Nullum numen abest si sit prudentiaJuv. Sat. x. 365. Prudence supplies the want of every good. I HAVE often thought if the minds of men were laid open, we should see but little difference between that of the wise man and that of the fool. There are infinite reveries, numberless extravagances, and a perpetual train of vanities which pass through both. The great difference is, that the first knows how to pick and cull his thoughts for conversation, by suppressing some and communicating others; whereas the other lets them all indifferently fly out in words. This sort of discretion, however, has no place in private conversation between intimate friends. On such occasions the wisest men very often talk like the weakest: for indeed the talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud. had possessed himself of the Roman em- | No. 225.] Saturday, November 17, 1711 pire, his desires turned upon catching flies. Active and masculine spirits in the vigour of youth neither can nor ought to remain at rest. If they debar themselves from aiming at a noble object, their desires will move downwards, and they will feel themselves actuated by some low and abject passion. Thus, if you cut off the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer it to grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The man indeed who goes into the world only with the narrow views of self-interest, who catches at the applause of an idle multitude, as he can find no solid contentment at the end of his journey, so he deserves to meet with disappointments in his way: but he who is actuated by a nobler principle; whose mind is so far enlarged as to take in the prospect of his country's good; who is enamoured with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, and values not those acclamations which are not seconded by the impartial testimony of his own mind; who repines not at the low station which Providence has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly advance himself by justifiable means to a more rising and advantageous ground; such a man is warmed with a generous emulation; it is a virtuous movement in him to wish and to endeavour that his power of doing good may be equal to his will. The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent into the world with great abilities, is capable of doing great good or mischief in it. It ought therefore to be the care of education to infuse into the untainted youth early notices of justice and honour, that so the possible advantages of good parts may not take an evil turn, nor be perverted to base and unworthy purposes. It is the business of religion and philosophy not so much to extinguish our passions as to regulate and direct them to valuable wellchosen objects. When these have pointed out to us which course we may lawfully steer, it is no harm to set out all our sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the haven where we would be, it will however prove no small consolation to us in these circumstances, that we have neither mistaken our course, nor fallen into calamities of our own procuring. Religion therefore (were we to consider it no farther than as it interposes in the affairs of this life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great veneration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part, and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their effects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, correct love, and elegant desire. Z. Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept delivered by some ancient writers, that a man should live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend; and with his friend in such a manner, that if he became his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, which regards our behaviour towards an enemy is indeed very reasonable, as well as very prudential; but the latter part of it, which regards our behaviour towards a friend, savours more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of conversation with a bosom friend. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, and, as the son of Sirach calls him," bewrayer of secrets,** the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him. a Discretion does not only show itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action, and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life. There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice. Nor does discretion only make a man the master of his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe, that it is Eccles. vi. 9. xxvii. 17. the discreet man, not the witty, nor the | his thoughts to the end of every action, and learned, nor the brave, who guides the con- considers the most distant as well as the versation, and gives measures to the so- most immediate effects of it. He superciety. A man with great talents, but void sedes every little prospect of gain and adof discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fa- vantage which offers itself here, if he does ble, strong and blind, endued with an irre-not find it consistent with his views of an sistible force, which for want of sight is of no use to him. hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of immortality, his schemes are large and glorious, and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods. Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular station of life. At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds, Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them. Cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended views, and like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning is a kind of shortsightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who possesses it. Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of instinct, that only looks out after our Immediate interest and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understandings: cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same mannner as viva- No. 226.] Monday, November 19, 1711. city is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for wisdom. I have in this essay upon discretion, considered it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have therefore described it in its full extent; not only as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our whole existence; not only as it is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a reasonable being. It is in this light that discretion is represented by the wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the name of discretion, and sometimes under that of wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter part of this paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time in the power of every one to attain. Its advantages are infinite, but its acquisition easy; or to speak of her in the words of the apocryphal writer, whom I quoted in my last Saturday's paper,* Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that love her, and found of such as seek her. She preventeth them that desire her, in making herself first known unto them. He that seeketh her early, shall have no great travel: for he shall find her sitting at his doors. To think therefore upon her is the perfection of wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be without care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, showeth herself favourably unto them in the ways, and meeteth them in every thought.' C. a -Mutum est pictura poema. A picture is a poem without words. I HAVE Very often lamented and hinted The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, makes him look forward into futurity, and consider what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as my sorrow in several speculations, that the what it is at present. He knows that the art of painting is made so little use of to the When we misery or happiness which are reserved improvement of our manners. for him in another world, lose nothing of consider that it places the action of the their reality by being placed at so great person represented in the most agreeable distance from him. The objects do not aspect imaginable, that it does not only exappear little to him because they are re-him who is drawn, but has under those feapress the passion or concern as it sits upon mote. He considers that those pleasures tures the height of the painter's imagiand pains which lie hid in eternity, ap nation, what strong images of virtue and proach nearer to him every moment, and will be present with him in their full humanity might we not expect would be weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For this reason he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being. He carries a * Wisdom of Solomon, chap. vi. ver. 12-16. †This paper was written for the purpose of promoting subscription to Nicholas Dorigny's set of the Cartoons, which he had got the queen's permission to engrave. The king was so much pleased with the abilities of the artist, that he conferred the honour of knighthood on him. The whole work is an exercise of the highest piety in the painter; and all the touches of a religious mind are expressed in a manner much more forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving eloquence. These invaluable pieces are very justly in the hands of the greatest and most pious sovereign in the world, and cannot be the frequent object of every one at their own leisure: but as an engraver is to the painter what a printer is to the author, it is worthy her majesty's name that she has encouraged that noble artist Monsieur Dorigny, to publish these works of Raphael. We have of this gentleman a piece of the Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a work second to none in the world. instilled into the mind from the labours of | aspect. The figures of the eleven apostles the pencil? This is a poetry which would are all in the same passion of admiration, be understood with much less capacity, but discover it differently according to their and less expense of time, than what is character. Peter receives his master's taught by writings; but the use of it is gene-orders on his knees, with an admiration rally perverted, and that admirable skill mixed with a more particular attention: prostituted to the basest and most unwor- the two next with a more open ecstasy, thy ends. Who is the better man for be- though still constrained by an awe of the holding the most beautiful Venus, the best divine presence. The beloved disciple, wrought Bacchanal, the images of sleeping whom I take to be the right of the two first Cupids, languishing nymphs, or any of the figures, has in his countenance wonder representations of gods, goddesses, demi- drowned in love; and the last personage, gods, satyrs, Polyphemes, sphynxes, or whose back is towards the spectators, fawns? But if the virtues and vices, which and his side towards the presence, one are sometimes pretended to be represented would fancy to be St. Thomas as abashed under such draughts, were given us by the by the conscience of his former diffidence; painter in the characters of real life, and which perplexed concern it is possible the persons of men and women whose Raphael thought too hard a task to draw, actions have rendered them laudable or but by this acknowledgment of the diffiinfamous, we should not see a good history-culty to describe it. piece without receiving an instructive lecture. There needs no other proof of this truth, than the testimony of every reasonable creature who has seen the cartoons in her majesty's gallery at Hampton-court. These are representations of no less actions than those of our Blessed Saviour and his apostles. As I now sit and recollect the warm images which the admirable Raphael has raised, it is impossible even from the faint traces in one's memory of what one has not seen these two years, to be unmoved at the horror and reverence which appear in the whole assembly when the mercenary man fell down dead; at the amazement of the man born blind, when he first receives sight; or at the graceless indignation of the sorcerer, when