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its first regulations, when criminals only | instigation of Flavilla's mother, brought fought before the people. Crudele gladia- about the match for the daughter; and the torum spectaculum et inhumanum nonnullis videri solet, et haud scio annon ita sit ut nunc fit; cum vero sontes ferro depugna• bant, auribus fortasse multa, oculis quidem nulla, poterat esse fortior contra dolorem et mortem disciplina. The shows of gladiators may be thought barbarous and inhuman, and I know not but it is so as now practised; but in those times when only criminals were combatants, the ear perhaps might receive many better instructions, but it is impossible that any thing which affects our eyes should fortify us so well against pain and death.'

T.

No. 437.] Tuesday, July 22, 1712.
Tune impune hæc facias? Tune hic homines adolescen-

tulos,

Imperitos rerum, eductos libere, in fraudem illicis?
Sollicitando et pollicitando eorum animos lactas?
Ac meretricios amores nuptiis conglutinas?
Ter. And. Act v. Sc. 4.

Shall you escape with impunity: you who lay snares for young men of a liberal education, but unacquainted with the world, and by force of importunity and promises, draw them in to marry harlots?

reputation of this, which is apparently, in point of fortune, more than Flavilla could expect, has gained her the visits and frequent attendance of the crowd of mothers, who had rather see their children miserable in great wealth, than the happiest of the race of mankind in a less conspicuous state of life. When Sempronia is so well acquainted with a woman's temper and circumstances, that she believes marriage would be acceptable to her, and advantageous to the man who shall get her, her next step is to look out for some one, whose condition has some secret wound in it, and wants a sum, yet, in the eye of the world, not unsuitable to her. If such is not easily had, she immediately adorns a worthless fellow with what estate she thinks conve

nient, and adds as great a share of good humour and sobriety as is requisite. After this is settled, no importunities, arts, and devices, are omitted, to hasten the lady to her happiness. In the general, indeed, she is a person of so strict justice that she marries a poor gallant to a rich wench, and a moneyless girl to a man of fortune. But then she has no manner of conscience in THE other day passed by me in her cha- the disparity, when she has a mind to imriot a lady with that pale and wan com- pose a poor rogue for one of an estate: she plexion which we sometimes see in young has no remorse in adding to it, that he is people who are fallen into sorrow, and illiterate, ignorant, and unfashioned; but private anxiety of mind, which antedate makes these imperfections arguments of age and sickness. It is not three years ago the truth of his wealth; and will on such an since she was gay, airy, and a little towards occasion, with a very grave face, charge libertine in her carriage; but, methought, the people of condition with negligence in I easily forgave her that little insolence, the education of their children. Exception which she so severely pays for in her pre- being made the other day against an ignosent condition. Flavilla, of whom I am rant booby of her own clothing, whom she speaking, is married to a sullen fool with was putting off for a rich heir: Madam,' wealth. Her beauty and merit are lost upon said she, 'you know there is no making of the dolt, who is insensible of perfection in children, who know they have estates, atany thing. Their hours together are either tend their books.' painful or insipid. The minutes she has to herself in his absence are not sufficient to give vent at her eyes, to the grief and torment of his last conversation. This poor creature was sacrificed (with a temper which, under the cultivation of a man of sense, would have made the most agreeable companion) into the arms of this loathsome yoke-fellow by Sempronia. Sempronia is a good lady, who supports herself in an affluent condition, by contracting friendship with rich young widows, and maids of plentiful fortunes at their own disposal, and bestowing her friends upon worthless indigent fellows; on the other side, she ensnares inconsiderate and rash youths of great estates into the arms of vicious women. For this purpose, she is accomplished in all the arts which can make her acceptable at impertinent visits; she knows all that passes in every quarter, and is well acquainted with all the favourite servants, busy-bodies, dependents, and poor relations, of all persons of condition in the whole town. At the price of a good sum of money, Sempronia, by the

Sempronia, by these arts, is loaded with presents, importuned for her acquaintance, and admired by those who do not know the first taste of life, as a woman of exemplary good breeding. But sure to murder and rob are less iniquities, than to raise profit by abuses as irreparable as taking away life; but more grievous as making it lastingly unhappy. To rob a lady at play of half her fortune, is not so ill as giving the whole and herself to an unworthy husband. But Sempronia can administer consolation to an unhappy fair at home, by leading her to an agreeable gallant elsewhere. She then can preach the general condition of all the married world, and tell an unexperienced young woman the methods of softening her affliction, and laugh at her simplicity and want of knowledge, with an 'Oh! my dear, you will know better."

