looks upon as the first act towards an insurrection against his undeserved dominion over me. Let every one who is still to choose, and hopes to govern a fool, rememTRISTISSA.' ber 'St. Martin's, Nov. 25. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-This is to complain of an evil practice which I think very well deserves a redress, though you have not as No. 237.] Saturday, December 1, 1711. Seneca in Œdip. They that are dim of sight see truth by halves. It is very reasonable to believe, that part of the pleasure which happy minds shall enjoy in a future state, will arise from an enlarged contemplation of the Divine Wisdom in the government of the world, and a discovering of the secret and amazing steps of Providence, from the beginning to the end of time. Nothing seems to be an entertainment more adapted to the nature of man, if we consider that curiosity is one of the strongest and most lasting appetites implanted in us, and that admiration is one of our most pleasing passions; and what a per petual succession of enjoyments will be afforded to both these, in a scene so large and various as shall there be laid open to our view in the society of superior spirits, who perhaps will join with us in so delightful a prospect! part of the punishment of such as are exIt is not impossible, on the contrary, that cluded from bliss, may consist not only in their being denied this privilege, but in having their appetites at the same time vastly increased without any satisfaction afforded to them. In these, the vain pursuit of knowledge shall, perhaps, add to their infelicity, and bewilder them into labyrinths of error, darkness, distraction, and uncertainty of every thing but their own evil state. Milton has thus represented the fallen angels reasoning together in a kind of respite from their torments, and creating to themselves a new disquiet amidst their very amusements; he could not properly have described the sport of condemned spirits, without that cast of horror and melancholy he has so judiciously mingled with them: Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate. and reason'd high is, that we are not at present in a proper situation to judge of the councils by which Providence acts, since but little arrives at Fixt fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end in wandering mazes lost.* In our present condition., which is a middle state, our minds are as it were check-our knowledge, and even that little we disered with truth and falsehood: and as our faculties are narrow, and our views imperfect, it is impossible but our curiosity must meet with many repulses. The business of mankind in this life being rather to act than to know, their portion of knowledge is dealt to them accordingly. From hence it is, that the reason of the inquisitive has so long been exercised with difficulties, in accounting for the promiscuous distribution of good and evil to the virtuous and the wicked in this world. From hence come all those pathetic complaints of so many tragical events which happen to the wise and the good; and of such surprising prosperity, which is often the lott of the guilty and the foolish; that reason is sometimes puzzled, and at a loss what to pronounce upon so mysterious a dispensation. Plato expresses his abhorrence of some fables of the poets, which seem to reflect on the gods as the authors of injustice; and lays it down as a principle, that whatever is permitted to befal a just man, whether poverty, sickness, or any of those things which seem to be evils, shall either in life or death conduce to his good. My reader will observe how agreeable this maxim is to what we find delivered by a greater authority. Seneca has written a discourse purposely on this subject;t in which he takes pains, after the doctrine of the Stoics, to show that adversity is not in itself an evil; and mentions a noble saying of Demetrius, that nothing would be more unhappy than a man who had never known affliction.' He compares prosperity to the indulgence of a fond mother to a child, which often proves his ruin; but the affection of the Divine Being to that of a wise father, who would have his sons exercised with labour, disappointments, and pain, that they may gather strength and improve their fortitude. On this occasion, the philosopher rises into that celebrated sentiment, That there is not on earth a spectacle more worthy the regard of a Creator intent on his works than a brave man superior to his sufferings;' to which he adds, that it must be a pleasure to Jupiter himself to look down from heaven, and see Cato amidst the ruins of his country preserving his integrity.' This thought will appear yet more reasonable, if we consider human life as a state of probation, and adversity as the post of honour in it, assigned often to the best and most select spirits. But what I would chiefly insist on here * Paradise Lost, b. ii. v. 557. † Spect. in folio; for reward, &c. Vid. Senec. De constantia sapientis, sive quod in sapientem non cadit injuria. cern imperfectly; or according to the elegant figure in holy writ, we see but in part, and as in a glass darkly '§ It is to be considered, that Providence in its economy regards the whole system of time and things together, so that we cannot discover the beautiful connection between incidents which lie widely separate in time, and by losing so many links of the chain, our reasonings become broken and imperfect. Thus those parts of the moral world which have not an absolute, may yet have a relative beauty, in respect of some other parts concealed from us, but open to his eye before whom 'past,' 'present,' and 'to come,' are set together in one point of view: and those events, the permission of which seems now to accuse his goodness, may in the consummation of things both magnify his goodness, and exalt his wisdom. And this is enough to check our presumption, since it is in vain to apply our measures of regularity to matters of which we know neither