THERE is no other Method of fixing thofe Thoughts which arife and difappear in the Mind of Man, and tranfmitting them to the last Periods of Time; no other Method of giving a Permanency to our Ideas, and preferving the Knowledge of any particular Perfon, when his Body is mixed with the common Mafs of Matter, and his Soul re tired into the World of Spirits. Books are the Legacies that a great Genius leaves to Mankind, which are delivered down from Generation to Generation, as Presents to the Pofterity of those who are yet unborn. ALL other Arts of perpetuating our Ideas continue but a fhort Time: Statues can laft but a few Thousands of Years, Edifices fewer, and Colours ftill fewer than Edifices. Michael Angelo, Fontana, and Raphael, will hereafter be what Phidias, Vitruvius, and Apelles are at prefent; the Names of great Statuaries, Architects, and Painters, whose Works are loft. The feveral Arts are expreffed in mouldring Materials; Nature finks under them, and is not able to fupport the Ideas which are impreft upon it. THE Circumftance which gives Authors an Advantage above all these great Mafters, is this, that they can multiply their Originals; or rather can make Copies of their Works, to what Number they please, which shall be as valuable as the Originals themfelves. This gives a great Author fomething like a Profpect of Eternity, but at the fame time deprives him of thofe other Advantages which Artists meet with. The Artift finds greater Returns in Profit, as the Author in Fame. What an in eftimable Price would a Virgil or a Homer, a Cicero or an Ariftotle bear, were their Works like a Statue, a Building, or a Picture, to be confined only in one Place, and made the Property of a fingle Perfon? IF Writings are thus durable, and may pafs from Age to Age throughout the whole Courfe of Time, how care. ful fhould an Author be of committing any thing to Print that may corrupt Pofterity, and poifon the Minds of Men with Vice and Errour? Writers of great Talents, who employ their Parts in propagating Immorality, and feafoning vicious Sentiments with Wit and Humour, are to be looked upon as the Pefts of Society, and the Enemies of Mankind: They leave Books behind them (as it is faid of those who die in Distempers which breed an ill Will toVOL. II. wards wards their own Species) to fcatter Infection and deftroy their Pofterity. They act the Counter-parts of a Confusius, or a Socrates; and feem to have been fent into the World to deprave human Nature, and fink it into the Condition of Brutality. I have feen fome Roman-Catholick Authors, who tell us that vicious Writers continue in Purgatory fo long as the Influence of their Writings continues upon Pofterity: For Purgatory, fay they, is nothing elfe but a cleanfing us of our Sins, which cannot be faid to be done away, folong as they continue to operate and corrupt Mankind. The vicious Author, fay they, fins after Death, and so long as he continues to fin, fo long muft he expect to be punished. Though the Roman-Catholick Notion of Purgatory be indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think that if the Soul after Death has any Knowledge of what paffes in this World, that of an immoral Writer would receive much more Regret from the Senfe of corrupting, than Satisfaction from the Thought of pleafing his furviving Admirers. TO take off from the Severity of this Speculation, I fhall conclude this Paper with a Story of an Atheistical Author, who at a time when he lay dangerously fick, and had defired the affiftance of a neighbouring Curate, confeffed to him with great Contrition, that nothing fat more heavy at his Heart than the Senfe of his having feduced the Age by his Writings, and that their evil Influence was likely to continue even after his Death. The Curate upon further Examination finding the Penitent in the utmost Agonies of Defpair, and being himself a Man of Learning, told him, that he hoped his Cafe was not fo defperate as he apprehended, fince he found that he was fo very fenfible of his Fault, and fo fincerely repented of it. The Penitent ftill urged the evil Tendency of his Book to fubvert all Religion, and the little Ground of Hope there could be for one whofe Writings would continue to do Mifchief when his Body was laid in Afhes. The Curate finding no other Way to comfort him, told him, that he did well in being afflicted for the evil Defign with which he published his Book; but that he ought to be very thankful that there was no Danger of its doing any Hurt. That his Caufe was lo very bad, and his Arguments fo weak, that he did not apprehend any ill Effects of it. In fhort, that he might reft fatisfied fatisfied his Book could do no more Mifchief after his Death, than it had done whilft he was living. To which he added, for his further Satisfaction, that he did not believe any befides his particular Friends and Acquaintance had ever been at the Pains of reading it, or that any Body after his Death would ever enquire after it. The dying Man had ftill fo much the Frailty of an Author in him, as to be cut to the Heart with thefe Confolations; and with out answering the good Man, asked his Friends about him (with a Peevishness that is natural to a fick Perfon) where they had picked up fuch a Blockhead? And