only as they contribute to the exerting | who forced the trenches at Turin: but in those virtues. Such a man, if he is wise or general I can say, that he who beholds him valiant, knows it is of no consideration to will easily expect from him any thing that other men that he is so, but as he employs is to be imagined, or executed, by the wit those high talents for their use and service, or force of man. The prince is of that He who affects the applauses and addresses stature which makes a man most easily beof a multitude, or assumes to himself a come all parts of exercise; has height to be preeminence upon any other consideration, graceful on occasions of state and ceremomust soon turn admiration into contempt. ny, and no less adapted for agility and deIt is certain that there can be no merit in spatch: his aspect is erect and composed: any man who is not conscious of it; but the his eye lively and thoughtful, yet rather sense that it is valuable only according to vigilant than sparkling; his action and adthe application of it, makes that superi- dress the most easy imaginable, and his be ority amiable, which would otherwise behaviour in an assembly peculiarly graceful invidious. In this light it is considered as a thing in which every man bears a share. It annexes the ideas of dignity, power, and fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is possessor of it; and all men who are strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a curiosity in beholding the person, behaviour, feature, and shape of him in whose character, perhaps, each man had formed something in common with himself. in a certain art of mixing insensibly with the rest, and becoming one of the company, instead of receiving the courtship of it. The shape of his person, and composure of his limbs, are remarkably exact and beau tiful. There is in his looks something sublime, which does not seem to arise from his quality or character, but the innate disposition of his mind. It is apparent that he suffers the presence of much company, instead of taking delight in it: and he appeared in public, while with us, rather to return good-will, or satisfy curiosity, than to gratify any taste he himself had of being popular. As his thoughts are never tumul Whether such, or any other, are the causes, all men have a yearning curiosity to behold a man of heroic worth. I have had many letters from all parts of this kingdom, that request I would give them an exact ac-tuous in danger, they are as little discomcount of the stature, the mien, the aspect of posed on occasions of pomp and magnifithe prince who lately visited England, and cence. A great soul is affected, in either has done such wonders for the liberty of case, no further than in considering the Europe. It would puzzle the most curious properest methods to extricate itself from to form to himself the sort of man my seve-them. If this hero has the strong incentives ral correspondents expect to hear of by the to uncommon enterprises that were reaction mentioned, when they desire à de-markable in Alexander, he prosecutes and scription of him. There is always something that concerns themselves, and growing out of their own circumstances, in all their inquiries. A friend of mine in Wales beseeches me to be very exact in my account of that wonderful man who had marched an army and all its baggage over the Alps; and if possible, to learn whether the peasant who showed him the way, and is drawn in the map, be yet living. A gentleman from the university, who is deeply intent on the study of humanity, desires me to be as particular, if I had an opportunity, in observing the whole interview between his highness and our late general. Thus do men's fancies work according to their several educations and circumstances; but all pay a respect, mixed with admiration, to this illustrious character. I have waited for his arrival in Holland, before I would let my correspondents know that I have not been so uncurious a Spectator as not to have seen prince Eugene.* It would be very difficult, as I said just now, to answer every expectation of those who have written to me on that head; nor is it possible for me to find words to let one know what an artful glance there is in his countenance who surprised Cremona; how daring he appears *He stood godfather to Steele's second son, who was named Eugene after this prince. enjoys the fame of them with the justness, propriety, and good sense of Cæsar. It is easy to observe in him a mind as capable of being entertained with contemplation as enterprise; a mind ready for great exploits, but not impatient for occasions to exert itself. The prince has wisdom and valour in as high perfection as man can enjoy it; which noble faculties, in conjunction, banish all vain-glory, ostentation, ambition, and all other vices which might intrude upor his mind, to make it unequal. These habits and qualities of soul and body render his personage so extraordinary, that he appears to have nothing in him but what every man should have in him, the exertion of his very self, abstracted from the circumstances in which fortune has placed him. Thus, were you to see prince