with his subjects, shot me through the heart with "Upon my next remove, I found myself in the woods under the shape of a jackal, and soon listed myself in the service of a lion. I used to yelp near his den about midnight, which was his time of rousing and seeking after his prey. He always followed me in the rear, and when I had run down a fat buck, a wild goat, or a hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a bone that was but half-picked, for my encouragement; but, upon my being unsuccessful in two or three chases, he gave me such a confounded gripe in his anger, that I died of it. "In my next transmigration, I was again set upon two legs, and became an Indian tax-gatherer: but having been guilty of great extravagances, and being married to an expensive jade of a wife, I ran so cursedly in debt, that I durst not show my head. I could no sooner step out of my house but I was arrested by somebody or other that lay in wait for me. As I ventured abroad one night in the dusk of the evening, I was taken up and hurried into a dungeon, where I died a few months after. "My soul then entered into a flying fish, and in that state led a most melancholy life for the space of six years. Several fishes of prey pursued me when I was in the water; and if I betook myself to my wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English ships, I observed a huge sea-gull whetting his bill, and hovering just over my head: upon my dipping into the water to avoid him, I fell into the mouth of a monstrous shark, that swallowed me down in an instant. "I was some years afterward, to my great surprise, an eminent banker in Lombard-street; and remembering how I had formerly suffered for want of money, became so very sordid and avaricious, that the whole town cried shame of me. miserable little old fellow to look upon; for I had I was a in a manner starved myself, and was nothing but skin and bone when I died. "I was afterward very much troubled and amazed to find myself dwindled into an emmet. heartily concerned to make so insignificant a figure, I was and did not know but some time or other I might be reduced to a mite, if I did not mend my manners. I therefore applied myself with great diligence to the offices that were allotted to me, and was generally looked upon as the notablest ant in the whole molehill. I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a burden, by an unlucky cock-sparrow, that lived in the neighbourhood, and had before made great depredations upon our commonwealth. "I then bettered my condition a little, and lived a whole summer in the shape of a bee; but being tired with the painful and penurious life I had undergone in my two last transmigrations, I fell into the other extreme, and turned drone. As I one day headed a party to plunder a hive, we were received so warmly by the swarm which defended it, that we were most of us left dead upon the spot. "I might tell you of many other transmigrations which I went through; how I was a town-rake, and afterward did penance in a bay gelding for ten years; as also how I was a tailor, a shrimp, and a tom-lit. In the last of these my shapes, I was shot in the Christmas holidays by a young jackanapes, who would needs try his new gun upon me. "But I shall pass over these and several other 399 stages of life, to remind you of the young beau whic made love to you about six years since. You may and sung, and played a thousand tricks to gain you; remember, Madam, how he masked, and danced, and how he was at last carried off by a cold that he got under your window one night in a serenade. I was that unfortunate young fellow to whom you were then so cruel. Not long after my shifting that unlucky body, I found myself upon a hill in Æthiopia, where I lived in my present grotesque shape, till I was caught by a servant of the English factory, and sent over into Great Britain. I need not inform you how I came into your hands. You see, Madam, this is not the first time that you have had me in a tivity, as you often bestow on me those kisses and chain: I am, however, very happy in this my capcaresses which I would have given the world for when I was a man. person will not tend to my disadvantage, but that I hope this discovery of my you will still continue your accustomed favours to "Your most devoted humble Servant, "PUGG. "P.S. I would advise your little shock-dog to the most formidable of my rivals, I may chance one keep out of my way; for, as I look upon him to be time or other to give him such a snap as he won't like."-L. No. 344.] FRIDAY, APRIL 4, 1712. "MR. SPECTATOR, CONGREVE. discourse on little ambition, or the many whimsical "I THINK it has not yet fallen into your way to ways men fall into, to distinguish themselves among sued, would make a pretty history of low life. I their acquaintance. Such observations, well purmyself am got into a great reputation, which arose seem to do) from a mere accident. I was some days (as most extraordinary occurrences in a man's life men, who esteemed a man according to the quantity ago unfortunately engaged among a set of gentleof food he throws down at a meal. Now I, who am ever for distinguishing myself according to the notions of superiority which the rest of the company entertain, ate so immoderately for their applause, as had like to have cost me my life. What added to my misfortune was, that having naturally a good stomach, and having lived soberly for some time, my body was as well prepared for this contention as if quished every glutton in the company but one, who it had been by appointment. I had quickly vanwas such a prodigy in his way, and withal so very merry during the whole entertainment, that he insensibly betrayed me to continue his competitor, which in a little time concluded in a complete victory over my rival; after which, by way of insult, I