cheerfulness, but very often see cheerfulness where there is no great degree of health. them; as from the wildness of rocks and deserts. and the .ike grotesque parts of nature. Those who are versed in philosophy may still carry this consideration higher, by observing, that if matter had Cheerfulness bears the same friendly regard to the mind as to the body. It banishes all anxious care and discontent, soothes and composes the pas-appeared to us endowed only with those real qualisions, and keeps the soul in a perpetual calm. But having already touched on this last consideration, I shall here take notice, that the world in which we are placed is filled with innumerable objects that are proper to raise and keep alive this happy temper of mind. If we consider the world in its subserviency to man, one would think it was made for our use; but if we consider it in its natural beauty and harmony, one would be apt to conclude it was made for our pleasure. The sun, which is as the great soul of the universe, and produces all the necessaries of life, has a particular influence in cheering the mind of man, and making the heart glad. Those several living creatures which are made for our service or sustenance, at the same time either fill the woods with their music, furnish us with game, er raise pleasing ideas in us by the delightfulness of their appearance. Fountains, lakes, and rivers, are as refreshing to the imagination, as to the soil through which they pass. There are writers of great distinction, who have made it an argument for Providence, that the whole earth is covered with green rather than with any other colour, as being such a right mixture of light and shade, that it comforts and strengthens the eye, instead of weakening or grieving it. For this reason several painters have a green cloth hanging near them, to ease the eye upon, after too great an application to their colouring. A famous modern philosopher accounts for it in the following manHer. All colours that are more luminous, overpower and dissipate the animal spirits which are employed in sight; on the contrary, those that are tore obscure do not give the animal spirits a sufficient exercise; whereas the rays that produce in us the idea of green, fall upon the eye in such a due proportion, that they give the animal spirits their proper play, and, by keeping up the struggle in a just balance, excite a very pleasing and agreeable sensation. Let the cause be what it will, the effect is certain; for which reason, the poets ascribe to this particular colour the epithet of cheerful. To consider further this double end in the works of nature, and how they are at the same time both useful and entertaining, we find that the most important parts in the vegetable world are those which are the most beautiful. These are the seeds by which the several races of plants are propagated and continued, and which are always lodged in flowers or blossoms. Nature seems to hide her principal design, and to be industrious in making gay and delightful, while she is carrying on her great work, and intent upon her own preser vation. The husbandman, after the same manner, Is employed in laying out the whole country into a kind of garden or landscape, and making every thing smile about him, whilst in reality he thinks of nothing but of the harvest, and the increase which is to arise from it. the earth ties which it actually possesses, it would have made but a very joyless and uncomfortable figure: and why has Providence given it & power of producing in us such imaginary qualities, as tastes and colours, sounds and smells, heat and cold, but that man, while he is conversant in the lower stations of nature, might have his mind cheered and delighted with agreeable sensations? In short, the whole universe is a kind of theatre, filled with objects that either raise in us pleasure, amusement, or admiration. The reader's own thoughts will suggest to him the vicissitude of day and night, the change of seasons, with all that variety of scenes which diversify the face of nature, and fill the mind with a perpetual succession of beautiful and pleasing images. I shall not here mention the several entertainments of art, with the pleasures of friendship, books, conversation, and other accidental diversions of life, because I would only take notice of such incitements to a cheerful femper as offer themselves to persons of all ranks and conditions, and which may sufficiently show us that Providence did not design this world should be filled with murmurs and repinings, or that the heart of man should be involved in gloom and melancholy. I the more inculcate this cheerfulness of temper, as it is a virtue in which our countrymen are observed to be more deficient than any other nation. Melancholy is a kind of demon that haunts our island, and often conveys herself to us in an easterly wind. A celebrated French novelist, in opposition to those who begin their romances with the flowery season of the year, enters on his story thus: the gloomy month of November, when the people of England hang and drown themselves, a disconsolate lover walked out into the fields," &c. In Every one ought to fence against the temper of his climate or constitution, and frequently to indulge in himself those considerations which may give him a serenity of mind, and enable him to bear up cheerfully against those little evils and misfortunes which are common to human nature, and which, by a right improvement of them, will produce a satiety of joy, and an uninterrupted happiness. At the same time that I would engage my reader to consider the world in its most agreeable lights, I must own there are many evils which naturally spring up amidst the entertainments that are provided for us; but these, if rightly considered, should be far from overcasting the mind with sorrow, or