Eugene, and were told he was a private gentleman, you would say he is a man of modesty and merit. Should you be told that was prince Eugene, he would be diminished no otherwise, than that part of your distant admiration would turn into a familiar good-will. This I thought fit to entertain my reader with, concerning a hero who never was equalled but by one man:† over whom also †The duke of Marlborough, who was disgraced abou this time. he has this advantage, that he has had an No. 341.] Tuesday, April 1, 1712. Dryden. HAVING, to oblige my correspondent Physibulus, printed his letter last Friday, in relation to the new epilogue, he cannot take it amiss if I now publish another, which I have just received from a gentleman who does not agree with him in his sentiments upon that matter. •SIR,—I am amazed to find an epilogue attacked in your last Friday's paper, which has been so generally applauded by the town, and received such honours as were never before given to any in an English theatre. The audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the stage the first night till she had repeated it twice; the second night the noise of ancora was as loud as before, and she was obliged again to speak it twice: the third night it was still called for a second time; and, in short, contrary to all other epilogues, which are dropped after the third representation of the play, this has already been repeated nine times. I must own, I am the more surprised to find this censure in opposition to the whole town, in a paper which has hitherto been famous for the candour of its criticisms. 'I might further justify this practice by that excellent epilogue which was spoken, a few years since, after the tragedy of Phædra and Hippolytus;* with a great many others, in which the authors have endeavoured to make the audience merry. If they have not all succeeded so well as the writer of this, they have however shown that it was not for the want of good-will. 'I must further observe, that the gaiety at the end of a French play; since every of it may be still the more proper, as it is esteemed to have as polite a taste as any one knows that nation, who are generally in Europe, always close their tragic entertainment with what they call a petite piece, which is purposely designed to raise mirth, and send away the audience well pleased. The same person who has supported the chief character in the tragedy very often plays the principal part in the petite piece; so that I have myself seen, at Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same night by the same man. self in a former speculation, found fault with Tragi-comedy, indeed, you have yourvery justly, because it breaks the tide of the passions while they are yet flowing; but this is nothing at all to the present case, where they have already had their full course. I can by no means allow your melan-ably to the practice of our best poets, so it As the new epilogue is written conformcholy correspondent, that the new epilogue is not such a one, which, as the duke of is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that Buckingham says in his Rehearsal, might the prologue and epilogue were real parts out of the occurrences of the piece it was serve for any other play; but wholly rises of the ancient tragedy; but every one knows, that, on the British stage, they are composed for. distinct performances by themselves, pieces entirely detached from the play, and no way essential to it. a The moment the play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache but Mrs. Oldfield; and though the poet had left Andromache stone-dead upon the stage, as your ingenious correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoken a merry epilogue. We have an instance of this in a tragedy where there is not only death, but a martyrdom. St. Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwin; she lies stone-dead upon the stage, but upon those gentlemen's offering to remove her body, whose business it is to carry off the slain in our English tragedies, she breaks out into that abrupt beginning of what was a very ludicrous, but at the same time thought a very good epilogue: 'Hold! are you mad? you damn'd confounded dog, I am to rise and speak the epilogue.' spondent gives against this facetious epi'The only reason your mournful corre logue, as he calls it, is, that he has a mind to go home melancholy. I wish the gentleFor my own part, I must confess, I think man may not be more grave than wise. it very sufficient to have the anguish of a fictitious piece remain upon me while it is representing; but I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physibulus is, not to have his tears dried up, he need only however, resolved to be inconsolable, and continue his old custom, and when he has out before the epilogue begins. had his half-crown's worth of sorrow, slink What cal genius complaining of the great_mis- * Mr. Edmund Neal, alias Smith, 8vo. 1707. Addison wrote a prologue to this play to ridicule the Italian "This diverting manner was always prac-operas. The epilogue was written by Prior. death. He tells us soon after, through a small mistake of sorrow