public places or make any visit where the character of a moderate wife is ridiculous. As for your wild raillery on matrimony, it is all hypocrisy; you, and all the handsome young women of your acquaintance, show yourselves to no other purpose than to gain a conquest over some man of worth, in order to bestow your charms and fortune on him. There is no indecency in the confession, the design is modest and honourable, and all your affectation cannot disguise it. 'I am married, and have no other concern but to please the man I love; he is the end of every care I have; if I dress, it is for him; if I read a poem, or a play, it is to qualify myself for a conversation agreeable to his taste: he is almost the end of my devotions; half my prayers are for his happiness-I love to talk of him, and never hear him named but with pleasure and emotion. I am your friend, and wish your happiness, but am sorry to see, by the air of your letter, that there are a set of women who are got into the common-place raillery of every thing that is sober, decent, and proper; matrimony and the clergy are the topics of people of little wit, and no understanding. I own to you I have learned of the vicar's wife all you tax me with. She is a discreet, ingenious, pleasant, pious woman; I wish she had the handling of you and Mrs. Modish; you would find, if you were too free with her, she would soon make you as charming as ever you were; she would make you blush as much as if you never had been fine ladies. The vicar, madam, is so kind as to visit my husband, and his agreeable conversation has brought him to enjoy many sober, happy hours, when even I am shut out, and my dear master is entertained only with his own thoughts. These things, dear madam, will be lasting satisfactions, when the fine ladies, and the coxcombs, by whom they form themselves, are irreparably ridiculous, ridiculous in old age. "I am, madam, your most humble servant, 'MARY HOME.' No. 255.] Saturday, December 22, 1711. Hor. Ep. 1. Lib. 1. ver. 36. It was necessary for the world, that arts should be invented and improved, books written and transmitted to posterity, nations conquered and civilized. Now since the proper and genuine motives to these, and the like great actions, would only influence virtuous minds: there would be but small improvements in the world, were there not some common principle of action working equally with all men. And such a principle is ambition, or a desire of fame, by which great endowments are not suffered to lie idle and useless to the public, and many vicious men are over-reached as it were, and engaged, contrary to their natural inclinations, in a glorious and laudable course of action. For we may farther ob serve, that men of the greatest abilities are most fired with ambition; and that on the contrary, mean and narrow minds are the least actuated by it: whether it be that a man's sense of his own incapacities makes him despair of coming at fame, or that he has not enough range of thought to look out for any good which does not more immediately relate to his interest or convenience; or, that Providence, in the very frame of his soul, would not subject him to such a passion as would be useless to the world, and a torment to himself. 'DEAR MR. SPECTATOR,-You have no goodness in the world, and are not in earnest in any thing you say that is serious, if you do not send me a plain answer to this. I happened some days past to be at the play, where during the time of performance, I could not keep my eyes off from a beautiful young creature who sat just before me, and who I have been since informed, has no fortune. It would utterly ruin my reputation for discretion to marry such a one, and by what I can learn she has Were not this desire of fame very strong; a character of great modesty, so that there the difficulty of obtaining it, and the danis nothing to be thought on any other way.ger of losing it when obtained, would be My mind has ever since been so wholly sufficient to deter a man from so vain a bent on her, that I am much in danger of pursuit. doing something very extravagant without your speedy advice to, sir, your most humble servant.' How few are there who are furnished with abilities sufficient to recommend their actions to the admiration of the world, and and as the world is more apt to find fault than to commend, the boast will probably be censured, when the great action that occasioned it is forgotten. Besides, this very desire of fame is looked on as a meanness and imperfection in the greatest character. A solid and substantial greatness of soul looks down, with a generous neglect, on the censures and applauses of the multitude, and places a man beyond the little noise and strife of tongues. Accordingly we find in ourselves a secret awe and veneration for the charac Nor to distinguish themselves from the rest of mankind? Providence for the most part sets us upon a level, and observes a kind of proportion in its dispensation towards us. If it renders us perfect in one accomplishment, it generally leaves us defective in another, and seems careful rather of preserving every person from being mean and deficient in his qualifications, than of making any single one eminent or extraordinary. Among those who are the most richly endowed by nature, and accomplished by their own industry, how few are there whose virtues are not obscured by the igno-ter of one who moves above us, in a regular rance, prejudice, or envy of their beholders! Some men cannot discern between a noble and a mean action. Others are apt to attribute them to some false end or intention; and others purposely misrepresent, or put a wrong interpretation on them. But the more to enforce this consideration, we may observe that those are generally most unsuccessful in their pursuit after fame, who are most desirous of obtaining it It is Sallust's remark upon Cato, that the less he coveted glory, the more he acquired it.