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turn; those who had taken this leap were observed never to relapse into that passion. Sappho tried the cure, but perished in the experiment.

No. 224.] FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1711.

wonder, that these two finished pieces have never been attempted before by any of our own countrymen. But the truth of it is, the compositions of the After having given this short account of Sappho, ancients, which have not in them any of those unso far as it regards the following ode, I shall sub-natural witticisms that are the delight of ordinary join the translation of it as it was sent me by a readers, are extremely difficult to render into anfriend whose admirable Pastorals and Winter-piece other tongue, so as the beauties of the original may have been already so well received. The reader not appear weak and faded in the translation.-C. will find in it that pathetic simplicity, which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the ode he has here translated. This ode in the Greek (besides) those beauties observed by Madam Dacier) has several harmonious turns in the words, which are not lost in the English. I must further add, that the translation has preserved every image and sentiment of Sappho, notwithstanding it has all the ease and spirit of an original. In a word, if the ladies mankind, and endeavour to trace out the principles If we look abroad upon the great multitude of have a mind to know the manner of writing prac-of action in every individual, it will, I think, seem tised by the so much celebrated Sappho, they may here see it in its genuine and natural beauty, without any foreign or affected ornaments.

A HYMN TO VENUS.

O VENUS, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess! from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.

If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferr'd,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
O gentle goddess! hear me now.
Descend, thou bright, immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confess'd.
Thou once didst leave almighty Jove,
And all the golden roofs above:
The car thy wanton sparrows drew,
Hovering in air they lightly flew;
As to my bower they wing'd their way,
I saw their quivering pinions play.

The birds dismiss'd (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again:
Then you with looks divinely mild,
In every heavenly feature smil'd,
And ask'd what new complaints I made,
And why I call'd you to my aid?
What frenzy in my bosom rag'd,
And by what cure to be assuag'd?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?
Though now he shuns thy longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
Though now thy offerings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
And be thy victim in his turn.

Celestial visitant, once more
Thy needful presence I implore!
In pity come, and ease my grief,
Bring my distemper'd soul relief,
Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires,
And give me all my heart desires.

Madam Dacier observes, there is something very pretty in that circumstance of this ode, wherein Venus is described as sending away her chariot upon her arrival at Sappho's lodgings, to denote that it was not a short transient visit which she intended to make her. This ode was preserved by an eminent Greek critic, who inserted it entire in his works, as a pattern of perfection in the structure of it.

Longinus has quoted another ode of this great poetess, which is likewise admirable in its kind, and has been translated by the same hand with the foregoing one. I shall oblige my reader with it in another paper. In the meanwhile, I cannot but

-Fulgente trahit constrictos gloria curru

Non minus ignotos generosis HOR. 1 Sat. vi. 23.
Chain'd to her shining car, Fame draws along
With equal whirl the great and vulgar throng.

highly probable, that ambition runs through the whole species, and that every man, in proportion to the vigour of his complexion, is more or less actuated by it. It is, indeed, no uncommon thing to meet with men, who by the natural bent of their inclinations, and without the discipline of philosophy, aspire not to the heights of power and grandeur; who never set their hearts upon a numerous train of clients and dependencies, nor other gay appendages of greatness; who are contented with a com petency, and will not molest their tranquillity to gain an abundance. But it is not therefore to be concluded that such a man is not ambitious; his desires may have cut out another channel, and determined him to other pursuits; the motive, however, may be still the same; and in these cases likewise the man may be equally pushed on with the desire of distinction.

Though the pure consciousness of worthy actions, abstracted from the views of popular applause, be to a generous mind an ample reward, yet the desire of distinction was doubtless implanted in our natures as an additional incentive to exert ourselves in virtuous excellence.

This passion, indeed, like all others, is frequently perverted to evil and ignoble purposes: so that we may account for many of the excellences and follies of life upon the same innate principle, to wit, the desire of being remarkable: for this, as it has been differently cultivated by education, study, and converse, will bring forth suitable effects as it falls in with an ingenuous disposition, or a corrupt mind. It does accordingly express itself in acts of magnanimity or selfish cunning, as it meets with a good or a weak understanding. As it has been employed in embellishing the mind, or adorning the outside, it renders the man eminently praiseworthy or ridiculous. Ambition therefore is not to be confined only to one passion or pursuit; for as the same humours in constitutions, otherwise different, affect the body after different manners, so the same aspiring principle within us sometimes breaks forth upon one object, sometimes upon another.