The wickedness of Sempronia, one would think, should be superlative: but I cannot but esteem that of some parents equal to it: I mean such as sacrifice the greatest endowments and qualifications to base bargains.

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A parent who forces a child of a liberal and
ingenious spirit into the arms of a clown or
a blockhead, obliges her to a crime too
odious for a name. It is in a degree the
unnatural conjunction of rational and brutal
beings. Yet what is there so common, as
the bestowing an accomplished woman with
such a disparity? And I could name crowds
who lead miserable lives for want of know-
ledge in their parents of this maxim. That
good sense and good-nature always go
together. That which is attributed to fools,
and called good-nature, is only an inability
of observing what is faulty, which turns, in
marriage, into a suspicion of every thing as
such, from a consciousness of that inability.
'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am entirely of your
opinion with relation to the equestrian fe-
males, who affect both the masculine and
feminine air at the same time; and cannot
forbear making a presentment against an-
other order of them, who grow very nu-
merous and powerful; and since our lan-
guage is not very capable of good com-
pound words, I must be contented to call
them only "the naked-shouldered." These
beauties are not contented to make lovers
wherever they appear, but they must make
rivals at the same time. Were you to see
Gatty walk the Park at high mall, you
would expect those who followed her and
those who met her would immediately draw
their swords for her. I hope, sir, you will
provide for the future, that women may
stick to their faces for doing any farther
mischief, and not allow any but direct tra-
ders in beauty to expose more than the
fore-part of the neck, unless you please to
allow this after-game to those who are very
defective in the charms of the countenance.
I can say, to my sorrow, the present prac-
tice is very unfair, when to look back is
death; and it may be said of our beauties, as
a great poet did of bullets,

They kill and wound, like Parthians, as they fly."
'I submit this to your animadversion; and
am, for the little while I have left, your
humble servant, the languishing

'PHILANTHUS.

P. S. Suppose you mended my letter, and made a simile about the "porcupine;" but I submit that also.'

No. 438.] Wednesday, July 23, 1712.
-Animum rege, qui, nisi paret,

man deserves the least indulgence imagi- •
nable. It is said, it is soon over; that is, all
the mischief he does is quickly despatched,
which, I think, is no great recommendation
to favour. I have known one of those good-
natured passionate men say in a mixed
company, even to his own wife or child,
such things as the most inveterate enemy
of his family would not have spoken, even
in imagination. It is certain that quick
sensibility is inseparable from a ready un-
derstanding; but why should not that good
understanding call to itself all its force on
such occasions, to master that sudden incli-
nation to anger? One of the greatest souls
now in the world is the most subject by na-
ture to anger, and yet so famous for a con-
quest of himself this way, that he is the
and command of a man's self.
known example when you talk of temper
To contain
the spirit of anger, is the worthiest disci-
pline we can put ourselves to. When a
frivolous fellow in a passion is to him as
man has made any progress this way, a
contemptible as a froward child. It ought
to be the study of every man, for his own
quiet and peace. When he stands com-
that touches him, life is as uneasy to him-
bustible and ready to flame upon every thing
self as it is to all about him. Syncropius
leads, of all men living, the most ridiculous
life; he is ever offending and begging par-
don. If his man enters the room without
what he was sent for-That blockhead,'
begins he-'Gentlemen, I ask your par-
don, but servants now-a-days'-The wrong
plates are laid, they are thrown into the
middle of the room: his wife stands by in
pain for him, which he sees in her face, and
answers as if he had heard all she was
thinking:-Why? what the devil! Why
don't you take care to give orders in these
things? His friends sit down to a tasteless
plenty of every thing, every minute expect-
ing new insults from his impertinent pas-
sions. In a word, to eat with, or visit Syn-
cropius, is no other than going to see him
exercise his family, exercise their patience,
and his own anger.

It is monstrous that the shame and con-
fusion in which this good-natured angry
man must needs behold his friends, while
he thus lays about him, does not give him
so much reflection as to create an amend-
ment. This is the most scandalous disuse.
of reason imaginable; all the harmless part
of him is no more than that of a bull-dog,
they are tame no longer than they are not
offended. One of these good-natured angry
men shall, in an instant, assemble together
so many allusions to secret circumstances,
as are enough to dissolve the peace of all
It is a very common expression, that such the families and friends he is acquainted
a one is very good-natured, but very pas-with, in a quarter of an hour, and yet the
sionate. The expression, indeed, is very next moment be the best natured man in
good-natured, to allow passionate people the world. If you would see passion in its
so much quarter; but I think a passionate purity, without mixture of reason, behold

Imperat

Hor. Ep. ii. Lib. 1. 62.