* Men take an ill-natured pleasure in crossing our inclinations, and disappointing us in what our hearts are most set upon. When therefore, they have discovered the passionate desire of fame in the ambitious man, as no temper of mind is more apt to show itself) they become sparing and reserved in their commendations, they envy him the satisfaction of an applause, and look on their praises rather as a kindness done to his person, than as a tribute paid to his merit. Others who are free from this natural perverseness of temper, grow weary in their praises of one who sets too great a value on them, lest they should raise him too high in his own imagination, and by consequence remove him to a greater distance from themselves. But further, this desire of fame naturally betrays the ambitious man into such inde and illustrious course of virtue, without any Thus is fame a thing difficult to be obtained by all, but particularly by those who thirst after it, since most men have so much either of ill-nature, or of wariness, as not to gratify or sothe the vanity of the ambitious man; and since this very thirst after fame naturally betrays him into such indecencies as are a lessening to his reputation, and is itself looked upon as a weakness in the greatest characters. In the next place, fame is easily lost, and as difficult to be preserved as it was at first to be acquired. But this I shall make the subject of a following paper. C. Hesiod, cencies as are a lessening to his reputation. No. 256.] Monday, December 24, 1711. He is still afraid lest any of his actions should be thrown away in private, lest his deserts should be concealed from the notice of the world, or receive any disadvantage from the reports which others make of them. This often sets him on empty boasts and ostentations of himself, and betrays himn into vain fantastical recitals of his own performances. His discourse generally leans one way, and whatever is the subject of it, tends obliquely either to the detracting from others, or to the extolling of himself. Vanity is the natural weakness of an ambitious man, which exposes him to the secret scorn and derision of those he converses with, and ruins the character he is so industrious to advance by it. For though his actions are never so glorious, they lose their lustre when they are drawn at large, and set to show by his own hand; * Sal. Bel. Catil. c. 49. Φήμη γαρ τε κακη πέλεται κουφή μεν χειρών Ρεια μαλ', αργαλέη δε φερειν.Fame is an ill you may with ease obtain, A sad oppression to be borne with pain. THERE are many passions and tempers of mind which naturally dispose us to depress and vilify the merit of one rising in the esteem of mankind. All those who made their entrance into the world with the same advantages, and were once looked on as his equals, are apt to think the fame of his merits a reflection on their own deserts; and will therefore take care to reproach him with the scandal of some past action, or derogate from the worth of the present, that they may still keep him on the same level with themselves. The like kind of consideration often stirs up the envy of such as were once his superiors, who think it a detraction from their merit to see another get ground upon them, and over take them in the pursuits of glory; and will | cate motives there are to detraction and therefore endeavour to sink his reputation, defamation, and how many malicious spies that they may the better preserve their own. are searching into the actions of a great Those who were once his equals envy and man, who is not, always, the best prepared defame him, because they now see him for so narrow an inspection. For we may their superior; and those who were once generally observe that our admiration of a his superiors, because they look upon him famous man lessens upon our nearer acas their equal. quaintance with him: and that we seldom hear the description of a celebrated person, without a catalogue of some notorious weak have before observed, the same temper of mind which inclines us to a desire of fame, naturally betrays us into such slips and unwariness, as are not incident to men of a contrary disposition. After all it must be confessed, that u noble and triumphant merit often breaks through and dissipates these little spots and sullies in its reputation; but if by a mistaken pursuit after fame, or through human infirmity, any false step be made in the more momentous concerns of life, the whole