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young monarch's heart was by such con- grace? Who ever thought himself mean versation easily deluded into a fondness for in absolute power, till he had learned to vain-glory, and upon these unjust princi- use it? ples to form or fall in with suitable projects If we consider this wonderful person, it of invasion, rapine, murder, and all the is perplexity to know where to begin his guilts that attend war when it is unjust. encomium. 'Others may, in a metaphoriAt the same time this tyranny was laid, cal or philosophical sense, be said to comsciences and arts were encouraged in the mand themselves, but this emperor is also most generous manner, as if men of higher literally under his own command. How faculties were to be bribed to permit the generous and how good was his entering massacre of the rest of the world. Every his own name as a private man in the army superstructure which the court of France he raised, that none in it might expect to built upon their first designs, which were outrun the steps with which he himself adin themselves vicious, was suitable to its vanced! By such measures this godlike false foundation. The ostentation of riches, prince learned to conquer, learned to use the vanity of equipage, shame of poverty, his conquests. How terrible has he ap. and ignorance of modesty, were the com- peared in battle, how gentle in victory! mon arts of life: the generous love of one Shall then the base arts of the Frenchman woman was changed into gallantry for all be held polite, and the honest labours of the sex, and friendship among men turned the Russian barbarous? No: barbarity is into commerce of interest, or mere profes- the ignorance of true honour, or placing sions. . While these were the rules of life, any thing instead of it. The unjust prince perjuries in the prince, and a general cor is ignoble and barbarous, the good prince ruption of manners in the subject, were the only renowned and glorious. snares in which France has entangled all Though men may impose upon themher neighbours.' With such false colours selves what they please by their corrupt have the eyes of Lewis been enchanted, imaginations, truth will ever keep its stafrom the debauchery of his early youth, to tion; and as glory is nothing else but the the superstition of his present old age. shadow of virtue, it will certainly disapHence it is, that he has the patience to pear at the departure of virtue. But how have statues erected to his prowess, his carefully ought the true notions of it to be valour, his fortitude, and in the softness preserved, and how industrious should we and luxury of a court to be applauded for be to encourage any impulses towards it! magnanimity and enterprise in military The Westminster school-boy that said the achievements.

other day he could not sleep or play for Peter Alexovitz of Russia, when he the colours in the hall,* ought to be free came to years of manhood, though he from receiving a blow for ever. found himself emperor of a vast and nu But let us consider what is truly glorious merous people, master of an endless terri- according to the author I have to-day tory, absolute commander of the lives and quoted in the front of my paper. fortunes of his subjects, in the midst of this The perfection of glory, says Tully, conunbounded power and greatness, turned his sists in these three particulars; “That the thoughts upon himself and people with sor- people love us; that they have confidence row. Sordid ignorance and a brute manner in us; that being affected with a certain of life, this generous prince beheld and con- admiration towards us, they think we detemned, from the light of his own genius. serve honour.' This was spoken of greatHis judgment suggested this to him, and his ness in a commonwealth. But if one were courage prompted him to amend it. In to form a notion of consummate glory order to this, he did not send to the nation under our constitution, one must add to the from whence the rest of the world has bor- above-mentioned felicities a certain necesrowed its politeness, but himself left his sary in existence, and disrelish of all the diadem to learn the true way to glory and rest, without the prince's favour. He honour, and application to useful arts, should, methinks, have riches, power, howherein to employ the laborious, the sim- nour, command, and glory; but riches, ple, the honest part of his people. Me- power, honour, command, and glory, chanic employments and operations were should have no charms, but as accompavery justly the first objects of his favour nied with the affection of his prince. He and observation. With this glorious in- should, methinks, be popular because a tention he travelled into foreign nations in favourite, and a favourite because popular. an obscure manner, above receiving little Were it not to make the character too honours where he sojourned, but prying imaginary, I would give him sovereignty into what was of more consequence, their over some foreign territory, and make him arts of peace and of war. By this means has esteem that an empty addition without the this great prince laid the foundation of a kind regards of his own prince. One may great and lasting fame, by personal labour, merely have an idea of a man thus compersonal knowledge, personal valour. It would be injury to any of antiquity to name

* The colours taken by the Duke of Marlborough at them with him. Who, but himself, ever after having been carried in procession through the

Blenheim, in 1704, were fixed up in Westminster-hall left a throne to learn to sit in it with more city.

posed and circumstantiated, and if he were wish you would take some other opportuso made for power without a capacity of nity to express further the corrupt taste giving jealousy, he would be also glorious the age has run into; which I am chiefly without the possibility of receiving dis- apt to attribute to the prevalency of a few grace. This humility and this importance popular authors, whose merit in some remust make his glory immortal.

spects has given a sanction to their faults These thoughts are apt to draw me be- in others. Thus the imitators of Milton yond the usual length of this paper; but if seem to place all the excellency of that sort I could suppose such rhapsodies could out- of writing either in the uncouth or antique live the common fate of ordinary things, I words, or something else which was highly would say these sketches and faint images vicious, though pardonable in that great of glory were drawn in August, 1711, when man. The admirers of what we call point, John Duke of Marlborough made that me or turn, look upon it as the particular hapmorable march wherein he took the French piness to which Cowley, Ovid, and others, lines without bloodshed.