It cannot be doubted, but that there is as great a desire of glory in a wring of wrestlers or cudgelplayers, as in any other more refined competition for superiority. No man that could avoid it, would ever suffer his head to be broken but out of a principle of honour. This is the secret spring that pushes them forward; and the superiority which they gain above the undistinguished many, does more than repair those wounds they have received in the combat. It is Mr. Waller's opinion, that Julius Caesar, had he not been master of the Roman

empire, would, in all probability, have made an it renders the man who is overrun with it a peevish excellent wrestler :

Great Julius, on the mountains bred,
A flock perhaps or herd had led;
He that the world subdu'd, had been
But the best wrestler on the green.

and cruel master, a severe parent, an unsociable husband, a distant and mistrustful friend. But it is more to the present purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of the heart, rather than as a vicious affection of the mind. As there are frequent instances to be met with of a proud humility, so this passion, contrary to most others, affects applause, by avoiding all show and appearance: for this reason it will not sometimes endure even the common decencies of apparel. "A covetous man will call himself poor, that you may sooth his vanity by contradicting him." Love and the desire of glory, as they are the most natural, so they are capable of being refined into the most delicate and rational passions. It is true, the wise man who strikes out of the secret paths of a private life, for honour and dignity, allured by the splendour of a court, and the unfelt weight of public employment, whether he succeeds in his attempts or no, usually comes near enough to this painted greatness to discern the daubing; he is then desirous of extricating himself out of the hurry of life, that he may pass away the remainder of his days in tranquillity and retirement.

It may be thought then but common prudence in a man not to change a better state for a worse, nor

That he subdued the world, was owing to the accidents of art and knowledge; had he not met with those advantages, the same sparks of emulation would have kindled within him, and prompted him to distinguish himself in some enterprise of a lower nature. Since therefore no man's lot is so unalterably fixed in this life, but that a thousand accidents may either forward or disappoint his advancement, it is, methinks, a pleasant and inoffensive speculation, to consider a great man as divested of all the adventitious circumstances of fortune, and to bring him down in one's imagination to that low station of life, the nature of which bears some distant resemblance to that high one he is at present possessed of Thus one may view him exercising in miniature those talents of nature, which being drawn out by education to their full length, enable him for the discharge of some important employment. On the other hand, one may raise uneducated merit to such a pitch of greatness, as may seem equal to the possible extent of his improved capacity. Thus nature furnishes man with a general appe-ever to quit that which he knows he shall take up tite of glory, education determines it to this or that again with pleasure; and yet if human life be not a particular object. The desire of distinction is not, little moved with the gentle gales of hopes and I think, in any instance more observable than in fears, there may be some danger of its stagnating the variety of outsides and new appearances, which in an unmanly indolence and security. It is a the modish part of the world are obliged to provide, known story of Domitian, that after he had posin order to make themselves remarkable; for any sessed himself of the Roman empire, his desires thing glaring and particular, either in behaviour or turned upon catching flies. Active and masculine apparel, is known to have this good effect, that it spirits in the vigour of youth neither can nor ought catches the eye, and will not suffer you to pass over to remain at rest. If they debar themselves from the person so adorned without due notice and ob- aiming at a noble object, their desires will move servation. It has likewise, upon this account, been downwards, and they will feel themselves actuated frequently resented as a very great slight, to leave by some low and abject passion. Thus, if you cut any gentleman out of a lampoon or satire, who has off the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer as much right to be there as his neighbour, because it to grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to it supposes the person not eminent enough to be grow, but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The taken notice of. To this passionate fondness for man indeed who goes into the world only with the distinction are owing various frolicsome and irre- narrow views of self-interest, who catches at the gular practices, as sallying out into nocturnal ex-applause of an idle multitude, as he can find no ploits, breaking of windows, singing of catches, solid contentment at the end of his journey, so he beating the watch, getting drunk twice a day, kill-deserves to meet with disappointments in his way: ing a great number of horses; with many other enterprises of the like fiery nature; for certainly many a man is more rakish and extravagant than he would willingly be, were there not others to look on and give their approbation.

but he who is actuated by a noble principle; whose mind is so far enlarged as to take in the prospect of his country's good; who is enamoured with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, and values not those acclamations which are not seconded by the impartial testimony of his own mind; who repines not at the low station which Providence has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly advance himself by justifiable means to a more rising and advantageous ground; such a man is warmed with a generous emulation; it is a virtuous movement in him to wish and to endeavour that his power of doing good may be equal to his will.