whether they thought him a proper Perfon to attend one in his Con dition? The Curate finding that the Author did not expect to be dealt with as a real and fincere Penitent, but as a Penitent of Importance, after a fhort Admonition withdrew; not queftioning but he fhould be again fent for if the Sickness grew defperate. The Author however recovered, and has fince written two or three other Tracts with the fame Spirit, and very luckily for his poor Soul with the fame Success. C N° 167. Tuesday, September 11. -Fuit haud ignobilis Argis, Qui fe credebat miros audire tragados, Poffet qui rupem & puteum vitare patentem. T Hor HE unhappy Force of an Imagination, unguided by the Check of Reafon and Judgment, was the Subject of a former Speculation. My Reader may re member that he has feen in one of my Papers a Complaint of of an unfortunate Gentleman, who was unable to contain himself, (when any ordinary Matter was laid before him) from adding a few Circumftances to enliven plain Narrative. That Correfpondent was a Person of too warm a Complexion to be fatisfied with things merely as they stood in Nature, and therefore formed Incidents which should have happened to have pleafed him in the Story. The fame ungoverned Fancy which pufhed that Correfpondent on, in fpite of himself, to relate publick and notorious Falfhoods, makes the Author of the following Letter do the fame in Private; one is a prating, the other a filent Liar. THERE is little purfued in the Errors of either of thefe Worthies, but mere prefent Amusement: But the Folly of him who lets his Fancy place him in diftant Scenes untroubled and uninterrupted, is very much preferable to that of him who is ever forcing a Belief, and defending his Untruths with new Inventions. But I fhall haften to let this Liar in Soliloquy, who calls himself a CASTLEBUILDER, defcribe himself with the fame Unrefervedness as formerly appeared in my Correfpondent abovemention'd. If a Man were to be serious on this Subject, he might give very grave Admonitions to those who are following any thing in this Life, on which they think to place their Hearts, and tell them that they are really CASTLE-BUILDERS. Fame, Glory, Wealth, Honour, have in the Profpect pleafing Illufions: but they who come to poffefs any of them will find they are Ingredients towards Happiness, to be regarded only in the fecond Place; and that when they are valued in the first Degree they are as disappointing as any of the Phantoms in the following Letter. Mr. SPECTATOR, Sept. 6. 1711. 'I Am a Fellow of a very odd Frame of Mind, as you will find by the Sequel; and think my felf Fool ⚫ enough to deferve a Place in your Paper. I am unhappily far gone in Building, and am one of that Species of Men who are properly denominated Castle-Builders, who fcorn to be beholden to the Earth for a Foundation, or dig in the Bowels of it for Materials; but erect their Structures in the most unftable of Elements, the Air, Fancy alone laying the Line, marking the Extent, and fhaping the Model. It would be difficult to enumerate what auguft Palaces and ftately Porticos have grown under my forming Imagination, or what verdant Meadows and fhady Groves have started into Being by the powerful Feat of a warm Fancy, A Caftle-Builder is even juft what he pleafes, and as fuch I have grasped imaginary Scepters, and delivered uncontroulable Edicts, from a Throne to which conquered Nations yielded Obeifance. I have made I know not how many Inroads into France, and ravaged the very Heart of that Kingdom; I have dined in the Louvre, and drank Champaign at Versailles; and I would have you take Notice, I am not only able to vanquish a People already cowed and accustomed to Flight, but I could, Almanzor like, drive the British General from the Field, were I lefs a Proteftant, or had ever been affronted by the Confederates. There is no Art or Profeffion, whofe most cele-' brated Mafters I have not eclipfed. Wherever I have afforded my falutary Prefence Fevers have ceafed to burn, and Agues to shake the human Fabrick. When an eloquent Fit has been upon me, an apt Gefture and proper Cadence has animated each Sentence, and gazing Crowds have found their Paffions work'd up into Rage, or footh⚫ed into a Calm. I am fhort, and not very well made; yet upon Sight of a fine Woman, I have ftretched into proper Stature, and killed with a good Air and Mien. Thefe are the gay Phantoms that dance before my waking Eyes and compofe my Day-Dreams. I should be the most contented Happy Man alive, were the chimerical Happiness which fprings from the Paintings of Fancy lefs fleeting and tranfitory. But alas! it is with Grief of • Mind I tell you, the leaft Breath of Wind has often demolished my magnificent Edifices,fwept away my Groves, and left no more Trace of them than if they had never been. My Exchequer has funk and vanifhed by a Rap on my Door, the Salutation of a Friend has coft me a whole Continent, and in the fame Moment I have been pulled by the Sleeve, my Crown has fallen from my Head. The ill Confequence of thefe Reveries is inconceivably great, feeing the Lofs of imaginary Poffeffions makes Impreffions of real Woe. Befides, bad Oeconomy is vifible and apparent in Builders of invifible Mansions. My • Tenants 0 3 |