One might give many instances of this in a late English monarch, under the title of "The gaities of king Charles II." This prince was by nature extremely familiar, of very easy access, and much delighted to see and be seen; and this happy temper, which in the highest degree gratified his people's vanity, did him more service with his loving subjects than all his other virtues, though it must be confessed he had many. He delighted, though a mighty king, to give and take a jest, as they say: and a prince of this fortunate disposition, who were inclined to make an ill use of his power, may have any thing of his people, be it never so much to their prejudice. But this good king made generally a very innocent use, as to the public, of this insnaring temper; for, it is well known, he pursued pleasure more than ambition. He seemed to glory in being the first man at cock-matches, horse-races, balls, and plays; he appeared highly delighted on those occasions, and never failed to warm and gladden the heart of every spectator. He more than once dined with his good citizens of London on their lordmayor's-day, and did so the year that sir Robert Viner was mayor. Sir Robert was a very loyal man, and, if you will allow the expression, very fond of his sovereign; but, what with the joy he felt at heart for the honour done him by his prince, and through the warmth he was in with continual toasting healths to the royal family, his lordship grew a little fond of his majesty, and entered into a familiarity not altogether so graceful in so public a place. The king understood very well how to extricate himself in all kinds of difficulties, and, with an hint to the company to avoid ceremony, stole off and made towards his coach, which stood ready for him in Guildhall-yard. But the mayor liked his company so well, and was grown so intimate, that he pursued

him hastily, and, catching him fast by the hand, cried out with a vehement oath and accent, Sir, you shall stay and take t'other bottle." The airy monarch looked kindly at him over his shoulder, and with a smile and graceful air (for I saw him at the time, and do now) repeated this line of the old song:

"He that's drunk is as great as a king."

and immediately returned back and complied with his landlord.

I give you this story, Mr. Spectator, because, as I said, I saw the passage; and I assure you it is very true, and yet no common one; and when I tell you the sequel, you will say I have a better reason for it. This very mayor afterwards erected a statue of his merry monarch in Stocks-market *, and did the crown many and great services; and it was owing to this humour of the king, that his family had so great a fortune shut up in the exchequer of their pleasant sovereign. The many good-natured condescensions of this prince are vulgarly known; and it is excellently said of him by a great hand † which writ his character, that he was not a king a quarter of an hour together in his whole reign. He would re

*The equestrian statue of Charles II. in Stocks-market, erected at the sole charge of sir Robert Viner, was originally made for John Sobieski, king of Poland; but by some accident it had been left on the workman's hands. To save time and expence, the Polander was converted into a Briton, and the Turk underneath his horse into Oliver Cromwell, to complete the compliment. Unfortunately the turban on the Turk's head was overlooked, and left an undeniable proof of this story. See Stow's Survey, &c. ed. 1755, p. 517, vol. i. and Ralph's Review, &c. edit. 1736, p. 9.

Sheffield duke of Buckingham, who said, that on a premeditation Charles II. could not act the part of a king for a

moment.'

ceive visits from fools and half madmen; and at times I have met with people who have boxed, fought at back-sword, and taken poison before king Charles II. In a word, he was so pleasant a man, that no one could be sorrowful under his government. This made him capable of baffling, with the greatest ease imaginable, all suggestions of jealousy; and the people could not entertain notions of any thing terrible in him, whom they saw every way agreeable. This scrap of the familiar part of that prince's history I thought fit to send you, in compliance to the request you lately made to your correspondents.

T.

I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant.

N° 463. THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1712.

Omnia quæ sensu volvuntur vota diurno,
Pectore sopito reddit amica quies.
Venator defessa toro cùm membra reponit,
Mens tamen ad sylvas et sua lustra redit:
Judicibus lites, aurigis somnia currus,

Vanaque nocturnis meta cavetur equis.
Me quoque Musarum studium sub nocte silenti
Artibus assuetis sollicitare solet.

CLAUD.

In sleep, when fancy is let loose to play,
Our dreams repeat the wishes of the day.
Though further toil his tired limbs refuse,
The dreaming hunter still the chace pursues.
The judge a-bed dispenses still the laws,
And sleeps again o'er the unfinish'd cause.
The dozing racer hears his chariot roll,
Smacks the vain whip, and shuns the fancy'd goal,
Me too the Muses, in the silent night,

With wonted chimes of jingling verse delight.

I

I WAS lately entertaining myself with comparing Homer's balance, in which Jupiter is represented as weighing the fates of Hector and Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of Turnus and Æneas. then considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those noble passages of Scripture, wherein we are told, that the great king of Babylon, the day before his death, had been weighed in the balance, and been found wanting.' In other places of the holy writings, the Almighty is described as weighing the mountains in scales, making the weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds; and in others, as weighing the actions of men, and lay

ing their calamities together in a balance. Milton, as I have observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of these foregoing instances in that beautiful description, wherein he represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing themselves for the combat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the heavens, and weighed the consequences of such a battle.

Th' Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,

Hung forth in heav'n his golden scales, yet seen
Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign;
Wherein all things created first he weigh'd,
The pendulous round earth, with balanc'd air,
In counterpoise, now ponders all events,
Battles and realms; in these he put two weights,
The sequel each of parting and of fight.

The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam;
Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend:

"Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine: Neither our own, but giv'n. What folly then

To boast what arms can do, since thine no more

Than heav'n permits; nor mine, though doubled now

To trample thee as mire! For proof look up,

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,

Where thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how weak,
If thou resist." The fiend looked up, and knew
His mounted scale aloft; nor more; but fled

Murm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.'

These several amusing thoughts, having taken possession of my mind some time before I went to sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was, methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where I had indulged the foregoing speculations with my lamp burning by me as usual. Whilst I was here meditating on several subjects of morality, and considering the na ture of many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses with which I daily entertain the public,