One very common, and at the same time the most absurd ambition that ever showed itself in human nature, is that which comes upon a man with experience and old age, the season when it might be expected he should be wisest; and therefore it cannot receive any of those lessening circumstances which do, in some measure, excuse the disorderly ferments of youthful blood; I mean the passion for getting money, exclusive of the character of the provident father, the affectionate husband, or the The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent generous friend. It may be remarked, for the com- into the world with great abilities, is capable of dofort of honest poverty, that this desire reigns most ing great good or mischief in it. It ought therein those who have but few good qualities to recom-fore to be the care of education to infuse into the mend them. This is a weed that will grow in a untainted youth early notions of justice and honour, barren soil. Humanity, good-nature, and the ad- that so the possible advantages of good parts may vantages of a liberal education, are incompatible not take an evil turn, nor be perverted to base and with avarice. It is strange to see how suddenly unworthy purposes. It is the business of religion this abject passion kills all the noble sentiments and philosophy not so much to extinguish our pasand generous ambitions that adorn human nature; sions, as to regulate and direct them to valuable

well-chosen objects. When these have pointed out to us which course we may lawfully steer, it is no harm to set out all our sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the haven where we would be, it will however prove no small consolation to us in these circumstances, that we have neither mistaken our course, nor fallen into calamities of our own procuring.

Religion therefore (were we to consider it no further than as it interposes in the affairs of this life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great veneration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their effects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, correct love, and elegant desire.-Z.

No. 225.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1711.
Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia. Juv. Sat. x. 365.
Prudence supplies the want of every good.

learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness: the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice.

Nor does discretion only make a man the master of his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives measures to the society. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force, which for want of sight is of no use to bim,

Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular station of life. At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and I HAVE often though if the minds of men were laudable methods of attaining them. Cunning has laid open, we should see but little difference be- only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing tween that of the wise man, and that of the fool. which may make them succeed. Discretion has There are infinite reveries, numberless extrava-large and extended views, and like a well-formed gances, and a perpetual train of vanities which pass eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning is a kind through both. The great difference is, that the first of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest obknows how to pick and cull his thoughts for conver-jects which are near at hand, but is not able to sation, by suppressing some, and communicating discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more others; whereas the other lets them all indifferently it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the fly out in words. This sort of discretion, however, has no place in private conversation between intimate friends. On such occasions the wisest men very often talk like the weakest; for indeed the talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.

person who possesses it. Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept instinct, that only looks out after our immediate delivered by some ancient writers, that a man should interests and welfare. Discretion is only found in live with his enemy in such a manner, as might men of strong sense and good understandings: cunleave him room to become his friend; and with his ning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, friend in such a manner, that if he became his and in persons who are but the fewest removes from enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of disThe first part of this rule, which regards our beha-cretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same viour towards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and as well as very prudential; but the latter part of it, gravity for wisdom. which regards our behaviour towards a friend, savours more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of conversation with a bosom friend. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, and, as the son of Sirach calls him, "a bewrayer of secrets," the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him.

Discretion does not only show itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action, and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it,

Eccles. vi. 9. xxvii. 17.

The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, makes him look forward into futurity, and consider what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as what it is at present. He knows that the misery or happiness which are reserved for him in another world, lose nothing of their reality by being at so great distance from him. The objects do not appear little to him because they are remote. He considers that those pleasures and pains which lie hid in eternity, approach nearer to him every moment, and will be present with him in their full weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For

this reason he is careful to secure to himself that

which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being. He carries his thoughts to the end of every action, and considers the most distant as well as the most immediate effects of it. He supersedes every little prospect of gain and advantage which offers itself here, if he does not find it consistent with his views of an hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of immortality,

his schemes are large and glorious, and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods.

I have in this essay upon discretion, considered it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have therefore described it in its full extent; not only as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our whole existence; not only as it is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a reasonable being. It is in this light that discretion is represented by the wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the name of discretion, and sometimes under that of wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter part of this paper,) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time in the power of every one to attain. Its advantages are infinite, but its acquisition easy; or to speak of her in the words of the apochryphal writer whom I quoted in my last Saturday's paper, "Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that love her, and found of such as seek her. She preventeth them that desire her, in making herself first known unto them. He that seeketh her early, shall have no great travel; for he shall find her sitting at his doors. To think therefore upon her is the perfection of wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be without care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, showeth herself favourably unto them in the ways, and meeteth them in every thought."-C.

No. 226.] MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1711. -Mutum est pictura poema

A picture is a poem without words.