the antecedents nor the consequents, the beginning nor the end. I shall relieve my readers from this ab stracted thought, by relating here a Jewish tradition concerning Moses, which seems to be a kind of parable, illustrating what I have last mentioned. That great prophet, it is said, was called up by a voice from heaven to the top of a mountain; where in a conference with the Supreme Being, he was admitted to propose to him some questions concerning his administration of the universe. In the midst of this divine colloquy he was commanded to look down on the plain below. At the foot of the mountain there issued out a clear spring of water, at which a soldier alighted from his horse to drink. He was no sooner gone than a little boy came to the same place, and finding a purse of gold which the soldier had dropped, took it up and went away with it. Immediately after this came an infirm old man, weary with age and travelling, and having quenched his thirst, sat down to rest himself by the side of the spring. The soldier missing his purse returns to search for it, and demands it of the old man, who affirms he had not seen it, and appeals to heaven in witness of his innocence. soldier not believing his protestations, kills him. Moses fell on his face with horror and amazement, when the divine voice thus prevented his expostulation: Be not surprised, Moses, nor ask why the Judge of the whole earth has suffered this thing to pass. The child is the occasion that the blood of the old man is spilt; but know that the old man whom thou sawest was the murderer of that child's father.' C. § 1 Cor. xiii. 12. The No. 238.] Monday, December 3, 1711. Nequicquam populo bibulas donaveris aures; Brewster. AMONG all the diseases of the mind, there is not one more epidemical or more pernicious than the love of flattery. For as where the juices of the body are prepared to receive a malignant influence, there the disease rages with most violence; so in this distemper of the mind, where there is ever a propensity and inclination to suck in the poison, it cannot be but that the whole order of reasonable action must be overturned, for, like music, it -So softens and disarms the mind, That not one arrow can resistance find. with merit enough to be a coxcomb. But i flattery be the most sordid act that can be complied with, the art of praising justly is as commendable; for it is laudable to praise well; as poets at one and the same time give immortality, and receive it themselves for a reward. Both are pleased; the one whilst he receives the recompence of merit, the other whilst he shows he knows how to discern it; but above all, that man is happy in this art, who, like a skilful painter, retains the features and complexion, but still softens the picture into the most agreeable likeness. There can hardly, I believe, be imagined a more desirable pleasure than that of praise unmixed with any possibility of flattery. Such was that which Germanicus enjoyed, when, the night before a battle, First we flatter ourselves, and then the desirous of some sincere mark of the esteem flattery of others is sure of success. It of his legions for him, he is described by awakens our self-love within, a party which Tacitus listening in a disguise to the disis ever ready to revolt from our better judg- course of a soldier, and wrapt up in the ment, and join the enemy without. Hence fruition of his glory, whilst with an unde it is, that the profusion of favours we so signed sincerity they praised his noble and often see poured upon the parasite, are re-majestic mien, his affability, his valour, How must a presented to us by our self-love, as justice conduct, and success in war. done to the man who so agreeably reconman have his heart full-blown with joy in ciled us to ourselves. When we are over- such an article of glory as this? What a come by such soft insinuations and ensnaring spur and encouragement still to proceed in compliances, we gladly recompense the ar- those steps which had already brought him tifices that are made use of to blind our to so pure a taste of the greatest of mortal reason, and which triumph over the weak- enjoyments? nesses of our temper and inclinations. But were every man persuaded from how mean and low a principle this passion is derived, there can be no doubt but the person who should attempt to gratify it, would then be as contemptible as he is now successful. It is the desire of some quality we are not possessed of, or inclination to be something we are not, which are the causes of our giving ourselves up to that man who bestows upon us the characters and qualities of others, which perhaps suit us as ill, and were as little designed for our wearing, as their clothes. Instead of going out of our own complexional nature into that of others, it were a better and more laudable industry to improve our own, and instead of a miserable copy become a good original; for there is no temper, no disposition so rude and untractable, but may in its own peculiar cast and turn be brought to some agreeable use in conversation, or in the affairs of life. A person of a rougher deportment, and less tied up to the usual ceremonies of behaviour, will, like Manly in the play, please by the grace which nature gives to every action wherein she is complied with; the brisk and lively will not want their admirers, and even a more reserved and melancholy temper may at sometimes be agreeable. When there is not vanity enough awake in a man to undo him, the flatterer stirs up that dormant weakness, and inspires him * Wycherley's comedy of the Plain Dealer. It sometimes happens that even enemies and envious persons bestow the sincerest marks of esteem when they least design it. Such afford a greater pleasure, as extorted by merit, and freed from all suspicion of favour or flattery. Thus it is with Malvolio; he has wit, learning, and discernment, but tempered with an allay of envy self-love, and detraction. Malvolio turn pale at the mirth