he is struck blind. The Methinks it would be ridiculous in our lame when they first find strength in their people of condition, after their large bounfeet, stand doubtful of their new vigour.ties to foreigners of no name or merit, The heavenly apostles appear acting these great things with a deep sense of the infirmities which they relieve, but no value of themselves who administer to their weakness. They know themselves to be but instruments; and the generous distress they are painted in when divine honours are offered to them, is a representation in the most exquisite degree of the beauty of holiness. When St. Paul is preaching to the Athenians, with what wonderful art are almost all the different tempers of mankind represented in that elegant audience? You see one credulous of all that is said; another wrapt up in deep suspense; another saying, there is some reason in what he says; another angry that the apostle destroys a favourite opinion which he is unwilling to give up; another wholly convinced, and holding out his hands in rapture; while the generality attend, and wait for the opinion of those who are of leading characters in the assembly. I will not pretend so much as to mention that chart on which is drawn the appearance of our blessed Lord after his resurrection. Present authority, late sufferings, humility and majesty, despotic command, and divine love, are at once seated in his celestial should they overlook this occasion of having for a trifling subscription, a work which it is impossible for a man of sense to behold, without being warmed with the noblest sentiments that can be inspired by love, admiration, compassion, contempt of this world, and expectation of a better. It is certainly the greatest honour we can do our country, to distinguish strangers of merit who apply to us with modesty and diffidence which generally accompanies merit. No opportunity of this kind ought to be neglected; and a modest behaviour should alarm us to examine whether we do not lose something excellent under that disadvantage in the possessor of that quality. My skill in paintings, where one is not directed by the passion of the pictures, is so inconsiderable, that I am in very great perplexity when I offer to speak of any performances of painters of landscapes, buildings, or single figures. This makes me at a loss how to mention the pieces which Mr. Boul exposes to sale by auction on Wednesday next in Chandos Street: but having heard him commended by those who have bought of him heretofore, for great integrity in his dealing, and overheard him himself (though a laudable painter) say, nothing of his own was fit to come into the room with those he had to sell, I feared I should lose an occasion of serving a man of worth, in omitting to No. 227.] Tuesday, November 20, 1711. η μου εγώ, τι παθω; τι οδυσσοος; ουχ υπακουεις ; Theocr. Idyl. iii. 2. Wretch that I am! ah, whither shall I go? Will you not hear me, nor regard my woe? I'll strip, and throw me from yon rock so high, Where Olpis sits to watch the scaly fry. Should I be drown'd, or 'scape with life away, If cur'd of love, you, tyrant, would be gay.-P. IN my last Thursday's paper, I made mention of a place called the Lover's Leap, which I find has raised a great curiosity among several of my correspondents. I there told them that this leap was used to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. This Leucas was formerly a part of Acarnania, being joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which the sea has by length of time overflowed and washed away; so that at present Leucas is divided from the continent, and is a little island in the Ionian Sea. The promontory of this island, from whence the lover took his leap, was formerly called Leucate. If the reader has a mind to know both the island and the promontory by their modern titles, he will find in his map the ancient island of Leucas under the name of St. Mauro, and the ancient promontory of Leucate under the name of the Cape of St. Mauro. + Since I am engaged thus far in antiquity, I must observe that Theocritus in the motto 'MR. SPECTATOR,-The lover's leap which you mention in your 223d paper, was generally, I believe, a very effectual cure for evils. In short, sir, I am afraid it was such the wonders which ancient authors re- 'ESCULAPIUS.' 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a young woman prefixed to my paper, describes one of his crossed in love. My story is very long and despairing shepherds addressing himself to melancholy. To give you the heads of it, his mistress after the following manner: a young gentleman, after having made his Alas! what will become of me? Wretch applications to me for three years together, that I am! Will you not hear me? I'll and filled my head with a thousand dreams throw off my clothes and take a leap into of happiness, some few days since married that part of the sea which is so much fre- another. Pray tell me in what part of the quented by Olpis the fisherman. And though the Lover's Leap, and whether one may go world your promontory lies, which you call I should escape with my life, I know you will be pleased with it. I shall leave it to it by land? But, alas! I am afraid it with the critics to determine whether the has lost its virtue, and that a woman of our place, which this shepherd so particularly times would find no more relief in taking points out, was not the above-mentioned such a leap, than in singing a hymn to Venus. So that I must cry out with Dido, in Leucate, or at least some other lover's leap, which was supposed to have had the same ef- Dryden's Virgil: fect. I cannot believe, as all the interpreters do, that the shepherd means nothing farther here than that he would drown himself, since he represents the issue of his leap as doubtful, by adding, that if he should escape with MISTER SPICTATUR,-My heart is so full his life, he knows his mistress would be of lofes and passions for Mrs. Gwinifrid, pleased with it: which is, according to our and she is so pettish and overrun with interpretation, that