destroying that cheerfulness of temper which I have been recommending. This interspersion of evil with good, and pain with pleasure, in the works o nature, is very truly ascribed by Mr. Locke in his Essay on Human Understanding to a moral reason, in the following words: "Beyond all this we may find another reason why God hath scattered up and down several degrees of pleasure and pain, in all the things that environ and affect us, and blended them together, in We may further observe how Providence has almost all that our thoughts and senses have to do taken care to keep up this cheerfulness in the mind with; that we, finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, of man, by having formed it after such a manner, as and want of complete happiness, in all the enjoy to make it capable of conceiving delight from sevements which the creatures can afford us, might be ral objects which seem to have very little use in • Sir Isaac Newton. SPECTATOR-Nos, 57 & 58 led to seek it in the enjoyment of Him with whoi there is fulness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore.' "-L. 2 G No. 388.] MONDAY, MAY 26, 1712. -Tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis For thee I dare unlock the sacred spring, "IT is my custom, when I read your papers, to read over the quotations in the authors from whence you take them. As you mentioned a passage lately out of the second chapter of Solomon's Song, it occasioned my looking into it; and, upon reading it, I thought the ideas so exquisitely soft and tender, that I could not help making this paraphrase of it; which, now it is done, I can as little forbear sending to you. Some marks of your approbation which I have already received, have given me so sensible a taste of them, that I cannot forbear endeavouring after them as often as I can with any appearance of success. "I am, Sir, "Your most obedient humble Servant." THE SECOND CHAPTER OF SOLOMON'S SONG. I. As when in Sharon's field the blushing rose Does its chaste bosom to the morn disclose, Whilst all around the Zephyrs bear The fragrant odours through the air; Or as the lily in the shady vale Does o'er each flower with beauteous pride prevail, In fair pre-eminence, superior to the rest : And their united charms are less than mine. Let sacred silence dwell around, To keep off each intruding sound: And when the balmy slumber leaves his eyes, May he to joys, unknown till then, arise! VI. But see! he comes! with what majestic gait Now through the lattice he appears, Already, see! the teeming earth Brings forth the flow'rs, her beauteous birth. And sweetly usher in the spring. Close by his fellow sits the dove, The spreading vines with blossoms swed, As to its mate the constant dove Shall damp the sound of thy melodious voice; Where I may gaze, and mark each beauteous grace; For sweet thy voice, and lovely is thy face. * The book here mentioned was bought by Walter Clavel, Esq. at the auction of the library of Charles Barnard, Esq. in 1711, for twenty-eight pounds. The same copy became suc cessively the property of Mr. John Nichols, of Mr. Joseph Ames, of Sir Peter Thomson, and of M. C. Tutet, Esq. among whose books it was lately sold by auction, at Mr. Gerrard's in Litchfield-street. The author of this book, Giordano Brune, was a native of Nola in the kingdom of Naples, and burnt at Rome by the order of the Inquisition in 1600.- Morhoff, speaking of Atheists, says, "Jordanum tamen Brunum huic classi -manifesta in illo atheismi vestigia non deprehendo." Polyhist. i. 1. 8. 22. Bruno published many other writings said to be atheistical. The book spoken of here was printed, not at Paris, as is said in the title-page, der in 1544, but at London, and in 1584, 12mo. dedicated to Sir Philip Sydney. It was for some time so little regarded, that it was sold with five other books of the same author, for twentyfive pence French, at the sale of Mr. Bigor's library in 1706; but it is now very scarce, and has been sold at the exorbitani price of £50. Niceron. Hommes illust. tom. xvii. p There was an edition of it in English in 1713, non annumerarem, it was written by one Jordanus Brunus, a professed Atheist, with a design to depreciate religion, every one was apt to fancy, from the extravagant price it bore, that there must be something in it very formidable. I must confess that, happening to get a sight of one of them myself, I could not forbear perusing it with this apprehension; but found there was so very little danger in it, that I shall venture to give my readers a fair account of the whole plan upon which this wonderful treatise is built. The author pretends that Jupiter, once upon a time, resolved on a reformation of the constellations: for which purpose, having summoned the stars together, he complains to them of the great decay of the worship of the gods, which he thought so much the harder, having called several of those celestial bodies by the names of the heathen deities, and by that means made the heavens as it were a book of the pagan theology. Momus tells him that this is not to be wondered at, since there were so many scandalous stories of the deities. Upon which the author takes occasion to cast reflections upon all other religions, concluding that Jupiter, after a full hearing, discarded the deities out of heaven, and calied the stars by the names of the moral virtues. This short fable, which has no pretence in it to reason or argument, and but a very small share of wit, has however recommended itself, wholly by its impiety, to those weak men who would distinguish themselves by the singularity of their opinions. There are two considerations which have been often urged against Atheists, and which they never yet could get over. The first is, that the greatest and most eminent persons of all ages have been against them, and always complied