"SIR, "TO THE SPECTATOR. Finding that our earnest endeavours for the TAW WAW EBEN ZAN KALADAR, "The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, each of them keep within the respective quarters we have allotted to them. Provided, nevertheless, that strued to extend to the hunters, who have our full nothing herein contained shall in any wise be conlicence and permission to enter into any part of the town wherever their game shall lead them. "And whereas we have nothing more at our imperial heart than the reformation of the cities of London and Westminster, which to our unspeakable satisfaction we have in some measure already effectd, we do hereby earnestly pray and exort all husbands, fathers, housekeepers, and masters of families, in either of the aforesaid cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective habitations at early and seasonable hours, but also to keep their wives aud daughters, sons, servants, and apprentices, from appearing in the streets at those times and seasons which may expose them to military discipline, as it is practised by our good subjects the Mohocks; and we do further promise on our imperial word, that as soon as the reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will forthwith cause all hostilities to cease. "Given from our court at the Devil-tavern, "March 15, 1712.” X. No. 348.] WEDNESDAY, AFRIL 9, 1712. "MR. SPECTATOR, "Whereas we have received information, from sundry quarters of this great and populous city, of several outrages committed on the legs, arms, noses, and other parts of the good people of England, by such as have styled themselves our subjects; in order to vindicate our imperial dignity from those false aspersions which have been cast on it, as if we ourselves might have encouraged or abetted any such practices, we have, by these presents, thought fit to signify our utmost abhorrence and detestation of all such tumultuous and irregular proceedings; and do hereby further give notice, that if any person or persons has or have suffered any wound, hurt, damage, or detriment, in his or their limb or limbs, otherwise than shall be hereafter specified, the said person or persons, upon applying themselves to such as "I HAVE not seen you lately at any of the places we shall appoint for the inspection and redress of where I visit, so that I am afraid you are wholly the grievances aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed unacquainted with what passes among my part of to the care of our principal surgeon, and be cured at the world, who are, though I say it, without controour own expense, in some one or other of those hos-versy, the most accomplished and best bred of the pitals which we are now erecting for that purpose. town. Give me leave to tell you, that I am ex"And to the end that no one may, either through tremely discomposed when I hear scandal, and am ignorance or inadvertency, incur those penalties an utter enemy to all manner of detraction, and which we have thought fit to inflict on persons of think it the greatest meanness that people of disloose and dissolute lives, we do hereby notify to the tinction can be guilty of. However, it is hardly public, that if any man be knocked down or as possible to come into company where you do not saulted while he is employed in his lawful business, find them pulling one another to pieces, and that at proper hours, that it is not done by our order; from no other provocation but that of hearing any and we do hereby permit and allow any such person, one commended. Merit, both as to wit and beauty, so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and de- is become no other than the possession of a few fend himself in the best manner that he is able. trifling people's favour, which you cannot possibly "We do also command all and every our good arrive at, if you have really any thing in you that subjects, that they do not presume, upon any pre-is deserving. What they would bring to pass is, to text whatsoever, to issue and sally forth from their respective quarters till between the hours of eleven and twelve. That they never tip the lion upon man, woman, or child, till the clock at St. Dunstan's shall have struck one. "That the sweat be never given but between the hours of one and two; always provided, that our hunters may begin to hunt a little after the close of the evening, any thing to the contrary herein not withstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the necessity of pinking, it shall always be in the most fieshy parts, and such as are least exposed to view. make all good and evil consist in report, and with whispers, calumnies, and impertinencies, to have the conduct of those reports. By this means, innocents are blas'ed upon their first appearance in town; and there is nothing more required to make a young woman the object of envy and hatred, than to deserve love and admiration. This abominable endeavour to suppress or lessen every thing that is praiseworthy is as frequent among the men as the Women. If I can remember what passed at a visit last night, it will serve as an instance that the sexes are equally inclined to defamation, with equal malice and impotence. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about eight of the clock. You know the manner we sit at a visit, and I need not describe the circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two tapers supported by a spruce servant, whose hair is under a cap till my lady's candles are all lighted That the tumblers, to whose care we chiefly up, and the hour of ceremony begins; I say Jack 'commit the female sex, confine themselves to Drury-Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good ane, and the puilieus of the Temple; and that company) Every feature, charming creature'-every other party and division of our subjects do he went on, It is a most unreasonable thing, that It is also our imperial will and pleasure, that our good subjects the sweaters do. establish their hummums in such close places, alleys, nooks, and corners, that the patient or patients may not be in danger of catching cold. No. 349.] THURSDAY, APRIL 10, 1712. --Quos ille timorum Maximus haud urget, lethi metus: inde ruendi people cannot go peaceably to see their friends, but these murderers are let loose. Such a shape! such an air! what a glance was that as her chariot passed by mine-My lady herself interrupted him; Pray, who is this fine thing! I warrant,' says another, * 'tis the creature I was telling your ladyship of just Thrice happy they beneath their northern skies, now.'-' You were telling of? says Jack; I wish Who that worst fear, the fear of death, despise! Hence they no cares for this frail being feel, I had been so happy as to have come in and heard But rush undaunted on the pointed steel, you; for I have not words to say what she is; but Provoke approaching fate, and bravely scorn if an agreeable height, a modest air, a virgin shame, To spare that life which must so soon return.-Rowe. and impatience of being beheld amidst a blaze of I AM very much pleased with a consolatory letter ten thousand charms'- -The whole room flew of Phalaris, to one who had lost a son that was a out——'Oh, Mr.Triplett !--When Mrs. Lofty, young man of great merit. The thought with which a known prude, said she knew whom the gentleman he comforts the afflicted father is, to the best of my meant; but she was indeed, as he civilly represented memory, as follows:-That he should consider death her, impatient of being beheld--Then turning to had set a kind of seal upon his son's character, and the lady next to her-The most unbred creature placed him out of the reach of vice and infamy: you ever saw! Another pursued the discourse: As that, while he lived, he was still within the possibility unbred, madam, as you may think her, she is ex-of falling away from virtue, and losing the fame of tremely belied if she is the novice she appears; she which he was possessed. Death only closes a man's was last week at a ball till two in the morning; Mr. reputation, and determines it as good or bad. Triplett knows whether he was the happy man that took care of her home; but'--This was followed by some particular exception that each woman in the room made to some peculiar grace or advantage; so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one limb and feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole woman. In the end, I took notice Triplett recorded all this malice in his heart; and saw in his countenance, and a certain waggish shrug, that he designed to repeat the conversation: I therefore let the discourse die, and soon after took an occasion to recommend a certain gentleman of my acquaintance for a person of singular modesty, courage, integrity, and withal as a man of an entertaining conversation, to which advantages he had a shape and manner peculiarly graceful. Mr. Triplett, who is a woman's man, seemed to hear me with patience enough commend the qualities of his mind. He never heard indeed but that he was a very honest man, and no fool; but for a fine gentleman, he must ask pardon. Upon no other foundation than this, Mr. Triplett took occasion to give the gentleman's pedigree, by what methods some part of the estate was acquired, how much it was beholden to a marriage for the present circumstances of it: after all, he could see nothing but a common man in his person, his breeding, or understanding. This, among other motives, may be one reason why we are naturally averse to the launching out into a man's praise till his head is laid in the dust. Whilst he is capable of changing, we may be forced to retract our opinions. He may forfeit the esteem we have conceived of him, and some time or other appear to us under a different light from what he does at present. In short, as the life of any man cannot be called happy or unhappy, so neither can' it be pronounced vicious or virtuous before the conclusion of it. It was upon this consideration that Epaminondas, being asked whether Chabrias, Iphicrates, or he himself, deserved most to be esteemed? " You must first see us die," saith he, "before that question can be answered." As there is not a more melancholy consideration to a good man than his being obnoxious to such a change, so there is nothing more glorious than to keep up a uniformity in his actions, and preserve the beauty of his character to the last. The end of a man's life is often compared to the winding up of a well-written play, where the principal persons still act in character, whatever the fate is which they undergo. There is scarce a