T. owe their reputation, and therefore endea

vour to imitate them only in such instances.

What is just, proper, and natural, does not No. 140.] Friday, August 10, 1711.

seem to be the question with them, but by

what means a quaint antithesis may be Animum curis nunc huc, nunc dividit illuc. brought about, how one word may be made

Virg. Æn. iv. 285.

to look two ways, and what will be the conThis way and that the anxious mind is torn.

sequence of a forced allusion. Now though When I acquaint my reader, that I have such authors appear to me to resemble many other letters not yet acknowledged, those who make themselves fine, instead I believe he will own, what I have a mind of being well-dressed, or graceful; yet the he should believe, that I have no small mischief is, that these beauties in them, charge upon me, but am a person of some which I call blemishes, are thought to proconsequence in this world. I shall there- ceed from luxuriance of fancy, and overfore employ the present hour only in read- flowing of good sense. In one word, they ing petitions in the order as follows.

have the character of being too witty: but

if you would acquaint the world they are “Mr. SPECTATOR, I have lost so much not witty at all, you would, among many time already, that I desire, upon the re- others, oblige, sir, your most benevolent ceipt hereof, you will sit down immediately reader,

R. D.' and give me your answer. And I would know of you whether a pretender of mine

“SIR,-I am a young woman, and reckonreally loves me. As well as I can I will that I trouble you to decide a wager be

ed pretty; therefore you will pardon me describe his manners. When he sees me is always talking of constancy, but vouch-tween me and a cousin of mine, who is alsafes to visit me but once a fortnight, and ways contradicting one because he underthen he is always in haste to be gone with a single or a double p? I am, sir,

stands Latin: pray, sir, is Dimple spelt When I am sick, I hear he says he is mightily concerned, but neither comes nor sends, your very humble servant,

· BETTY SAUNTER.' because, as he tells his acquaintance with a sigh, he does not care to let me know all • Pray, sir, direct thus, “ To the kind

I have over him, and how im- Querist,” and leave it at Mr. Lillie's, for I possible it is for him to live without me.

do not care to be known in the thing at all. When he leaves the town he writes once

I am, sir, again, your humble servant.' in six weeks, desires to hear from me,

MR. SPECTATOR,I must needs tell complains of the torment of absence, speaks of flames, tortures, languishings, and ecsta- not much like. You are often so nice, there

you there are several of your papers I do sies. He has the cant of an impatient lover, is no enduring you; and so learned, there is no but keeps the pace of a lukewarm one. understanding you. What have you to do You know I must not go faster than he with our petticoats? Your humble servant, does, and to move at this rate is as tedious

PARTHENOPE.' as counting a great clock. But you are to know he is rich, and my mother says, as he MR. SPECTATOR,_Last night, as I is slow he is sure; he will love me long if he was walking in the Park, I met a couple love me little: but I appeal to you whether of friends. Pr’ythee, Jack,” says one of he loves at all. Your neglected humble them, “let us go drink a glass of wine, for servant, LYDIA NOVELL.'

I am fit for nothing else.” This put me . All these fellows who have money are upon reflecting on the many miscarriages extremely saucy and cold; pray, sir, tell which happen in conversations over wine, them of it.'

when men go to the bottle to remove such

humours as it only stirs up and awakens. MR. SPECTATOR,--I have been delight- This I could not attribute more to any ed with nothing more through the whole thing than to the humour of putting comcourse of your writings than the substantial pany upon others which men do not like account you lately gave of wit, and I could themselves. Pray, sir, declare in your

the power

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papers, that he who is a troublesome con- sent ignorance, may be thought a good panion to himself, will not be an agreeable presage and earnest of improvement, you one to others. Let people reason them- may look upon your time you shall bestow selves into good humour, before they im- in answering this request not thrown away pose themselves upon their friends. Pray, to no purpose. And I cannot but add, sir, be as eloquent as you can upon this that unless you have a particular and more subject, and do human life so much good, than ordinary regard for Leonora, I have as to argue powerfully, that it is not every a better title to your favour than she: since one that can swallow who is fit to drink I do not content myself with tea-table reada glass of wine. Your most humble ser-ing of your papers, but it is my entertainvant.'

ment very often when alone in my closet. “SIR,-I this morning cast my eye upon and hate flattery, I acknowledge I do not

To show you I am capable of improvement, your paper concerning the expence of time. like some of your papers; but even there I You are very obliging to the women, espe- am readier to call in question my own shalcially those who are not young and past low understanding than Mr. Spectator's gallantry, by touching so gently upon gam- profound judgment. I am sir, your already ing: therefore I hope you do not think it (and in hopes of being more your) obliged wrong to employ a little leisure time in that


PARTHENIA.' diversion; but I should be glad to hear you say something upon the behaviour of some This last letter is written with so urgent of the female gamesters.

and serious an air, that I cannot but think *I have observed ladies, who in all other it incumbent upon me to comply with her respects are gentle, good-humoured, and commands, which I shall do very suddenly. the very pinks of good-breeding; who as

T. soon as the ombre-table is called for and sit down to their business, are immediately transmigrated into the veriest wasps in No. 141.] Saturday, August 11, 1711. nature.