with the public forms of worship established in their respective countries, when there was nothing in them either derogatory to the honour of the Supreme Being, or prejudicial to the good of mankind. The Platos and Ciceros among the ancients; the Bacons, the Boyles, and the Lockes, among our own countrymen; are all instances of what I have been saying; not to mention any of the divines, however celebrated, since our adversaries challenge all those, as men who have too much interest in this case to be impartial evidences. Atheists have gloried in these their good friends and allies. If we boast of a Socrates or a Seneca, they may now confront them with these great philosophers the Hottentots. Though even this point has, not without reason, been several times controverted, I see no manner of harm it could do to religion, if we should entirely give them up this elegant part of mankind. Methinks nothing more shows the weakness of their cause, than that no division of their fellowcreatures join with them, but those among whom they themselves own reason is almost defaced, and who have little else but their shape which can entitle them to any place in the species. Besides these poor creatures, there have now and then been instances of a few crazy people in several nations, who have denied the existence of a Deity. The catalogue of these is, however, very short; even Vanini, the most celebrated champion for the cause, professed before his judges that he believed the existence of a God; and, taking up a straw which lay before him on the ground, assured them, that alone was sufficient to convince him of it; alleging several arguments to prove that it was impossible nature alone could create any thing. I was the other day reading an account of Casimir Lyszynski, a gentleman of Poland, who was convicted and executed for this crime. The manner of his punishment was very particular. As soon as his body was burnt, his ashes were put into a cannon, and shot into the air towards Tartary. I am apt to believe, that if something like this method of punishment should prevail in England (such is the natural good sense of the British nation), that whether we rammed an Atheist whole into a great gun, or pulverized our infidels, as they do in Poland, we should not have many charges. I should however propose, while our ammunition lasted, that, instead of Tartary, we should always keep two or three cannons ready pointed towards the Cape of Good Hope, in order to shoot our unbelievers into the country of the Hottentots. In my opinion, a solemn judicial death is too great an honour for an Atheist; though I must allow the method of exploding him, as it is practised in this ludicrous kind of martyrdom, has something in it proper enough to the nature of his offence. There is indeed a great objection against this manner of treating them. Zeal for religion is of so active a nature, that it seldom knows where to rest; for which reason I am afraid, after having discharged our Atheists, we might possibly think of shooting off our sectaries; and as one does not foresee the vicissitude of human affairs, it might one time or other come to a man's own turn to fly out of the mouth of But what has been often urged as a consideration of much more weight, is not only the opinion of the better sort, but the general consent of mankind to this great truth; which I think could not possibly have come to pass, but from one of the three following reasons: either that the idea of a God is innate and co-existent with the mind itself; or that this truth is so very obvious, that it is discovered by the first exertion of reason in persons of the most ordinary capacities; or, lastly, that it has been de-a demiculverin. livered down to us through all ages by a tradition from the first man. such unbelievers, upon a point that shocks the common sense of mankind, is doing them too great an honour, giving them a figure in the eye of the world, and making people fancy that they have more in them than they really have. If any of my readers imagine that I have treated these gentlemen in too ludicrous a manner, I must The Atheists are equally confounded, to which-confess, for my own part, I think reasoning against ever of these three causes we assign it; they have been so pressed by this last argument from the general consent of mankind, that after great search and pains they pretend to have found out a nation of Atheists, I mean that polite people the Hottentots. I dare not shock my readers with a description of the customs and manners of these barbarians, who are in every respect scarce one degree above brutes, having no language among them but a confused gabble, which is neither well understood by themselves nor others. isis not, however, to be imagined, how much the As for those persons who have any scheme of religious worship, I am for treating such with the utmost tenderness, and should endeavour to show them their errors with the greatest temper and humanity; but as these miscreants are for throwing down religion in general, for stripping mankind of what themselves own is of excellent use in all great sa cieties, without once offering to establish any thing in the room of it, I think the best way of dealing with them, is to retort their own weapons upon them, which are those of scorn and mockery.-X. No. 390.1 WEDNESDAY, MAY 28, 1712. Non pudendo, sed non faciendo id quod non decet, impudentia nomen effugere debemus.