ate a considerable proportion beyond what the speceffect, however, of this engagement, has made me tators thought me obliged in honour to do. The resolve never to eat more for renown; and I have, pursuant to this resolution, compounded three wagers I had depending on the strength of my stomach; which happened very luckily, because it was stipulated in our articles either to play or pay. How a hard to determine: but the occasion of this is, to man of common sense could be thus engaged is desire you to inform several gluttons of my acquaintance, who look on me with envy, that they had best moderate their ambition in time, lest infamy or death attend their success. I forgot to tell you, Sir, with what unspeakable pleasure I received the acclamations of the whole board, when I had almost eat my antagonist into convulsions. It was then that I returned his mirth upon him with such success, as he was hardly able to swallow, though prompted by a desire of fame, and a passionate fondness for distinction. I had not endeavoured to excel so far, had not the company been so loud in their approbation of my victory. I do not question but the same thirst after glory has often caused a man to drink quarts without taking breath, and prompted men to many other as difficult enterprises; which, if otherwise pursued, might turn very much to a man's advantage. This ambition of mine was indeed extravagantly pursued; however, I cannot help observing, that you hardly ever see a man commended for a good stomach, but he immediately falls to eating more (though he had before dined,) as well to confirm the person that commended him in his good opinion of him, as to convince any other at the table who may have been unattentive enough not to have done justice to his character. "I have wrote to you three or four times, to desire you would take notice of an impertinent custom the women, the fine women, have lately fallen into, of taking snuff. This silly trick is attended with such a coquette air in some ladies, and such a sedate masculine one in others, that I cannot tell which most to complain of; but they are to me equally disagrecable. Mrs. Saunter is so impatient of being without it, that she takes it as often as she does salt at meals and as she affects a wonderful ease and negligence in all her manner, an upper lip mixed with snuff and the sauce is what is presented to the observation of all who have the honour to eat with her. The pretty creature her niece does all she can to be as disagreeable as her aunt; and if she is not as offensive to the eye, she is quite as much to the ear, and makes up all she wants in a confident air, by a nauseous rattle of the nose, when the snuff is delivered, and the fingers make the stops and closes on the nostrils. This, perhaps, is not a very courtly image in speaking of ladies; that is very true: but where arises the offence? Is it in those who commit, or those who observe it? As for my part, I have been so extremely disgusted with this filthy physic hanging on the lip, that the most agreeable conversation, or person, has not been able to make up for it. As to those who take it for no other end but to give themseves occasion for pretty action, or to fill up little intervals of discourse, I can bear with them; but then they must not use it when another is speaking, who ought to be heard with too much respect, to admit of offering at that time from hand to hand the snuff-box, But Flavilla is so far taken with her behaviour in this kind, that she pulls out her box (which is indeed full of good Brazil) in the middle of the sermon; and, to show she has the audacity of a well-bred woman, she offers it to the men as well as the women who sit near her: but since by this time all the world knows she has a fine haud, I am in hopes she may give herself no further trouble in this matter. On Sunday was No. 345.] SATURDAY, APRIL 5, 1712. A creature of a more exalted kind For empire form'd and fit to rule the rest.-DRYDEN. THE accounts which Raphael gives of the battle of angels, and the creation of the world have in them those qualifications which the critics judge requisite to an episode. They are nearly related to the principal action, and have a just connexion with the table. The eighth book opens with a beautiful description of the impression which this discourse of the archangel made on our first parents. Adam afterward, by a very natural curiosity, inquires concerning the motions of those celestial bodies which make the most glorious appearance among the six days* works. The poet here, with a great deal of art, represents Eve, as withdrawing from this part of their conversation, to amusements more suitable to her sex. He well knew that the episode in this book, which is filled with Adam's account of his passion and esteem for Eve, would have been improper for her hearing, and has therefore devised very just and beautiful reasons for her retiring. So spake our sire, and by his countenance seem'd Of what was high: such pleasure she reserv'd, Not words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now The angel's returning a doubtful answer to Adam's inquiries was not only proper for the moral reason which the poet assigns, but because it would have been highly absurd to have given the sanction of an archangel to any particular system of philosophy. The chief points in the Ptolemaic and Copernican hypotheses are described with great conciseness and perspicuity, and at the same time dressed in very pleasing and poetical images. Adam, to detain the angel, enters afterward apon his own history, and relates to him the circum stances in which he found himself upon his creation; as also his conversation with his Maker, and his first meeting with Eve. There is no part of the poem more apt to raise the attention of the reader than this discourse