Curb thy soul,
And check thy rage, which must be rul'd or rule.

* Ingenuous.

Creech.

* Lord Somers.

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it represented in a mad hero, drawn by a mad poet. Nat. Lee makes his Alexander say thus:

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Away! begone! and give a whirlwind room, Or I will blow you up like dust! Avaunt! Madness but meanly represents my toil, Eternal discord!

Fury! revenge! disdain and indignation! Tear my swol'n breast, make way for fire and tempest. My brain is burst, debate and reason quench'd; The storm is up, and my hot bleeding heart Splits with the rack; while passions, like the wind, Rise up to heav'n, and put out all the stars.' Every passionate fellow in town talks half the day with as little consistency, and threatens things as much out of his power. The next disagreeable person to the outrageous gentleman, is one of a much lower order of anger, and he is what we commonly call a peevish fellow. A peevish fellow is one who has some reason in himself for being out of humour, or has a natural incapacity for delight, and therefore disturbs all who are happier than himself with pishes and pshaws, or other well-bred interjections, at every thing that is said or done in his presence. There should be physic mixed in the food of all which these fellows eat in good company. This degree of anger passes, forsooth, for a delicacy of judgment, that won't admit of being easily pleased; but none above the character of wearing a peevish man's livery ought to bear with his ill manners. All things among men of sense and condition should pass the censure, and have the protection of the eye of reason.

lost, and I know not to whom I lent it, it is so many years ago.' Then, sir, here is the other volume; I'll send you home that, and please to pay for both.' 'My friend,' replied he, canst thou be so senseless as not to know that one volume is as imperfect in my library as in your shop?' 'Yes, sir, but it is you have lost the first volume; and, to be short, I will be paid.' 'Sir,' answered the chapman, 'you are a young man, your book is lost; and learn by this little loss to bear much greater adversities, which you must expect to meet with.' Yes, I'll bear when I must, but I have not lost now, for I say you have it, and shall pay me.' 'Friend, you grow warm; I tell you the book is lost; and foresee, in the course even of a prosperous life, that you will meet afflictions to make you mad, if you cannot bear this trifle.' 'Sir, there is, in this case, no need of bearing, for you have the book.' 'I say, sir, I have not the book; but your passion will not let you hear enough to be informed that I have it not. Learn resignation of yourself to the distresses of this life: nay, do not fret and fume; it is my duty to tell you that you are of an impatient spirit, and an impatient spirit is never without woe.' Was ever any thing like this?' 'Yes, sir, there have been many things like this: the loss is but a trifle; but your temper is wanton, and incapable of the least pain; therefore let me advise you, be patient, the book is lost, but do not for that reason lose yourself.'

T.*

Hi narrata ferunt alio: mensuraque ficti
Crescit; et auditis aliquid novus adjicit auctor.
Ovid, Met. xii. 57.
Some tell what they have heard, or tales devise;
Each fiction still improv'd with added lies.
OVID describes the palace of Fame as

No man ought to be tolerated in an habitual humour, whim, or particularity of behaviour, by any who do not wait upon him for bread. Next to the peevish fellow is No. 439.] Thursday, July 24, 1712. the snarler. This gentleman deals mightily in what we call the irony; and as those sort of people exert themselves most against those below them, you see their humour 'That best in their talk to their servants. is so like you; You are a fine fellow; Thou art the quickest head-piece;' and the like. One would think the hectoring, the storm-situated in the very centre of the universe, ing, the sullen, and all the different species and subordinations of the angry should be cured, by knowing they live only as pardoned men; and how pitiful is the condition of being only suffered! But I am interrupted by the pleasantest scene of anger, and the disappointment of it, that I have ever known, which happened while I was yet writing, and I overheard as I sat in the back-room at a French bookseller's. There came into the shop a very learned man with an erect solemn air; and, though a person of great parts otherwise, slow in underI consider courts with the same regard to standing any thing which makes against the governments which they superintend, himself. The composure of the faulty man, as Ovid's palace of Fame with regard to and the whimsical perplexity of him that the universe. The eyes of a watchful miwas justly angry, is perfectly new. After nister run through the whole people. There turning over many volumes, said the seller is scarce a murmur or complaint that does to the buyer, Sir, you know I have long asked you to send me back the first volume of French sermons I formerly lent you.' 'Sir,' said the chapman, 'I have often looked for it, but cannot find it; it is certainly

and perforated with so many windows as gave her the sight of every thing that was done in the heavens, in the earth, and in the sea. The structure of it was contrived in so admirable a manner, that it echoed every word which was spoken in the whole compass of nature; so that the palace, says the poet, was always filled with a confused hubbub of Iow, dying sounds, the voices being almost spent and worn out before they arrived at this general rendezvous of speeches and whispers.