+ I HAVE Very often lamented, and hinted my sorrow in several speculations, that the art of painting is made so little use of to the improvement of our manners. When we consider that it places the action of the person represented in the most agreeable aspect imaginable, that it does not only express the passion or concern as it sits upon him who is drawn, but has under those features the height of the painter's imagination, what strong images of virtue and humanity might we not expect would be instilled into the mind from the labours of the pencil? This is a poetry which would be understood with much less capacity, and less expense of time, than what is taught by writing; but the use of it is generally perverted, and that admirable skill prostitnted to the basest and most unworthy ends. Who is the better man for beholding the most beautiful Venus, the best wrought Bacchanal, the images of sleeping Cupids, languishing Nymphs, or any of the representations of gods, goddesses, demi-gods, satyrs, Polyphemes, sphynxes, or fauns? But if the virtues and vices, which are sometimes pretended to be represented under such draughts, were given us by the painter in the characters of real life, and the persons of men and women whose actions have rendered them laudable or infamous; we should not see a good history-piece without receiving an instructive lecture. There needs no other proof of this truth, than the testimony of every reasonable

Wisdom of Solomon, chap. vi. ver. 12-16.

↑ The speculation was written with the generous design of promoting a subscription just then set on foot for having the cartoons of Raphael copied and engraved by Signior Nicola Dorigny, who had been invited over from Roine by several of the nobility, and to whom the Queen had given her licence for that purpose

SPECTATOR-Nos. 33 & 31.·

creature who has seen the cartoons in her majesty's gallery at Hampton-court. These are representations of no less actions than those of our blessed, Saviour and his apostles. As I now sit and recol lect the warm images which the admirable Raphael. has raised, it is impossible, even from the faint, traces in one's memory of what one has not seen these two years, to be unmoved at the horror and reverence which appear in the whole assembly when the mercenary man fell down dead; at the amazement of the man born blind, when he first receives sight; or at the graceless indignation of the sorcerer, when he is struck blind. The lame, when they first find strength in their feet, stand doubtful of their new vigour. The heavenly apostles appear acting these great things with a deep sense of the infirmities which they relieve, but no value of themselves who administer to their weakness. They know themselves to be but instruments; and the generous distress they are painted in when divine honours are offered to them, is a representation in the most exquisite degree of the beauty of holiness. When St. Paul is preaching to the Athenians, with what wonderful art are almost all the different tempers of mankind represented in that elegant audience? You see one credulous of all that is said; another wrapped up in deep suspense; another saying, there is some reason in what he says; another angry that the apostle destroys a favourite opinion which he is unwilling to give up; another wholly convinced, and holding out his hands in rapture; while the generality attend, and wait for the opinion of those who are of leading characters in the assembly. I will not pretend so much as to mention that chart on which is drawn the appearance of our blessed Lord after his resurrection. Present authority, late sufferings, humility, and majesty, despotic command, and divine love, are at once seated in his celestial aspect. The figures of the eleven apostles are all in the same passion of admiration, but discover it differently according to their characters. Peter receives his master's orders on his knees with an admiration mixed with a more particular attention: the two next with a more open ecstasy, though still constrained by an awe of the Divine presence. The beloved disciple, whom I take to be the right of the two first figures, has in his countenance wonder drowned in love: and the last personage, whose back is towards the spectator, and his side towards the presence, one would fancy to be St. Thomas, as abashed by the conscience of his former diffidence, which perplexed concern it is possible Raphael thought too hard a task to draw, but by this acknowledgment of the difficulty to describe it.

The whole work is an exercise of the highest piety in the painter; and all the touches of a religious mind are expressed in a manner much more forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving eloquence. These invaluable pieces are very justly in the hands of the greatest and most pious sovereign in the world; and cannot be the frequent object of every one at their own leisure: but as an engraver is to the painter what a printer is to the author, it is worthy her majesty's name that she has encouraged that noble artist Monsieur Dorigny, to publish these works of Raphael. We have of this gentleman a piece of the Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a work second to none in the world.

Methinks it would be ridiculous in our people of condition, after their large bounties to foreigners S

that if he should escape with life he knows his mistress would be pleased with it: which is, according to our interpretation, that she would rejoice any way to get rid of a lover who was so troublesome to her.

After this short preface, I shall present my reader with some letters which I have received upon this subject. The first is sent me by a physician. "MR. SPECTATOR,