of our great ancestor; as nothing can be more surprising and delightful to us, thata to hear the sentiments that arose in the first man while he was yet new and fresh from the hands of For while I sit with thee I seem in heav'n, The other I shall mention is that in which the angel gives a reason why he should be glad to hear the story Adam was about to relate: For I that day was absent, as befel, There is no question but our poet drew the image in what follows from that in Virgil's sixth book, where Eneas and the Sibyl stand before the adamantine gates, which are there described as shut apon the place of torments, and listen to the groans, the clank of chains, and the noise of iron whips, that were heard in those regions of pain and sorrow. Fast, we found, fast shut, The dismal gates, and barricado'd strong: Adam then proceeds to give an account of his condition and sentiments immediately after his creation. How agreeably does he represent the posture in which he found himself, the beautiful landscape that surrounded him, and the gladness of heart which grew up in him on that occasion! As new wak'd from soundest sleep, Soft on the flow'ry herb I found me laid In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun Soon dry'd, and on the reeking moisture fed. Straight toward heaven my wond'ring eyes I turn'd, And gaz'd awhile the ample sky; till rais'd By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Stood on my feet. About me round I saw Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these, Creatures that liv'd and mov'd, and walk'd, or flew, Birds on the branches warbling; all things smil'd With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflow'd. Adam is afterward described as surprised at his own existence, and taking a survey of himself and of all the works of nature. He likewise is represented as discovering, by the light of reason, that he, and every thing about him, must have been the effect of some Being infinitely good and powerful, and that this Being had a right to his worship and adoration. His first address to the Sun, and to these parts of the creation which made the most disPECTATOR-Nos. 51 & 52. tinguished figure, is very natural and amusing to the imagination: "Thou Sun," said I, "fair light, And thou enlighten'd earth, so fresh and gay, Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here?" sleep he fancies himself losing his existence, and His next sentiment, when upon his first going to falling away into nothing, can never be sufficiently admired. His dream, in which he still preserves the consciousness of his existence, together with his removal into the garden which was prepared for his reception, are also circumstances finely imagined, and grounded upon what is delivered in sacred story. These, and the like wonderful incidents in this part of the work, have in them all the beauties of novelty, at the same time that they have all the graces of nature. They are such as none but a great genius could have thought of; though, upon the perusal of them, they seem to rise of themselves from the subject of which he treats. In a word, though they are natural, they are not obvious; which is the true character of all fine writing. The impression which the interdiction of the tree of life left in the mind of our first parent is described with great strength and judgment: as the image of the several beasts and birds passing in review before him is very beautiful and lively -Each bird and beast behold Approaching two and two, these cow'ring low With blandishment; each bird stoop'd on his wing had endued his creature. Adam, in the next place, describes a conference which he held with his Maker upon the subject of solitude. The poet here represents the Supreme Being as making an essay of his own work, and pntting to the trial that reasoning faculty with which he Adam urges, in this divine colloquy, the impossibility of his being happy, though he was the inhabitant of Paradise, and lord of the whole creation, without the conversation and society of some rational creature who should partake those blessings with him. This dialogue, which is supported chiefly by the beauty of the thought without other poetical ornaments, is as fine a part as any in the whole poem. The more the reader examines the justness and delicacy of its sentiments, the more he will find himself pleased with it. The poet has wonderfully preserved the character of majesty and condescension in the Creator, and, at the same time, that of humility and adoration in the creature, as particularly in the following lines: Thus I presumptuous; and the vision bright, And humble deprecation, thus reply'd:" Adam then proceeds to give an account of his second sleep, and of the dream in which he beheld awakened in him at the sight of her is touched very the formation of Eve. The new passion that was finely: Under his forming hands a creature grew, Adam's distress upon losing sight of this beautiful phantom, with his exclamations of joy and gratitude at the discovery of a real creature who resembled the apparition which had been presented to him in his dream; the approaches he makes to her, and his manner of courtship, are all laid together in a most exquisite propriety of sentiments. Though this part of the poem is worked up with great warmth and spirit, the love which is described in it is every way suitable to a state of innocence. If the reader compares the description which Adam here gives of his leading Eve to the nuptial bower, with that which Mr. Dryden has made on the same occasion in a scene of his Fall of Man, he will be sensible of the great care which Milton took to avoid all thoughts on so delicate a subject that might be offensive to religion or good manners, The sentiments are chaste, but not cold; and convey to the mind ideas of the most transporting passion, and of the greatest purity. What a noble mixture of rapture and innocence has the author joined together, in the reflection which Adam makes on the pleasures of love, compared to those of sense! Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought Which I enjoy; and must confess to find In all things else delight indeed, but such As us'd or not, works in the mind no change, Nor vehement desire: these delicacies I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers, Far otherwise, transported I behold, -When I approach As one intended first, not after made These sentiments of love in our first parent gave the angel such an insight into human nature, that he seems apprehensive of the evils which might befal the species in general, as well as Adam in particular, from the excess of this passion. He therefore fortifies him against it by timely admonitions; which very artfully prepare the mind of the reader for the occurrences of the next book, where the weakness, of which Adam here gives such distant discoveries, brings about that fatal event which is the subject of the poem. His discourse, which follows the gentle rebuke he received from the angel, shows that his love, however violent it might appear, was still founded in reason, and consequently not improper for Paradise: Neither her outside form'd so fair, nor aught And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd Adam's speech, at parting with the angel, has in it a deference and gratitude agreeable to an inforior nature, and at the same time a certain dignity and greatness suitable to the father of mankind in his state of innocence. I L. No. 346.] MONDAY, APRIL 7, 1712. Consuetudinem benignitatis largitioni munerum longe autepeno. Hæc est gravium hominum atque magnorum ia quasi assentatorum populi, multitudinis levitatem voluptate quasi titillantum-TULL esteem a habit of benignity greatly preferable to munificence. The former is peculiar to great and distinguished persons, the latter belongs to flatterers of the people, who tickle the levity of the multiude with a kind of pleasure. WHEN we consider the offices of human life, there is, methinks, something in what we ordinarily call generosity, which, when carefully examined, seems to flow rather from a loose and unguarded temper than an honest and liberal mind. For this reason, it is absolutely necessary that all liberality should have for its basis and support, frugality. By this means the beneficent spirit works in a man from the convictions of reason, not from the impulses of passion. The generous man in the ordinary accep tation, without respect of the demands of his own family, will soon find upon the foot of his account, that he has sacrificed to fools, knaves, flatterers, or the deservedly unhappy, all the opportunities of affording any future assistance where it ought to be. Let him therefore reflect, that if to bestow be in itself laudable, should not a man take care to secure an ability to do things praiseworthy as long as he lives? Or could there be a more cruel piece of raillery upon a man who should have reduced his fortune below the capacity of acting according to his natural temper, than to say of him, "That gentleman was generous ?" My beloved author therefore has, in the sentence on the top of my paper, turned his eye with a certain satiety from beholding the addresses to the people by largesses and other entertainments, which he asserts to be in general vicious, and are always to be regulated according to the circumstances of time and a man's own fortune. A constant benignity in commerce with the rest of the world, which ought to run through all a man's ac tions, has effects more useful to those whom you oblige, and is less ostentatious in yourse.f. He turns his recommendation of this virtue on commercial life: and, according to him, a citizen who is frank in his kindnesses, and abhors severity in his demands; he who, in buying, selling, lending, doing acts of good neighbourhood, is just and easy; he who appears naturally averse to disputes, and above the sense of little sufferings; bears a noble character, and does much more good to mankind than any other man's fortune, without commerce, can possibly support. For the citizen, above all other men, has opportunities of arriving at " that highest fruit of wealth," to be liberal without the least expense of a man's own fortune. It is not to be denied but such a practice is liable to hazard; but this there fore adds to the obligation, that, among traders, he who obliges is as much concerned to keep the favour a secret as he who receives it. The unhappy distinctions among us in England are so great, that to celebrate the intercourse of commercial friendship (with which I am daily made acquainted) would be to raise the virtuous man so many enemies of the contrary party, I am obliged to conceal all I know of "Tom the Bounteous," who lends at the ordinary interest, to give men of less fortune opportunities of making greater advantages. He conceals, under a rough air and distant behaviour, a bleeding compassion and womanish tenderness. This is governed by the most exact circumspection, that there is no industry wanting in the person whom he is to serve, and that he is guilty of no improper expenses. This I know of Tom; but who dare say it of so known a tory? The same care I was forced to use some time ago, in the report of another's virtue, and said fifty instead of a hundred, because the man I pointed at was a whig. Actions of this kind are popular, without being invidious: for every man of ordinary circumstances looks upon a man who has this known benignity in his nature as a person ready to be his friend upon such terms as he ought to expect it; and the wealthy, who may envy such a character, can do no injury to its interests, but by the imitation