-TUL evil tongues, are so harmless, that they are every day they live asleep till twelve at noon: conceri themselves with nothing but their own persons tili two; take their necessary food between that time and four; visit, go to the play, and sit up at cards till towards the ensuing morn; and the malicious world shall draw conclusions from innocent glances, fashionable men, that these fair ones are not as short whispers, or pretty familiar railleries with rigid as vestals. It is certain, say these "gondest ” creatures very well, that virtue does not consist in constrained behaviour and wry faces: that must be allowed: but there is a decency in the aspect and manner of ladies, contracted from a habit of virtue, and from general reflections that regard a modest conduct, all which may be understood, though they cannot be described. A young woman of this sort claims an esteem mixed with affection and honour, and meets with no defamation; or, if she does, the wild malice is overcome with an undisturbed perseverance in her innocence. To speak freely, there are such coveys of coquettes about this town, that if the peace were not kept by some im pertinent tongues of their own sex, which keep them under some restraint, we should have no manner of engagement upon them to keep them in any tolerable order. It is not by blushing, but by not doing what is unbecoming, that we ought to guard against the imputation of impudence. MANY are the epistles I receive from ladies extremely afflicted that they lie under the observation of scandalous people, who love to defame their neighbours, and make the unjustest interpretation of innocent and indifferent actions. They describe their own behaviour so unhappily, that there indeed lies some cause of suspicion upon them. It is certain, that there is no authority for persons who have nothing else to do, to pass away hours of conversation upon the miscarriages of other people; but since they will do so, they who value their reputation should be cautious of appearances to their disadvantage; but very often our young women, as well as the middle-aged, and the gay part of those growing old, without entering into a formal league for that purpose, to a woman agree upon a short As I am a Spectator, and behold how plainly one way to preserve their characters, and go on in a part of woman-kind balance the behaviour of the way that at best is only not vicious. The method other, whatever I may think of tale-bearers or slanis, when an ill-natured or talkative girl has said derers, I cannot wholly suppress them, no more anything that bears hard upon some part of an-thau a general would discourage spies. The enemy other's carriage, this creature, if not in any of their little cabals, is run down for the most censorious dangerous body in the world. Thus they guard their reputation rather than their modesty; as if guilt lay in being under the imputation of a fault, and not in the commission of it. Orbicilla is the kindest poor thing in town, but the most blushing creature living. It is true, she has not lost the sense of shame, but she has lost the sense of innocence. If she had more confidence, and never did anything which ought to stain her cheeks, would she not be much more modest, without that ambiguous suffusion which is the livery both of guilt and innocence ? Modesty consists in being conscious of no ill, and not in being ashamed of having done it. When people go upon any other foundation than the truth of their own hearts for the conduct of their actions, it lies in the power of scandalous tongues to carry the world before them, and make the rest of mankind fall in with the ill for fear of reproach. On the other hand, to do what you ought, is the ready way to make calumny either silent, or ineffectually malicious. Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, says admirably to young ladies under the distress of being defamed: "The best," said he; "that I can you advise, So shall you soon repair your present evil plight." Instead of this care over their words and actions, recommended by a poet in Old Queen Bess's days, the modern way is to do and say what you please, and yet be the prettiest sort of woman in the world. If fathers and brothers will defend a lady's honour, she is quite as safe as in her own innocence. Many of the distressed, who suffer under the malice of would easily surprise him who they knew had no intelligence of their motions. It is so far otherwise with me, that I acknowledge I permit a she-slanderer or two in every quarter of the town, to live in the characters of coquettes, and take all the innocent freedoms of the rest, in order to send me information of the behaviour of their respective sisterhoods. But as the matter of respect to the world which looks on, is carried on, methinks it is so very easy to be what is in the general called virtuous, that it need not cost one hour's reflection in a month to preserve that appellation. It is pleasant to hear the pretty rogues talk of virtue and vice among each other. "She is the laziest creature in the world, but, I must confess, strictly virtuous; the peevishest hussy breathing, but as to her virtue, she is without blemish. She has not the least charity for any of her acquaintance, but I must allow her rigidly virtuous." As the unthinking parts of the male world call every man a man of honour, who is not a coward; so the crowd of the other sex terms every woman who will not be a wench, virtuous.