of no name or merit, should they overlook this occasion of having, for a trifling subscription, a work which it is impossible for a man of sense to behold, without being warmed with the noblest sentiments that can be inspired by love, admiration, compassion, contempt of this world, and expectation of a better. It is certainly the greatest honour we can do our country, to distinguish strangers of merit who apply to us with modesty and diffidence, which generally accompanies merit. No opportunity of this kind ought to be neglected, and a modest behaviour "The lover's leap, which you mention in your should alarm us to examine whether we do not lose 223rd paper, was generally, I believe, a very effectsomething excellent under that disadvantage in the ual cure for love, and not only for love, but for all possessor of that quality. My skill in paintings, other evils. In short, Sir, I am afraid it was such where one is not directed by the passion of the pic-a leap as that which Hero took to get rid of her ture, is so inconsiderable, that I am in very great per-passion for Leander. A man is in no danger of plexity when I offer to speak of any performances breaking his heart, who breaks his neck to prevent of painters of landscapes, buildings, or single figures. it. I know very well the wonders which ancient This makes me at a loss how to mention the pieces authors relate concerning this leap; and in partiwhich Mr. Boul exposes to sale by auction on Wed-cular, that very many persons who tried it, escaped nesday next in Chandos-street: but having heard not only with their lives but their limbs. If by this him commended by those who have bought of him means they got rid of their love, though it may in heretofore, for great integrity in his dealing, and part be ascribed to the reasons you give for it; why overheard him himself (though a laudable painter) may not we suppose that the cold bath, into which say, nothing of his own was fit to come into the they plunged themselves, had also some share in room with those he had to sell, I feared I should lose their cure? A leap into the sea, or into any creek an occasion of serving a man of worth, in omitting of salt waters, very often gives a new motion to the to speak of his auction.-T. spirits, and a new turn to the blood; for which reason we prescribe it in distempers which no other medicine will reach. I could produce a quotation out of a very venerable author, in which the frenzy produced by love is compared to that which is produced by the biting of a mad dog. But as this comparison is a little too coarse for your paper, and might look as if it were cited to ridicule the author who has made use of it, I shall only hint at it, and desire you to consider whether, if the frenzy produced by these two different causes be of the same nature, it may not very properly be cured by the "I am, Sir,

No. 227.1 TUESDAY NOVEMBER 20, 1711.

Wretch that I am! ah, whither shall I go Will you not hear me, nor regard my woe? I'll strip, and throw me from yon rock so high, Where Olpis sits to watch the scaly fry. Should I be drown'd, or 'scape with life away, If cur'd of love, you, tyrant, would be gay.-THEOCR. In my last Thursday's paper, I made mention of a place called The Lover's Leap, which I find has raised a great curiosity among several of my correspondents. I there told them that this leap was used to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. This Leucas was formerly a part of Acarnania, being joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which the sea has by length of time overflowed and washed away; so that at present Leucas is divided from the continent, and is a little island in the Ionian sea. The promontory of this island, from whence the lover took his leap, was formerly called Leucate. If the reader has a mind to know both the island and the promontory by their modern titles, he will find in his map the ancient island of Leucas under the name of St. Mauro, and the ancient promontory of Leucate under the name of the Cape of St. Mauro. Since I am engaged thus far in antiquity, I must observe that Theocritus, in the motto prefixed to my paper, describes one of the despairing shepherds addressing himself to his mistress after the following manner: "Alas! What will become of me! wretch that I am! Will you not hear me? I'll throw off my clothes, and take a leap into that part of the sea which is so much frequented by Olpis the fisherman. And though I should escape with my life, I know you will be pleased with it." I shall leave it with the critics to determine whether the place, which this shepherd so particularly points out, was not the above-mentioned Leucate, or at least some other lover's leap, which was supposed to have had the same effect. I cannot believe, as all the interpreters do, that the shepherd means nothing further here than that he would drown himself, since he represents the issue of his leap as doubtful, by adding,

same means.

"Your most humble Servant, and Well-wisher,
"ESCULAPIUS."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I am a young woman crossed in love. My story is very long and melancholy. To give you the heads of it:-A young gentleman, after having made his applications to me for three years together, and filled my head with a thousand dreams of happiness, some few days sinee married another. Pray tell me in what part of the world your promontory lies, which you call The Lover's Leap, and whether one may go to it by land? But, alas! I am afraid it has lost its virtue, and that a woman of our times would find no more relief in taking such a leap, than in singing a hymn to Venus. So that I must cry out with Dido in Dryden's Virgil:

Ah! cruel heav'n, that made no cure for love'
"Your disconsolate Servant, Y
66 ATHENAIS

"MISTER SPICTATUR,
"My heart is so full of lofes and passions for
Mrs. Gwinifrid, and she is so pettish and overrun
with cholors against me, that if I had the good hap-
piness to have my dwelling (which is placed by my
creat cranfather upon the pottom of a hill) no fare
ther distance but twenty mile from the Lofer's
Leap, I would indeed indenfour to preak my neck
upon it on purpose. Now, good Mister Spictater
of Crete Pritain you must know it there is in Caer-
narvonshirs a fery pig mountain, the clory of all

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