for rage, that during the whole action he was so very sorry, that he thinks he could have attacked half a score of the fiercest Mohocks in the excess of his grief. I cannot but look upon it as an unhappy accident, that a man who is so bloody-minded in his affliction was diverted from this fit of outrageous melancholy. The valour of this gentleman in his distress brings to one's memory the Knight of the sorrowful Countenance, who lays about him at such an unmerciful rate in an old romance. I shall readily grant him that his soul, as he himself says, would have made a very ridiculous figure, had it quitted the body, and descended to the poetical shades, in such an encounter. arose very much from the circumstances of my own life, who am a soldier, and expect every day to receive orders, which will oblige me to leave behind me a wife that is very dear to me, and that very deservedly. She is at present, I am sure, no way below your Asteria for conjugal affection: but I see the behaviour of some women so little suited to the circumstances wherein my wife and I shall soon be, that it is with a reluctance, I never knew before, I am going to my duty. What puts me to present pain is the example of a young lady, whose story you shall have as well as I can give it you. Hortensius, an officer of good rank in his majesty's_service, happened, in a certain part of England, to be brought to a country gentleman's house, where he was received with that more than ordinary welcome with which men of domestic lives entertain such few soldiers whom a military life, from the vasud-riety of adventures, has not rendered overbearing, but humane, easy, and agreeable. Hortensius staid here some time, and had easy access at all hours, as well as unavoidable conversation, at some parts of the day, with the beautiful Sylvana, the gentleman's daughter. People who live in cities are wonderfully struck with every little country abode they see when they take the air; and it is natural to fancy they could live in every neat cottage (by which they pass) 'He fetches his next thought from Ty-much happier than in their present cirburn: and seems very apprehensive lest there should happen any innovations in the tragedies of his friend Paul Lorrain. 'As to his conceit of tacking a tragic head with a comic tail, in order to refresh the audience, it is such a piece of jargon, that I do not know what to make of it. The elegant writer makes a very den transition from the playhouse to the church, and from thence to the gallows. 'As for what relates to the church, he is of opinion that these epilogues have given occasion to those merry jigs from the organloft, which have dissipated those good thoughts and dispositions he has found in himself, and the rest of the pew, upon the singing of two staves culled out by the judicious and diligent clerk. In the mean time, sir, this gloomy writer, who is so mightily scandalized at a gay epilogue after a serious play, speaking of the fate of those unhappy wretches who are condemned to suffer an ignominious death by the justice of our laws, endeavours to make the reader merry on so improper an occasion, by those poor burlesque expressions of tragical dramas and monthly performances. I am, sir, with great respect, your most obedient, most humble servant, PHILOMEDES.’ X. cumstances. The turbulent way of life which Hortensius was used to, made him reflect with much satisfaction on all the advantages of a sweet retreat one day; and, among the rest, you will think it not improbable it might enter into his thought, that such a woman as Sylvana would consummate the happiness. The world is so debauched with mean considerations, that Hortensius knew it would be received as an act of generosity, if he asked for a woman of the highest merit, without further questions, of a parent who had nothing to add to her personal qualifications. The wedding was celebrated at her father's house. When that was over, the generous husband did not proportion his provision for her to the circumstances of her fortune, but considered his wife as his darling, his pride, and his vanity; or, rather, that it was in the woman he had chosen that a man of sense could show pride or vanity with an excuse, and therefore adorned her with rich habits and valuable jewels. He did not, however, omit to admonish her, that he did his very utmost in this; that it was an ostentation he could not be guilty of but to a woman he had so much pleasure in, desiring her to consider it as such; and begged of her also to take these matters rightly, and believe the gems, the gowns, the laces, would still become her better, if her air and behaviour was such, that it might appear she dressed thus rather in compliance to his humour that way, than out of any value she herself had for the tri- | addition to what is truly commendable fles. To this lesson, too hard for a woman, Hortensius added, that she must be sure to stay with her friends in the country till his return. As soon as Hortensius departed, Sylvana saw in her looking-glass, that the love he conceived for her was wholly owing to the accident of seeing her; and she was convinced it was only her misfortune