of it, in which the good citizens will rejoice to be rivalled. I know not how to form to myself a greater idea of human life, than in what is the practice of some wealthy men whom I could name, that make no step to the improvement of their own fortunes, wherein they do not also advance those of other men, who would languish in poverty without that munificence. In a nation where there are so many public funds to be supported, I know not whether he can be called a good subject who does not embark some part of his fortune with the state, to whose vigilance he owes the security of the whole. This certainly is an immediate way of laying an obligation upon many, and extending your benignity the furthest a man can possibly who is not engaged in commerce. But he who trades, besides giving the state some part of this sort of credit he gives his banker, may, in all occurrences of life, have his eye upon removing want from the door of the industrious, and defending the unhappy upright man from bankruptcy. Without this benignity, pride or vengeance will precipitate a man to choose the receipt of half his demands from one whom he has undone, rather than the whole from one to whom he has shown mercy. This benignity is essential to the character of a fair trader, and any man who designs to enjoy his wealth with honour and self-satisfaction: nay, it would not be hard to maintain, that the practice of supporting good and industrious men would carry a man further even to his profit than indulging the propensity of serving and obliging the fortunate. My author argues on this subject, in order to incline men's minds to those who want them most, after this manner: "We must always consider the nature of things, and govern ourselves accordingly. The wealthy man, when he has repaid you, is upon a balance with you; but the person whom you favoured with a loan, if he be a good man, will think himself in your debt after he has paid you. The wealthy and the conspicuous are not obliged by the benefits you do them; they think they conferred a benefit when they received one. Your good offices are always suspected, and it is with them the same thing to expect their favour as to receive it. But the man below you, who knows, in the good you have done him, you respected himself more than his eircumstances, does not act like an obliged man only to him from whom he has received a benefit, but also to all who are capable of doing him one. And whatever little office he can do for you, he is so far from magnifying it, that he will labour to extenuate it in all his actions and expressions. Moreover the regard to what you do to a great man at best is taken notice of no further than by himself or his family; but what you do to a man of a humble fortune (provided always that he is a good and a modest man) raises the affections towards you of all men of that character (of which there are many) in the whole city." There is nothing gains a reputation to a preacher so much as his own practice; I am therefore casting about what act of benignity is in the power of a Spectator. Alas! that lies but in a very narrow compass: and I think the most immediately under my patronage are either players, or such whose circumstances bear an affinity with theirs. All, therefore, I am able to do at this time of this kind, is to tell the town, that on Friday the 11th of this instant, April, there will be performed, in York-buildings, a concert of vocal and instrumental music, for the benefit of Mr. Edward Keen, the father of twenty children; and that this day the haughty George Powell hopes all the good-natured part of the town will favour him, whom they applauded in Alexander, Timon, Lear, and Orestes, with their company this night, when he hazards all his heroic glory for their approbation in the humbler condition of honest Jack Falstaff.-T. No. 347.] TUESDAY, APRIL 8, 1712. What blind, detested fury, could afford I Do not question but my country readers have been very much surprised at the several accounts they have met with in our public papers, of that species of men among us, lately known by the name of Mohocks. I find the opinions of the learned, as to their origin and designs, are altogether various, insomuch that very many begin to doubt whether indeed there were ever any such society of men. The terror which spread itself over the whole nation some years since on account of the Irish is still fresh in most people's memories, though it afterward ap peared there was not the least ground for that general consternation. The late panic fear was, in the opinion of many deep and penetrating persons, of the same nature. These will have it, that the Mohocks are like those spectres and apparitions which frighten several towns and villages in her majesty's dominions, though they were never seen by any of the inhabitants. Others are apt to think that these Mohocks are a kind of bull-beggars, first invented by prudent married men, and masters of families, in order to deter their wives and daughters from taking the air at unseasonable hours; and that when they tell them the "Mohocks will catch them," it is a caution of the same nature with that of our forefathers, when they bid their children have a care of Rawhead and Bloody-bones. For my own part, I am afraid there was too much reason for the great alarm the whole city has been in upon this occasion; though at the same time I must own, that I am in some doubt whether the following pieces are genuine and authentic; and the more so, because I am not fully satisfied that the name, by which the emperor subscribes himself, is altogether conformable to the Indian orthography. I shall only further inform my readers, that it was some time since I received the following letter and manifesto, though, for particular reasons, I did not think fit to publish them till now. |