and good-humour of the company, if it centre not in his person; he grows jealous and displeased when he ceases to be the only person admired, and looks upon the commendations paid to another as a detraction from his merit, and an attempt to lessen the superiority he affects; but by this very method, he bestows such praise as can never be suspected of flattery. His uneasiness and distastes are so many sure and certain signs of another's title to that glory he desires, and has the mortifi cation to find himself not possessed of. A good name is fitly compared to a precious ointment,† and when we are praised with skill and decency, it is indeed the most agreeable perfume; but if too strongly admitted into a brain of a less vigorous and happy texture, it will, like too strong an odour, overcome the senses, and prove pernicious to those nerves it was intended to refresh. A generous mind is of all others the most sensible of praise and dispraise; and a noble spirit is as much invigorated with its due proportion of honour and ap Eccles. vii 1. plause as it is depressed by neglect and and a sweet smile sits in the charming contempt. But it is only persons far above space which divides her lips. One would the common level who are thus affected swear that voice and speech were issuing with either of these extremes; as in a ther-out, and that one's ears felt the melodious mometer, it is only the purest and most sound. How often have I, deceived by a sublimated spirit that is either contracted or dilated by the benignity or inclemency of the season. lover's credulity, hearkened if she had not something to whisper me? and when frustrated of my hopes, how often have I taken my revenge in kisses from her cheeks and • MR. SPECTATOR, The translations eyes, and softly wooed her to my embrace, which you have lately given us from the whilst she (as to me it seemed,) only withGreek, in some of your last papers, have held her tongue the more to inflame me. been the occasion of my looking into some But, madman that I am, shall I be thus of those authors: among whom I chanced taken with the representation only of a on a collection of letters which pass under beauteous face, and flowing hair, and thus the name of Aristænetus. Of all the re- waste myself and melt to tears for a shamains of antiquity, I believe there can be dow? Ah, sure it is something more, it is nothing produced of an air so gallant and a reality; for see, her beauties shine out polite; each letter contains a little novel or with new lustre, and she seems to upbraid adventure, which is told with all the beau-me with unkind reproaches. Oh, may I ties of language, and heightened with a luxuriance of wit. There are several of them translated;* but with such wide deviations from the original, and in a style so far differing from the author's, that the translator seems rather to have taken hints for the expressing his own sense and thoughts, than to have endeavoured to render those have a living mistress of this form, that -Bella, horrida bella! -Wars, horrid wars! Virg. Æn. vi. 86. of Aristænetus. In the following transla- No. 239.] Tuesday, December 4, 1711. tion, I have kept as near the meaning of the Greek as I could, and have only added a few words to make the sentences in English sit together a little better than they would otherwise have done. The story seems to be taken from that of Pygmalion and the statue in Ovid; some of the thoughts are of the same turn, and the whole is written in a kind of poetical prose. Philopinax to Chromation. I HAVE Sometimes amused myself with considering the several methods of managing a debate which have obtained in the world. The first races of mankind used to dispute, as our ordinary people do now-a-days, in a kind of wild logic, uncultivated by rules of art. Socrates introduced a catechetical method of arguing. He would ask his adversary question upon question, until he had convinced him out of his own mouth that his opinions were wrong. This way of debating drives an enemy up into a corner, seizes all the passes through which he can make an escape, and forces him to surrender at discretion. "Never was a man more overcome with so fantastical a passion as mine; I have painted a beautiful woman, and am despairing, dying for the picture. My own skill has undone me; it is not the dart of Venus, but my own pencil has thus wounded me, Ah, me! with what anxiety am I necessitated to adore my own idol? How miserable am I, whilst every one must as much pity the painter as he praises the picture, Aristotle changed this method of attack, and own my torment more than equal to and invented a great variety of little weamy art. But why do I thus complain? pons, called syllogisms. As in the Socratic Have there not been more unhappy and way of dispute you agree to every thing unnatural passions than mine? Yes, I have which your opponent advances, in the Arisseen the representation of Phædra, Nar-totelic you are still denying and contradictcissus, and Pasiphe. Phædra was unhappy in her love: that of Pasipha was monstrous; and whilst the other caught at his beloved likeness, he destroyed the watery image, which ever eluded his embraces. The fountain represented Narcissus to himself, and the picture both that and him, thirsting after his adored image. But I am yet less unhappy. I enjoy her presence, continually, and if I touch her, I destroy not the beauteous form, but she looks pleased, ing some part or other of what he says. Socrates conquers you by stratagem, Aristotle by force! The one takes the town by sap, the other sword in hand. The universities of Europe for many years carried on their debates by syllogism, insomuch that we see the knowledge of several centuries laid out into objections and answers, and all the good sense of the age cut and minced into almost an infinitude of distinctions. When our universities found there was no end of wrangling this way, they invented a kind of argument, which is not reducible |