the rest of mankind had not beheld her, or men of much greater quality and merit had contended for one so genteel, though bred in obscurity; so very witty, though never acquainted with court or town. She therefore resolved not to hide so much excellence from the world; but, without any regard to the absence of the most generous man alive, she is now the gayest lady about this town, and has shut out the thoughts of her husband, by a constant retinue of the vainest young fellows this age has produced; to entertain whom, she squanders away all Hortensius is able to supply her with, though that supply is purchased with No. 343.] Thursday, April 3, 1712. no less difficulty than the hazard of his life." where can this end, but as it frequently does, in their placing all their industry, pleasure, and ambition, on things which will naturally make the gratifications of life last, at best, no longer than youth and good fortune? When we consider the least ill consequence, it can be no less than looking on their own condition, as years advance, with a disrelish of life, and falling into contempt of their own persons, or being the derision of others: But when they con-sider themselves as they ought, no other than an additional part of the species (for their own happiness and comfort, as well as that of those for whom they were born,) their ambition to excel will be directed accordingly; and they will in no part of their lives want opportunities of being shining ornaments to their fathers, husbands, brothers, or children. T. 'Now, Mr. Spectator, would it not be a work becoming your office, to treat this criminal as she deserves? You should give it the severest reflections you can. You should tell women, that they are more accountable for behaviour in absence, than after death. The dead are not dishonoured by their levities; the living may return, and be laughed at by empty fops, who will not fail to turn into ridicule the good man, who is so unseasonable as to be still alive, and come and spoil good company. I am, sir, your most obedient humble servant.' -Errat, et illinc Huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus Ovid. Met. Lib. xv. 165. Dryden. WILL HONEYCOMB, who loves to show upon occasion all the little learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at the club, that he thought there might be a great deal said for the transmigration of souls; and that the eastern parts of the world believed in that doctrine to this day. Sir All strictness of behaviour is so unmerci- Paul Rycaut,' says he, gives us an account fully laughed at in our age, that the other of several well-disposed Mahometans that much worse extreme is the more common purchase the freedom of any little bird they folly. But let any woman consider, which see confined to a cage, and think they merit of the two offences a husband would the as much by it as we should do here by ranmore easily forgive, that of being less en- soming any of our countrymen from their tertaining than she could to please compa- captivity at Algiers. You must know,' says ny, or raising the desires of the whole room Will, the reason is, because they consider to his disadvantage; and she will easily be every animal as a brother or sister in disable to form her conduct. We have indeed guise; and therefore think themselves oblicarried women's characters too much into ged to extend their charity to them, though public life, and you shall see them now-a-under such mean circumstances. They'll days affect a sort of fame: but I cannot help venturing to disoblige them for their service, by telling them, that the utmost of a woman's character is contained in domestic life; she is blameable or praiseworthy according as her carriage.affects the house of As I was wondering what this profusion her father or her husband. All she has to of learning would end in, Will told us, that do in this world, is contained within the Jack Freelove, who was a fellow of whim, duties of a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a made love to one of those ladies who throw mother, All these may be well performed, away all their fondness on parrots, monkeys, though a lady should not be the very finest and lap-dogs. Upon going to pay her a visit woman at an opera or an assembly. They one morning, he writ a very pretty epistle are likewise consistent with a moderate share of wit, a plain dress, and a modest air. But when the very brains of the sex are turned, and they place their ambition on circumstances, wherein to excel is no tell you,' says Will, that the soul of a man, when he dies, immediately passes into the body of another man, or of some brute, which he resembled in his humour, or his fortune, when he was one of us. upon this hint. Jack,' says he, was conducted into the parlour, where he diverted himself for some time with her favourite monkey, which was chained in one of the windows; till at length observing a pen and ink lie by him, he writ the following letter to his mistress in the person of the monkey, and upon her not coming down so soon as he expected, left it in the window, and went about his business. The lady soon after coming into the parlour and seeing her monkey look upon a paper with great earnestness, took it up, and to this day is in some doubt,' says Will, whether it was written by Jack or the monkey.' cessful in two or three chases, he gave me such a confounded gripe in his anger that I died of it. 