* By Steele.

See No. 324, ad finem.

This scene passed in the shop of Mr. Vaillant, now

of Mr. James Payne, in the Strand; and the subject of it was (for it is still in remembrance) a volume of Massillon's Serinons.

not reach his ears. They have news-1 poor revenge of resenting them. The hisgatherers and intelligencers distributed into tories of Alexander and Cæsar are full of their several walks and quarters, who this kind of instances. Vulgar souls are of bring in their respective quotas, and make a quite contrary character. Dionysius, the them acquainted with the discourse and tyrant of Sicily, had a dungeon which was conversation of the whole kingdom or com- a very curious piece of architecture; and of monwealth where they are employed. The which, as I am informed, there are still to wisest of kings, alluding to these invisible be seen some remains in that island. It and unsuspected spies, who are planted by was called Dionysius's Ear, and built with kings and rulers over their fellow-citizens, several little windings and labyrinths in the as well as to those voluntary informers that form of a real ear. The structure of it are buzzing about the ears of a great man, made it a kind of whispering place, but such and making their court by such secret a one as gathered the voice of him who methods of intelligence, has given us a very spoke into a funnel, which was placed at prudent caution:* Curse not the king, no the very top of it. The tyrant used to not in thy thought, and curse not the rich lodge all his state criminals, or those whom in thy bed-chamber; for a bird of the air he supposed to be engaged together in any shall carry the voice, and that which hath evil design upon him, in this dungeon. He wings shall tell the matter.' had at the same time an apartment over it, where he used to apply himself to the funnel, and by that means overheard every thing that was whispered in the dungeon. I believe one may venture to affirm, that a Cæsar or an Alexander would have rather died by the treason than have used such disingenuous means for the detecting of it.

As it is absolutely necessary for rulers to make use of other people's eyes, they should take particular care to do it in such a manner that it may not bear too hard on the Derson whose life and conversation are inquired into. A man who is capable of so infamous a calling as that of a spy, is not very much to be relied upon. He can have no great ties of honour or checks of conscience, to restrain him in those covert evidences, where the person accused has no opportunity of vindicating himself. He will be more industrious to carry that which is grateful than that which is true. There will be no occasion for him if he does not hear and see things worth discovery; so that he naturally inflames every word and circumstance, aggravates what is faulty, perverts what is good, and misrepresents what is indifferent. Nor is it to be doubted but that such ignominious wretches let their private passions into these their clandestine informations, and often wreak their particular spite and malice against the person whom they are set to watch. It is a pleasant scene enough, which an Italian author describes between a spy and a cardinal who employed him. The cardinal is represented as minuting down every thing that is told him. The spy begins with a low voice, 'Such a one, the advocate, whispered to one of his friends, within my hearing, that your eminence was a very great poltroon;' I shall conclude this essay with part of a and after having given his patron time character, which is finely drawn by the enough to take it down, adds, that another earl of Clarendon, in the first book of his called him a mercenary rascal in a public History, which gives us the lively picture conversation. The cardinal replies, Very of a great man teasing himself with an abwell,' and bids him go on. The spy pro-surd curiosity. ceeds and loads him with reports of the same nature, till the cardinal rises in great wrath, calls him an impudent scoundrel, and kicks him out of the room.

A man who in ordinary life is very inquisitive after every thing which is spoken ill of him, passes his time but very indifferently. He is wounded by every arrow that is shot at him, and puts it in the power of every insignificant enemy to disquiet him. Nay, he will suffer from what has been said of him, when it is forgotten by those who said or heard it. For this reason I could never bear one of those officious friends, that would be telling every malicious report, every idle censure, that passed upon me. The tongue of man is so petulant, and. his thoughts so variable, that one should not lay too great a stress upon any present speeches and opinions. Praise and obloquy proceed very frequently out of the same mouth upon the same person; and upon the same occasion. A generous enemy will sometimes bestow commendations, as the dearest friend cannot sometimes refrain from speaking ill. The man who is indifferent in either of these respects, gives his opinion at random, and praises or disapproves as he finds himself in humour.

It is observed of great and heroic minds, that they have not only shown a particular disregard to those unmerited reproaches which have been cast upon them, but have been altogether free from that impertinent curiosity of inquiring after them, or the

* Eccl. x. 20.