scheme of ambitious designs is broken and disappointed. The smaller stains and blemishes may die away and disappear, amidst the brightness that surrounds them; but a blot of a deeper nature casts a shade on all the other beauties, and darkens the whole character. How difficult therefore is it to preserve a great name, when he that has acquired it is so obnoxious to such little weaknesses and infirmities as are no small diminution to it when discovered; especially when they are so industriously proclaimed, and aggravated by such as were once his superiors, or equals; by such as would set to show their judgment, or their wit, and by such as are guilty, or innocent, of the same slips or misconducts in their own behaviour! But farther, a man whose extraordinary reputation thus lifts him up to the notice and observation of mankind, draws a mul-nesses and infirmities. The reason may titude of eyes upon him, that will narrowly be, because any little slip is more conspiinspect every part of him, consider him cuous and observable in his conduct than in nicely in all views, and not be a little pleased, another's, as it is not of a piece with the when they have taken him in the worst rest of his character: or because it is imand most disadvantageous light. There possible for a man at the same time to be are many who find a pleasure in contradict-attentive to the more important part of his ing the common reports of fame, and in life, and to keep a watchful eye over all the spreading abroad the weaknesses of an ex- inconsiderable circumstances of his behaalted character. They publish their ill-viour and conversation; or because, as we natured discoveries with a secret pride, and applaud themselves for the singularity of their judgment, which has searched deeper than others, detected what the rest of the world have overlooked, and found a flaw in what the generality of mankind admires. Others there are who proclaim the errors and infirmities of a great man with an inward satisfaction and complacency, if they discover none of the like errors and infirmities in themselves; for while they are exposing another's weakness, they are tacitly aiming at their own commendations, who are not subject to the like infirmities, and are apt to be transported with a secret kind of vanity, to see themselves superior in some respects to one of a sublime and celebrated reputation. Nay, it very often happens, that none are more industrious in publishing the blemishes of an extraordinary reputation, than such as lie open to the same censures in their own characters, as either hoping to excuse their own defects by the authority of so high an example, or to raise an imaginary applause to themselves, for resembling a person of an exalted reputation, though in the blameable parts of his character. If all these secret springs of detraction fail, yet very often a vain ostentation of wit sets a man on attacking an established, name, and sacrificing it to the mirth and laughter of those about him. A satire or a libel on one of the common stamp never meets with that reception and approbation among its readers, as what is aimed at a person whose merit places him upon an eminence, and gives him a more conspicuous figure among men. Whether it be, that we think it shows greater art to expose and turn to ridicule a man whose character seems so improper a subject for it, or that we are pleased by some implicit kind of revenge, to see him taken down and humbled in his reputation, and in some measure reduced to our own rank, who had so far raised himself above us, in the reports and opinions of mankind. 'Thus we see how many dark and intri But were there none of these dispositions in others to censure a famous man, nor any such miscarriages in himself, yet would he meet with no small trouble in keeping up his reputation, in all its height and splendour. There must be always a noble train of actions to preserve his fame in life and motion. For when it is once at a stand, it naturally flags and languishes. Admiration is a very short-lived passion, that immediately decays upon growing familiar with its object, unless it be still fed with fresh discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual succession of miracles rising up to its view. And even the greatest actions of a celebrated person labour under this disadvantage, that however surprising and extraordinary they may be, they are no more than what are expected from him; but on the contrary, if they fall any thing below the opinion that is conceived of him, though they might raise the reputation of another, they are a diminution to his. One would think there should be something wonderfully pleasing in the possession of fame, that, notwithstanding all these mortifying considerations, can engage a man in so desperate a pursuit; and yet, if we consider the little happiness that attends a great character, and the multitude of disquietudes to which the desire of it subjects an ambitious mind, one would be still the more surprised to see so many restless candidates for glory. how will he be able to bear up under scandal and defamation? for the same temper of mind which makes him desire fame, makes him hate reproach. If