great person in the Grecian or Roman history, whose death has not been remarked upon by some writer "Thus, Mr. Spectator, this impertinent humour or other, and censured or applauded according to of diminishing every one who is produced in conversation to their advantage, runs through the world; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the force of ill tongues, that I have begged of all those who are my well-wishers never to commend me, for it will but bring my frailties into examination; and I had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for disputed perfections. I am confident a thousand young people, who would have been ornaments to society, have, from fear of scandal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite arts of life. Their lives have passed away in an odious rusticity, in spite of great advantages of person, genius, and fortune. There is a vicious terror of being blamed in some well-inclined people, and a wicked pleasure in sup: pressing them in others; both which I recommend to your spectatorial wisdom to animadvert upon; and if you can be successful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of the town; but new toasts will owe to you their beauty, and new wits Liteir fameI am, Sir, Your most obedient humble Servant, T. MARY." the genius or principles of the person who has descanted on it. Monsieur de St. Evremond is very particular in setting forth the constancy and courage of Petronius Arbiter during his last moments, and thinks he discovers in them a greater firmness of mind and resolution than in the death of Seneca, Cato, or Socrates. There is no question but this polite author's affectation of appearing singular in his remarks, and making discoveries which had escaped the observations of others, threw him into this course of reflection. It was Petronius's merit that he died in the same gaiety of temper in which he lived: but as his life was altogether loose and dissolute, the indifference which he showed at the close of it is to be looked upon as a piece of natural carelessness and levity, rather than fortitude. The resolution of Socrates proceeded from very different motives, the consciousness of a well-spent life, and The reader hardly needs to be told, that the authenticity of the epistles of Phalaris has been suspected, and is suspicious; but if the letters are good, it is of little consequence who wrote them. the prospect of a happy eternity. If the ingenious about him, he died a few moments after in that author above mentioned was so pleased with gaiety | posture.-L of humour in a dying man, he might have found a much nobler instance of it in our countryman Sir Thomas More. No. 350.] FRIDAY, APRIL 11, 1721. animi elatio quæ cernitur in periculis, si justitia vaca pugnatque pro suis commodis, in vitio est-TULL That elevation of mind which is displayed in dangers, if it wants justice, and fights for its own conveniency, is vicious, This great and learned man was famous for en-Ea livening his ordinary discourses with wit and pleasantry; and as Erasmus tells him, in au epistle dedicatory, acted in all parts of life like a second Democritus. He He died upon a point of religion, and is respected as a martyr by that side for which he suffered. That innocent mirth, which had been so conspicuous in his life, did not forsake him to the last. maintained the same cheerfulness of heart upon the scaffold which he used to show at his table; and upon laying his head on the block, gave instances of that good humour with which he had always entertained his friends in the most ordinary occurrences. His death was of a piece with his life. There was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the severing his head from his body as a circumstance that ought to produce any change in the disposition of his mind; and as he died under a fixed and settled hope of immortality, he thought any unusual degree of sorrow and concern improper on such an occasion, as he had nothing in it which could deject or terrify him. CAPTAIN SENTRY was last night at the club, and produced a letter from Ipswich, which his corre spondent desired him to communicate to his friend the Spectator. It contained an account of an engagement between a French privateer, commanded by one Dominick Pottiere, and a little vessel of that place laden with corn, the master whereof, as I remember, was one Goodwin. The Englishman defended himself with incredible bravery, and beat off the French, after having been boarded three or four times. The enemy still came on with greater fury, and hoped by his number of men to carry the prize; till at last the Englishman, finding himself sink apace, and ready to perish, struck; but the effect which this singular gallantry had upon the captain of the privateer was no other than an unmanly desire of vengeance for the loss he had sustained in his several attacks. He told the Ipswich man in a speaking-trumpet, that he would not take him aboard, and that he stayed to see him sink. The Englishman at the same time observed a disorder in the vessel, which he rightly judged to proceed from the disdain which the ship's crew had of their captain's inhumanity. With this hope he went into his boat, and approached the enemy. He was taken in by the sailors in spite of their commander: but, though I shall conclude this paper with the instance of a they received him against his command, they treated person who seems to me to have shown more intre- him, when he was in the ship, in the manner he pidity and greatness of soul in his dying moments directed. Pottiere caused his men to hold Goodwin,' than what we meet with among any of the most while he beat him with a stick, till he fainted with celebrated Greeks and Romans. I met with this loss of blood and rage of heart; after which he instance in the History of the Revolutions in Por-ordered him into irons, without allowing him any tugal, written by the Abbot de Vertot. There is no great danger of imitation from this example. Men's natural fears will be sufficient guard against it. I shall only observe, that what was philosophy in this extraordinary man would be frenzy in one who does not resemble him as well in the cheerfulness of his temper as in the sanctity of his life and manners. food, but such as one or two of the men stole to him under peril of the like usage: and having kept him several days overwhelmed with the misery of stench, hunger, and soreness, he brought him into Calais. The governor of the place was soon acquainted with all that had passed, dismissed Pottiere from his charge with ignominy, and gave Goodwin all the relief which a man of honour would bestow upon an enemy barbarously treated, to recover the imputation of cruelty upon his prince and country. When Don Sebastian, king of Portugal, had invaded the territories of Muli Moluc, emperor of Morocco, in order to dethrone him, and set the crown upon the head of his nephew, Moluc was wearing away with a distemper which he himself knew was incurable. However, he prepared for the reception of so formidable an enemy. He was, indeed, so far spent with his sickness, that he did not expect to live out the whole day, when the last decisive battle was given; but, knowing the fatal con- When Mr. Sentry had read his letter, full of sequences that would happen to his children and many other circumstances which aggravate the barpeople, in case he should die before he put an end barity, he fell into a sort of criticism upon magna. to that war, he commanded his principal officers, nimity and courage, and argued that they were inthat if he died during the engagement, they should separable; and that courage, without regard to jusconceal his death from the army, and that they should tice and humanity, was no other than the fierceness ride up to the litter in which his corpse was carried, of a wild beast. "A good and truly bold spirit," under the pretence of receiving orders from him as continued he, "is ever actuated by reason, and a usual. Before the battle began, he was carried sense of honour and duty. The affectation of such through all the ranks of his army in an open litter, a spirit exerts itself in an impudent aspect, an overas they stood drawn up in array, encouraging them bearing confidence, and a certain negligence of to fight valiantly in defence of their religion and giving offence. This is visible in all the cocking country. Finding afterward the battle to go against youths you see about this town, who are noisy in him, though he was very near his last agonies, he assemblies, unawed by the presence of wise and threw himself out of his litter, rallied his army, and virtuous men; in a word, insensible of all the holed them on to the charge; which afterward ended nours and decencies of human life. A shameless in a complete victory on the side of the Moors. He fellow takes advantage of merit clothed with modesty had no sooner brought his men to the engagement, and magnanimity, and, in the eyes of little people, but finding himself utterly spent, he was again re-appears sprightly and agreeable: while the man of placed in his litter, where, laying his finger on his mouth, to enjoin secrecy to his officers who stood resolution and true gallantry is overlooked and disregarded, if not despised. There is a propriety in all things; and I believe what you scholars call just and sublime, in opposition to turgid and bombast expression, may give you an idea of what I mean, when I say modesty is the certain indication of a great spirit, and impudence the affectation of it. He that writes with judgment, and never rises into improper warmths, manifests the true force of genius; in like manner, he who is quiet and equal in all his behaviour is supported in that deportment by what we may call true courage. Alas! it is not so easy a thing to be a brave man as the unthinking part of mankind imagine. To dare is not all that there is in it The privateer we were just now talking of had boldness enough to attack his enemy, but not greatness of mind enough to admire the same quality exerted by that enemy in defending himself. Thus his base and little mind was wholly taken up in the sordid regard to the prize of which he failed, and the damage done to his own vessel; and therefore he used an honest man, who defended his own from him, in the manner as he would a thief that should rob him. to his own invention. We find, however, that he has interwoven, in the course of his fable, the prin cipal particulars, which were generally believed among the Romans, of Æneas's voyage and settlement in Italy. The reader may