-T. No, thou aloud may'st thy petitions trust! Thon need'st not whisper; other great ones must; Then sinks the voice, and muttering groans the rest' O chink some pot of gold beneath my plough' Could I, O could I. to my ravished eyes the prayer of his friend Licander the philosopher This was succeeded by the petition of one who had just laden a ship, and promised Jupiter, if he took care of it, and returned it home again full of riches, he would make him an offering of a silver cup. Jupiter thanked him for nothing; and, bending down his ear more attentively than ordinary, heard a voice complaining to him of the cruelty of an Ephesian widow, and begged him to breed compassion in her heart. This,' says Jupiter, is a very honest fellow. I have received a great deal of incense from him: I will not be so cruel to him as to hear his prayers.' He was then interrupted with a whole volley of vows which were made for WHERE Homer represents Phoenix, the tutor of the health of a tyrannical prince by his subjects who Achilles, as persuading his pupil to lay aside his prayed for him in his presence. Menippus was resentments, and give himself up to the entreaties surprised, after having listened to prayers offered of his countrymen, the poet, in order to make him up with so much ardour and devotion, to hear low speak in character, ascribes to him a speech full of whispers from the same assembly, expostulating those fables and allegories, which old men take de- with Jove for suffering such a tyrant to live, and light in relating, and which are very proper for asking him how his thunder could lie idle? Jupiter instruction. "The gods," says he, "suffer them- was so offended with these prevaricating rascals, selves to be prevailed upon by entreaties. When that he took down the first vows, and puffed away mortals have offended them by their transgressions, the last. The philosopher seeing a great cloud they appease them by vows and sacrifices. You mounting upwards, and making its way directly to must know, Achilles, that prayers are the daughters the trap-door, inquired of Jupiter what it meant. of Jupiter. They are crippled by frequent kneel This,' says Jupiter, is the smoke of a whole heing, have their faces full of cares and wrinkles, and catomb that is offered me by the general of an army, their eyes always cast towards heaven. They are who is very importunate with me to let him cut off constant attendants on the goddess Ate, and marcha hundred thousand men that are drawn up in behind her. This goddess walks forward with a array against him. What does the impudent wretch bold and haughty air; and, being very light of foot, think I see in him, to believe that I will make a runs through the whole earth grieving and afflict-sacrifice of so many mortals as good as himself, ing the sons of men. She gets the start of Prayers, who always follow her, in order to heal those persons whom she wounds. He who honours these caughters of Jupiter, when they draw near to him, receives great benefit from them; but as for him who rejects them, they entreat their father to give his orders to the goddess Atè, to punish him for his hardness of healt." This noble allegory needs but little explanation; for, whether the goddess Ate signifies injury, as some have explained it; or guilt in general, as others; or divine justice, as I a more apt to think; the interpretation is obvious enough. I shall produce another heathen fable, relating to prayers, which is of a more diverting kind. One would think, by some passages in it, that it was composed by Lucian, or at least by some author who has endeavoured to imitate his way of writing; but as dissertations of this nature are more curious than useful, I shall give my reader the fable, with out any further inquiries after the author. and all this to his glory forsooth? But hark!' says Jupiter, there is a voice I never heard but in time of danger: 'tis a rogue that is shipwrecked in the Ionian sea. I saved him on a plank but three days ago, upon his promise to mend his manners; the scoundrel is not worth a groat, and yet has the impudence to offer me a temple, if I will keep him from sinking.-But yonder,' says he, is a special youth for you; he desires me to take his father, who keeps a great estate from him, out of the miseries of human life. The old fellow shall live till he makes his heart-ache, I can tell him that for his pains.' This was followed by the soft voice of a pious lady, desiring Jupiter that she might appear amiable and charming in the sight of her emperor. As the philosopher was reflecting on this extraordinary petition, there blew a gentle wind through the trap-door, which he at first mistook for a gale of Zephyrs, but afterward found it to be a breeze of sighs. They smelt strong of flowers and incense, and were succeeded by most passionate complaints Menippus the philosopher was a second time of wounds and torments, fires and arrows, cruelty, taken up into heaven by Jupiter, when, for his en- despair, and death. Menippus fancied that such tertainment, he lifted up a trap-door that was placed lamentable cries arose from some general execution, by his footstool. At its rising, there issued through or from wretches lying under the torture; but it such a din of cries as astonished the philosopher. Jupiter told him that they came up to him from Upon his asking what they meant, Jupiter told him the isle of Paphos, and that he every day received they were the prayers that were sent up to him complaints of the same nature from that whimsical from the earth. Menippus, amidst the confusion of tribe of mortals who are called lovers. I am so voices, which was so great that nothing less than trifled with,' says he, by this generation of both the ear of Jove could distinguish them, heard the sexes, and find it so impossible to please them, words, riches, honour,' and 'long life,' repeated whether I grant or refuse their petitions, that I in several different tones and languages. When shall order a western wind for the future to inthe first hubbub of sounds was over, the trap-door being left open, the voices came up more separate and distinct. The first prayer was a very odd one; it came from Athens, and desired Jupiter to increase the wisdom and the beard of his humble supplicant. Menippus knew it by the voice to be tercept them in their passage, and blow them at random upon the earth. The last petition I heard was from a very aged man, of near a hundred years old, begging but for one year more life, and ther promising to die contented. This is the rarest old fellow!' says Jupiter; he has made this prayer |