he can be transported with the extraordinary praises of men, he will be as much dejected by their censures. How little therefore is the happiness of an ambitious man, who gives every one a dominion over it, who thus subjects himself to the good or ill speeches of others, and puts it in the power of every malicious tongue to throw him into a fit of melancholy, and destroy his natural rest and repose of mind; especially when we consider that the world is more apt to censure than applaud, and himself fuller of imperfections than virtues. We may further observe, that such a man will be more grieved for the loss of fame, than he could have been pleased with the enjoyment of it. For though the presence of this imaginary good cannot make us happy, the absence of it may make us miserable; because in the enjoyment of an object we only find that share of pleasure which it is capable of giving us, but in the loss of it we do not proportion our grief to the real value it bears, but to the value our fancies and imaginations set upon it. Ambition raises a secret tumult in the soul, it inflames the mind, and puts it into a violent hurry of thought. It is still reaching after an empty imaginary good, that has not in it the power to abate or satisfy it. Most other things we long for can allay the cravings of their proper sense, and for a while set the appetite at rest; but fame is a good so wholly foreign to our natures, that we have no faculty in the soul adapted to it, nor any organ in the body to relish it: an object of desire, placed out of the possibility of fruition. It may indeed fill the mind for a while with a giddy kind of pleasure, but it is such a pleasure as makes a man restless and uneasy under it; and So inconsiderable is the satisfaction that which does not so much satisfy the present fame brings along with it, and so great the thirst, as it excites fresh desires, and sets disquietudes to which it makes us liable. the soul on new enterprises. For how few The desire of it stirs up very uneasy moambitious men are there, who have got as tions in the mind, and is rather inflamed much fame as they desired, and whose than satisfied by the presence of the thing thirst after it has not been as eager in the desired. The enjoyment of it brings but very height of their reputation, as it was very little pleasure, though the loss or before they became known and eminent want of it be very sensible and afflicting; among men! There is not any circumstance and even this little happiness is so very in Cæsar's character which gives me a precarious, that it wholly depends upon greater idea of him, than a saying which the will of others. We are not only torCicero tells us he frequently made use of tured by the reproaches which are offered in private conversation, That he was satis- us, but are disappointed by the silence of fied with his share of life and fame." Se men when it is unexpected; and humbled satis vel ad naturam, vel ad gloriam vix- | even by their praises. isse.' Many indeed have given over their pursuits after fame, but that has proceeded No. 257.] either from the disappointments they have met in it, or from their experience of the little pleasure which attends it, or from the better informations or natural coldness of old age; but seldom from a full satisfaction and acquiescence in their present enjoyments of it. C. Tuesday, December 25, 1711. Ουχ εύδει Διος Incert. ex Stob. No slumber seals the eye of Providence, Present to every action we commence. THAT I might not lose myself upon a subject of so great extent as that of fame, I Nor is fame only unsatisfying in itself, have treated it in a particular order and but the desire of it lays us open to many ac- method. I have first of all considered the cidental troubles which those are free from, reasons why Providence may have implantwho have not such a tender regard for it. ed in our minds such a principle of actior.. How often is the ambitious man cast down I have in the next place shown from many and disappointed, if he receives no praise considerations, first, that fame is a thing where he expected it? Nay, how often is difficult to be obtained, and easily lost; sehe mortified with the very praises he re-condly, that it brings the ambitious man ceives, if they do not rise so high as he very little happiness, but subjects him to thinks they ought; which they seldom do, unless increased by flattery, since few men have so good an opinion of us as we have of ourselves? But if the ambitious man can be so much grieved even with praise itself, much uneasiness and dissatisfaction. I shall in the last place show, that it hinders us from obtaining an end which we have abilities to acquire, and which is accompanied with fulness of satisfaction. I need not tell my reader, that I mean by this | end, that happiness which is reserved for us in another world, which every one has abilities to procure, and which will bring along with itfulness of joy and pleasures for evermore.' How the pursuit after fame may hinder us in the attainment of this great end, I shall eave the reader to collect from the three following considerations: + First, Because the strong desire of fame breeds several