find an abridgement of the whole story, as collected out of the ancient historians, and as it was received among the Romans, in Dionysius Halicarnassus. Since none of the critics have considered Virgil's fable with relation to this history of Eneas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to examine it in this light, so far as regards my present purpose. Whoever looks into the abridgement above mentioned, will find that the character of Æneas is filled with piety to the gods, and a superstitious observation of prodigies, oracles, and predictions, Virgil has not only preserved his character in the person of Eneas, but has given a place in his poem to those particular pro phecies which he found recorded of him in his y and tradition. The poet took the matters of fact as they came down to him, and circumstanced them "He was equally disappointed, and had not spirit after his own manner, to make them appear the enough to consider, that one case would be laudable, more natural, agreeable, or surprising. I believe and the other criminal. Malice, raucour, hatred, very many readers have been shocked at that ludivengeance, are what tear the breasts of mean men crous prophecy which one of the harpies pronounces in fight; but fame, glory, conquests, desires of op- to the Trojans in the third book; namely, that beportunities to pardon and oblige their opposers, are fore they had built their intended city they should what glow in the minds of the gallant." The cap-be reduced by hunger to eat their very tables. But, tain ended his discourse with a specimen of his when they hear that this was one of the circumbook-learning; and gave us to understand that he stances that had been transmitted to the Romans in had read a French author on the subject of justness the history of Æneas, they will think the poet did in point of gallantry. "I love," said Mr. Sentry, very well in taking notice of it. The historian "a critic who mixes the rules of life with annota- above mentioned acquaints us, that a prophetess had tions upon writers. My author,” added he, “ in his foretold Æneas, he should take his voyage westward, discourse upon epic poetry, takes occasion to speak till his companions should eat their tables; and that of the same quality of courage drawn in the two accordingly, upon his landing in Italy, as they were different characters of Turnus and Eneas. He eating their flesh upon cakes of bread for want of makes courage the chief and greatest ornament of other conveniences, they afterward fed on the cakes Turnus; but in Æneas are many others which out-themselves; upon which one of the company said shine it; among the rest, that of piety. Turnus is, merrily, We are eating our tables." They imtherefore, all along painted by the poet full of os-mediately took the hint, says the historian, and contentation, his language haughty and vain-glorious, as placing his honour in the manifestation of his valour: Eneas speaks little, is slow to action, and shows only a sort of defensive courage. If equipage and address make Turnus appear more courageous than Æneas, conduct and success prove Eneas more valiant than Turnus."-T. No. 251.] SATURDAY, APRIL 12 1712. VIRO. En. xii. 59. On thee the fortunes of our house depend. If we look into the three great heroic poems which have appeared in the world, we may observe that they are built upon very slight foundations. Homer lived near 300 years after the Trojan war; and, as the writing of history was not then in use among the Greeks, we may very well suppose that the tradition of Achilles and Ulysses had brought down but very few particulars to his knowledge; though there is no question but he has wrought into his two poems such of their remarkable adventures as were still talked of among his contemporaries. cluded the prophecy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit so material a particular in the history of Eneas, it may be worth while to consider with how much judgment he has qualified it, and taken off every thing that might have appeared improper for a passage in a heroic poem. The prophetess who foretels it is a hungry harpy, as the person who discovers it is young Ascanius. Heus etiam mensas consumimas! inquit Iulus.—Æ». vii. 116. See, we devour the plates on which we feed.-DRYDEN Such an observation, which is beautiful in the mouth of a boy, would have been ridiculous from any other of the company. I am apt to think that the changing of the Trojan fleet into water-nymphs, which is the most violent machine in the whole Eneid, and has given offence to several critics, may be accounted for the same way. Virgil himself, before he begins that relation, premises, that what he was going to tell appeared incredible, but that it was justified by tradition. What further confirms me that this change of the fleet was a celebrated circumstance in the history of Æneas, is, that Ovid has given a place to the same metamorphosis in his account of the heathen mythology. None of the critics I have met with have conThe story of Æneas, on which Virgil founded sidered the fable of the Eneid in this light, and his poem, was likewise very bare of circumstances, taken notice how the tradition on which it was and by that means afforded him an opportunity of founded authorizes those parts in it