'He had not that application and submission, and reverence for the queen, as might have been expected from his wisdom and breeding; and often crossed her pretences and desires with more rudeness than was natural to him. Yet he was impertinently solicitous to know what her majesty said of him in private, and what resentments she had towards him. And when by some confidants, who had their ends upon him from those offices, he was informed of some bitter expressions falling

from her majesty, he was so exceedingly | from the table, and convey him to the inafflicted and tormented with the sense of firmary. There was but one more sent it, that sometimes by passionate complaints away that day; this was a gentleman who and representations to the king, sometimes is reckoned by some persons one of the by more dutiful addresses and expostula- greatest wits, and by others one of the tions with the queen in bewailing his mis- greatest boobies about town. This you will fortune, he frequently exposed himself, and say is a strange character; but what makes left his condition worse than it was before, it stranger yet, is a very true one, for he is and the eclaircissement commonly ended in perpetually the reverse of himself, being the discovery of the persons from whom he always merry or dull to excess. We brought had received his most secret intelligence.' him hither to divert us, which he did O. very well upon the road, having lavished away as much wit and laughter upon the hackney coachman as might have served during his whole stay here, had it been duly managed. He had been lumpish for two or three days, but was so far connived at, in hopes of recovery, that we despatched one of the briskest fellows among the brotherhood into the infirmary for having told But our

No. 440.] Friday, July 25, 1712.

Vivere si recte nescis, discede peritis.
Hor. Ep. ii. Lib. 2. 213.
Learn to live well, or fairly make your will.

Pope..

I HAVE already given my reader an ac-him at table he was not merry. count of a set of merry fellows who are passing their summer together in the country, being provided with a great house, where there is not only a convenient apartment for every particular person, but a large infirmary for the reception of such of them as are any way indisposed or out of humour. Having lately received a letter !from the secretary of the society, by order of the whole fraternity, which acquaints me with their behaviour during the last week, I shall here make a present of it to the public.

president observing that he indulged himself in this long fit of stupidity, and construing it as a contempt of the college, ordered him to retire into the place prepared for such companions. He was no sooner got into it, but his wit and mirth returned upon him in so violent a manner, that he shook the whole infirmary with the noise of it, and had so good an effect upon the rest of the patients, that he brought them all out to dinner with him the next day.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-We are glad to find that you approve the establishment which we have here made for the retrieving of good manners and agreeable conversation, and shall use our best endeavours so to improve ourselves in this our summer retirement, that we may next winter serve as = patterns to the town. But to the end that this our institution may be no less advantageous to the public than to ourselves, we shall communicate to you one week of our proceedings, desiring you at the same time, if you see any thing faulty in them, to favour us with your admonitions: for you must know, sir, that it has been proposed amongst us to choose you for our visitor; to which I must farther add, that one of the college having declared last week he did not like the Spectator of the day, and not being able to assign any just reasons for such dislike, he was sent to the infirmary nemine contradicente.

'On Tuesday we were no sooner sat down, but one of the company complained that his head ached; upon which, another asked him in an insolent manner, what he did there then? This insensibly grew into some warm words; so that the president, in order to keep the peace, gave directions to take them both from the table, and lodge them in the infirmary. Not long after, another of the company telling us he knew, by a pain in his shoulder, that we should have some rain, the president ordered him to be removed, and placed at a weatherglass in the apartment above-mentioned.

'On Wednesday a gentleman having received a letter written in a woman's hand, and changing colour twice or thrice as he read it, desired leave to retire into the infirmary. The president consented, but denied him the use of pen, ink, and paper, till such time as he had slept upon it. One of the company being seated at the lower end of the table, and discovering his secret discontent, by finding fault with every dish that was served up, and refusing to laugh On Monday the assembly was in very at any thing that was said, the president good humour, having received some re- told him, that he found he was in an uncruits of French claret that morning; when, easy seat, and desired him to accommodate unluckily, towards the middle of the din- himself better in the infirmary. After dinner, one of the company swore at his ser-ner, a very honest fellow chanced to let a vant in a very rough manner for having put too much water in his wine. Upon which, the president of the day, who is always the mouth of the company, after having convinced him of the impertinence of his passion, and the insult he had made upon the company, ordered his man to take him VCL. II.

23

pun fall from him; his neighbour cried out, "To the infirmary;" at the same time pretending to be sick at it, as having the same natural antipathy to a pun which some have to a cat. This produced a long debate. Upon the whole, the punster was acquitted, and his neighbour sent off.

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