she would rejoice any cholers against me, that if I had the good way to get rid of a lover who was so trouble-happiness to have my dwelling (which is placed by my crete-cranfather some to her. the pottom of an hill) no farther distance but twenty mile from the Lofer's Leap, I would indeed endeafour to preak my neck upon it on purpose. Now, good Mr. Spictatur After this short preface, I shall present my reader with some letters which I have received upon this subject. The first is sent me by a physician. Ah! cruel heav'n, that made no cure for love! upon of Crete Pritain, you must know it, there | tances. Of this make is that man who is is in Caernarvonshire a very pig mountain, the clory of all Wales, which is named Penmainmaure, and you must also know, it is no crete journey on foot from me; but the road is stony and bad for shooes. Now, there is upon the forehead of this mountain a very high rock, (like a parish steeple) that cometh a huge deal over the sea; so when I am in my melancholies, and I do throw myself from it, I do tesire my fery good friend to tell me in his Spictatur, if I shall be cure of my griefous lofes; for there is the sea clear as class, and as creen as the leek. Then likewise if I be drown and preak my neck, if Mrs. Gwinifrid will not lofe me afterwards. Pray be speedy in your answers, for I am in crete haste, and it is my tesires to do my business without loss of time. I remain with cordial affections, your ever lofing friend, · DAVYTÍ AP SHENKYN. P. S. My law-suits have prought me to London, put I have lost my causes; and so have made my resolutions to go down and leap before the frosts begin; for I am apt to take colds.' very inquisitive. You may often observe, that though he speaks as good sense as any man upon any thing with which he is well acquainted, he cannot trust to the range of his own fancy to entertain himself upon that foundation, but goes on still to new inquiries. Thus, though you know he is fit for the most polite conversation, you shall see him very well contented to sit by a jockey, giving an account of the many revolutions in his horse's health, what potion he made him take, how that agreed with him, how afterwards he came to his stomach and his exercise, or any the like impertinence; and be as well pleased as if you talked to him on the most important truths. This humour is far from making a man unhappy, though it may subject him to raillery; for he generally falls in with a person who seems to be born for him, which is your talkative fellow. It is so ordered, that there is a secret bent, as natural as the meeting of different sexes, in these two characters, to supply each other's wants. I had the honour the other day to sit in a public room, and saw an inquisitive man look with an air of satisRidicule, perhaps, is a better expedient talkers. The man of ready utterance sat faction upon the approach of one of these against love than sober advice, and I am of down by him, and rubbing his head, leaning opinion, that Hudibras and Don Quixote on his arm, and making an uneasy countemay be as effectual to cure the extrava-nance, he began; There is no manner of gances of this passion, as any of the old phiLosophers. I shall therefore publish very speedily the translation of a little Greek manuscript, which is sent me by a learned friend. It appears to have been a piece of those records which were kept in the temple of Apollo, that stood upon the promontory of Leucate. The reader will find it to be a summary account of several persons who tried the lover's leap, and of the success they found in it. As there seem to be in it some anachronisms, and deviations from the ancient orthography, I am not wholly satisfied myself that it is authentic, and not rather the production of one of those Grecian sophisters, who have imposed upon the world several spurious works of this nature. I speak this by way of precaution, because I know there are several writers of uncommon erudition, who would not fail to expose my ignorance, if they caught me tripping in a matter of so great moment. C. news to-day. I cannot tell what is the matter with me, but I slept very ill last night; whether I caught cold or no, I know not, but I fancy I do not wear shoes thick enough for the weather, and I have coughed all this week. It must be so, for the custom of washing my head winter and summer with cold water, prevents any injury from the season entering that way: so it must it: as it comes so it goes. Most of our evils come in at my feet; but I take no notice of proceed from too much tenderness; and our faces are naturally as little able to resist the cold as other parts. The Indian answered very well to an European, who asked him how he could go naked, "I am all face." I observed this discourse was as welcome to my general inquirer as any other of more consequence could have been; but somebody calling our talker to another part of the room, the inquirer told the next man who sat by him, that Mr. Such-a-one, who was just gone from him, used to wash his head in cold water every morning; and so repeated almost verbatim all that had been said to No. 228.] Wednesday, November 21, 1711. him. The truth is, the inquisitive are the Percunctatorum fugito, nam garrulus idem est. Th' inquisitive will blab; from such refrain; THERE is a creature who has all the organs of speech, a tolerable good capacity for conceiving what is said to it, together with a pretty proper behaviour in all the occurrences of common life; but naturally very vacant of thought in itself, and there fore forced to apply itself to foreign assis funnels of conversation: they do not take in any thing for their own use, but merely to pass it to another. They are the channels through which all the good and evil that is spoken in town are conveyed. Such as are offended at them, or think they suffer by their behaviour, may themselves mend that inconvenience; for they are not a malicious people, and if you will supply them, you may contradict any thing they have said before by their own mouths. A farther ac |