'My soul then entered into a flying-fish, and in that state led a most melancholy life for the space of six years. Several fishes of prey pursued me when I was in the water; and if I betook myself to my wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English ships, I observed a huge sea-gull whetting his bill, and hovering just over my head; upon my dipping into the water to avoid him, I fell into the mouth of a monstrous shark, that swallowed me down in an instant. In my next transmigration, I was again set upon two legs, and became an Indian tax-gatherer; but having been guilty of great extravagances, and being married to an expensive jade of a wife, I ran so cursedly in debt, that I durst not show my head. I could no sooner step out of my house but I was arrested by somebody or other that lay in wait for me. As I ventured abroad one 'MADAM,-Not having the gift of speech, night in the dusk of the evening, I was taken have a long time waited in vain for an op-up and hurried into a dungeon, where I died portunity of making myself known to you; a few months after. and having at present the convenience of pen, ink, and paper, by me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my history in writing, which I could not do by word of mouth. You must know, madam, that about a thousand years ago I was an Indian brachman, and versed in all those mysterious secrets which your European philosopher, called Pythagoras, is said to have learned from our fraternity. I had so ingratiated myself, by my great skill in the occult sciences, with a demon whom I used to converse with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask of him. I desired that my soul might never pass into the body of a brute creature; but this, he told me, was not in his power to grant me. I then begged, that, into whatever creature I should chance to transmigrate, I should still retain my memory, and be conscious that I was the same person who lived in different animals. This, he told me, was in his power, and accordingly promised, on the word of a demon, that he would grant me what I desired. From that time forth, I lived so unblameably, that I was made president of a college of brachmans, an office which I discharged with great integrity until the day of my death. 'I was some years afterwards, to my great surprise, an eminent banker in Iom bard street; and, remembering how I had formerly suffered for want of money, became so very sordid and avaricious, that the whole town cried shame of me. I was a miserable little old fellow to look upon; for I nad in a manner starved myself, and was nothing but skin and bone when I died. 'I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find myself dwindled into an emmet. I was heartily concerned to make so insignificant a figure, and did not know but some time or other I might be reduced to a mi :e, if I did not mend my manners. I therefore applied myself with great diligence to the offices that were allotted to me, and was generally looked upon as the notaplest ant in the whole mole-hill. I was at last picked up as I was groaning under a burden, by an unlucky cock-sparrow, that lived in the neighbourhood, and had before made great depredations upon our commonwealth. I was then shuffled into another human body, and acted my part so well in it, that I became first minister to a prince who reigned upon the banks of the Ganges. I here lived in great honour for several years, but by degrees lost all the innocence of the brachman, being obliged to rifle and oppress the people to enrich my sovereign; till at length I became so odious, that my 'I then bettered my condition a little, and master, to recover his credit with his sub-lived a whole summer in the shape of a jects, shot me through the heart with an bee; but being tired with the painful and arrow, as I was one day addressing myself penurious life I had undergone in my two to him at the head of his army. last transmigrations, I fell into the other extreme, and turned drone. As I one day headed a party to plunder a hive, we were received so warmly by the swarm which defended it, that we were most of us left dead upon the spot. 6 Upon my next remove, I found myself in the woods under the shape of a jackal, and soon listed myself in the service of a lion. I used to yelp near his den about midnight, which was his time of rousing and seeking after prey. He always followed me in the rear, and when I had run down a fat buck, a wild goat, or a hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a bone that was but half-picked, for my encouragement; but, upon my being unsuc 'I might tell you of many other transmigrations which I went through: how I was a town-rake, and afterwards did penance in a bay gelding for ten years; as also how I was a tailor, a shrimp, and a tom-tit. In the last of these my shapes, I was shot in the Christmas holidays by a young jacka |