vicious habits in the mind. Secondly, Because many of those actions, which are apt to procure fame, are not in their nature conducive to this our ultimate happiness. Thirdly, Because if we should allow the same actions to be the proper instruments, both of acquiring fame, and of procuring this happiness, they would nevertheless fail in the attainment of this last end, if they proceeded from a desire of the first. These three propositions are self-evident to those who are versed in speculations of morality. For which reason I shall not enlarge upon them, but proceed to a point of the same nature, which may open to us a more uncommon field of speculation. From what has been already observed, I think we may make a natural conclusion, that it is the greatest folly to seek the praise or approbation of any being, besides the Supreme, and that for these two reasons, because no other being can make a right judgment of us, and esteem us according to our merits; and because we can procure no considerable benefit or advantage from the esteem and approbation of any other being. Some sight, from whom no secrets are concealed. Again, there are many virtues which wan an opportunity of exerting and showing themselves in actions. Every virtue requires time and place, a proper object and a fit conjuncture of circumstances, for the due exercise of it. A state of poverty obscures all the virtues of liberality and munificence. The patience and fortitude of a martyr or confessor lie concealed in the flourishing times of Christianity. virtues are only seen in affliction, and some in prosperity; some in a private, and others in a public capacity. But the great Sovereign of the world beholds every perfec tion in its obscurity, and not only sees what we do, but what we would do. He views our behaviour in every concurrence of affairs, and sees us engaged in all the possibilities of action. He discovers the martyr and confessor without the trial of flames and tortures, and will hereafter entitle many to the reward of actions, which they had never the opportunity of performing. Another reason why men cannot form a right judgment of us is, because the same actions may be aimed at different ends, and arise from quite contrary principles. Actions are of so mixed a nature, and so full of circumstances, that as men pry into them more or less, or observe some parts more than others, they take different hints, and put contrary interpretations on them; so that the same actions may represent a man as hypocritical and designing to one, which make him appear a saint or a hero to another. He therefore whe looks upon the soul through its outward actions, often sees it through a deceitful medium, which is apt to discolour and pervert the object: so that on this account also, he is the only proper judge of our perfections, who does not guess at the sincerity of our intentions, from the goodness of our actions, but weighs the goodness of our actions by the sincerity of our intentions. In the first place, no other being can make a right judgment of us, and esteem us according to our merits. Created beings see nothing but our outside, and can therefore only frame a judgment of us from our exterior actions and behaviour; but how unfit these are to give us a right notion of each other's perfections, may appear from But further, it is impossible for outward several considerations. There are many actions to represent the perfections of the virtues which in their own nature are soul, because they can never show the incapable of any outward representation; strength of those principles from whence many silent perfections in the soul of a good they proceed. They are not adequate exman, which are great ornaments to human pressions of our virtues, and can only show nature, but not able to discover themselves us what habits are in the soul, without disto the knowledge of others; they are trans- covering the degree and perfection of such acted in private without noise or show, and habits. They are at best but weak resemare only visible to the great Searcher of blances of our intentions, faint and imper hearts. What actions can express the fect copies, that may acquaint us with the entire purity of thought which refines and general design, but can never express the sanctifies a virtuous man? That secret rest, beauty and life of the original. But the and contentedness of mind, which gives great Judge of all the earth knows every him a perfect enjoyment of his present con- different state and degree of human imdition? That inward pleasure and compla-provement, from those weak stirrings and cency which he feels in doing good? That delight and satisfaction, which he takes in the prosperity and happiness of another? These and the like virtues are the hidden beauties of a soul, the secret graces which cannot be discovered by a mortal eye, but make the soul lovely and precious in his tendencies of the will which have not yet formed themselves into regular purposes and designs, to the last entire finishing and consummation of a good habit. He beholds the first imperfect rudiments of a virtue in the soul, and keeps a watchful eye over it in all its progress, until it has received |