which appear embellishing it with fiction, and giving a full range the most exceptionable. I hope the length of this reflection will not make it unexceptable to the curious part of my readers. The history which was the basis of Milton's poem is still shorter than either that of the Iliad or Eneid. The poet has likewise taken care to insert every circumstance of it in the body of his fable. The ninth book, which we are here to consider, is raised upon that brief account in Scripture, wherein we are told that the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field; that he tempted the woman to eat of the forbidden fruit; that she was overcome by this temptation, and that Adam followed her example. From these few particulars, Milton has formed one of the most entertaining fables that invention ever produced. He has disposed of these several circumstances among so many beautiful and natural fictions of his own, that his whole story looks like a comment upon sacred writ, or rather seems to be a full and complete relation of what the other is only in epitome. I have insisted the longer on this consideration, as I look upon the disposition and contrivance of the fable to be the principal beauty of the ninth book, which has more story in it, and is fuller of incidents, than any other in the whole poem. Satan's traversing the globe, and still keeping within the shadow of the night, as fearing to be discovered by the angel of the sun, who had before detected him, is one of those beautiful imaginations with which he introduces this his second series of adventures. Having examined the nature of every creature, and found out one which was the most proper for his purpose, he again returns to Paradise; and, to avoid discovery, sinks by night with a river that ran under the garden, and rises up again through a fountain that issued from it by the tree of life. The poet, who, as we have before taken notice, speaks as little as possible in his own person, and, after the example of Homer, fills every part of his work with manners and characters, introduces a soliloquy of this infernal agent, who was thus restless in the destruction of man. He is then described as gliding through the garden, under the resemblance of a mist, in order to find out that creature in which he designed to tempt our first parents. This description has something in it very poetical and surprising: So saying, through each thicket dank or dry His head the midst, well stor'd with subtle wiles. The author afterward gives us a description of the morning, which is wonderfully suitable to a divine poem, and peculiar to that first season of nature. He represents the earth, before it was curst, as a great altar breathing out its incense from all parts, and sending up a pleasant savour to the nostrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their morning worship, and filling up the universal concert of praise and ado ration: Now when a sacred light began to dawn To the Creator, and his nostrils fill With grateful smell; forth came the human pair, The dispute which follows between our two first parents is represented with great art. It proceeds from a difference of judgment, not of passion, and is managed with reason, not with heat. It is such a dispute as we may suppose might have happened in Paradise, had men continued happy and innocent. There is a great delicacy in the moralities which are interspersed in Adam's discourse, and which the most ordinary reader cannot but take notice of. That force of love which the father of mankind so finely describes in the eighth book, and which is inserted in my last Saturday's paper, shows itself here in many fine instances; as in those fond regards he casts towards Eve at her parting from him: Her long with ardent look his eye pursu'd To be return'd by noon amid the bow'r. In his impatience and amusement during her absence: Adam the while, Waiting desirous her return, had wove But particularly in that passionate speech, where, seeing her irrecoverably lost, he resolves to perish with her, rather than to live without her: -Some cursed fraud Of enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown, How can I live without thee? How forego The several wiles which are put in practice by the tempter, when he found Eve separated from her husband, the many pleasing images of nature which are intermixed in this part of the story, with its gradual and regular progress to the fatal catastrophe, are so very remarkable, that it would be superfluous to point out their respective beauties. I have avoided mentioning any particular similitudes in my remarks on this great work, because I have given a general account of them in my Paper on the first book. There is one, however, in this part of the poem, which I shall here quote, as it is not only very beautiful, but the closest of any in the whole poem; I mean that where the serpent is described as rolling forward in all his pride, animated by the evil spirit, and conducting Eve to her destruction, while Adam was at too great a distance from her to give her his assistance. These several particulars are all of them wrought into the following similitude: -Hope elevates, and joy Brightens his crest; as when a wandering fire, (Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends) |