-Migravit ab aure voluptas - You must know I keep my temper,

Ror. Lib. 1. Ep. ii. 187. and win their money; but am out of coun

Taste, that eternal wanderer, that flics tenance to take it, it makes them so very From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes. uneasy. Be pleased, dear sir, to instruct

Pope. them to lose with a better grace, and you In the present emptiness of the town, I will oblige, Yours,

have several applications from the lower RACHEL BASTO.'

part of the players, to admit suffering to MR. SPECTATOR,-Your kindness to pass for acting. They in very obliging Leonora, in one of your papers, has given terms desire me to let a fall on the ground, me encouragement to do myself the honour a stumble, or a good slap on the back, bé of writing to you. The great regard you reckoned a jest. These gambols I shall have so often expressed for the instruction tolerate for a season, because I hope the and improvement of our sex will I hope, in evil cannot continue longer than until the your own opinion, sufficiently excuse me people of condition and taste return to from making any apology for the imperti- town. The method some time ago, was to nence of this letter. The great desire I entertain that part of the audience, who have to embellish my mind with some of have no faculty above eye-sight, with ropethose graces which you say are so becom- dancers and tumblers; which was a way ing, and which you assert reading helps us discreet enough, because it prevented conto, has made me uneasy until I am put in a fusion, and distinguished such as could capacity of attaining them. This, sir, I show all the postures which the body is shall never think myself in, until you shall capable of, from those who were to reprebe pleased to recommend some author or sent all the passions to which the mind is authors to my perusal.

subject. But though this was prudently 'I thought, indeed, when I first cast my settled, corporeal and intellectual actors eye on Leonora's letter, that I should have ought to be kept at a still wider distance had no occasion for requesting it of you; than to appear on the same stage at all: but, to my very great concern, I found on for which reason I must propose some the perusal of that Spectator, I was en- methods for the improvement of the beartirely disappointed, and am as much at a garden, by dismissing all bodily actors to loss how to make use of my time for that that quarter. end as ever. Pray, sir, oblige me at least In cases of greater moment, where men with one scene, as you were pleased to en- appear in public, the consequence and imtertain Leonora with your prologue. Il portance of the thing can bear them out, write to you not only my own sentiments, And though a pleader or preacher is hoarse but also those of several others of my ac or awkward, the weight of their matter quaintance, who are as little pleased with commands respect and attention; but in the ordinary manner of spending one's time theatrical speaking, if the performer is not as myself; and if a fervent desire after exactly proper and graceful, he is utterly knowledge, and a great sense of our pre-| ridiculous, In cases where there is little

Within that circle none durst walk but he."

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else expected, but the pleasure of the ears occasion of that tragedy, and fill the mind and eyes, the least diminution of that plea- with a suitable horror; besides that the sure is the highest offence. In acting, witches are a part of the story itself, as we barely to perform the part is not com- find it very particularly related in Hector mendable, but to be the least out is con- | Boetjus, from whom he seems to have taken temptible. To avoid these difficulties and it. This therefore is a proper machine, delicacies, I am informed, that while I was where the business is dark, horrid, and out of town, the actors have flown into the bloody; but is extremely foreign from the air, and played such pranks, and run such affair of comedy. Subjects of this kind, hazards, that none but the servants of the which are in themselves disagreeable, can fire-office, tilers, and masons, could have at no time become entertaining, but by been able to perform the like.* The author passing through an imagination like Shakof the following letter, it seems, has been of speare's to form them; for which reason the audience at one of these entertainments, Mr. Dryden would not allow even Beauand has accordingly complained to me upon mont and Fletcher capable of imitating it; but I think he has been to the utmost him. degree severe against what is exceptiona

“ But Shakspeare's magic could not copied be: ble in the play he mentions, without dwelling so much as he might have done on the author's most excellent talent of humour.

•I should not, however, have troubled The pleasant pictures he has drawn of life you with these remarks, if there were not should have been more kindly mentioned, something else in this comedy, which wants at the same time that he banishes his to be exorcised more than the witches: I witches, who are too dull devils to be at- mean the freedom of some passages, which tacked with so much warmth.

I should have overlooked, if I had not ob

served that those jests can raise the loudest "Mr. SpectaTOR,-Upon a report that mirth, though they are painful to right Moll White had followed you to town, and sense, and an outrage upon modesty. was to act a part in the Lancashire Witches, We must attribute such liberties to the I went last week to see that play. It was taste of that age: but indeed by such remy fortune to sit next to a country justice presentations a poet sacrifices the best part of the peace, a neighbour (as he said) of of his audience to the worst; and, as one Sir Roger's, who pretended to show her to would think, neglects the boxes, to write us in one of the dances. There was witch-to the orange-wenches. craft enough in the entertainment almost to I must not conclude till I have taken incline me to believe him; Ben Johnson notice of the moral with which this comedy was almost lame; young Bullockť narrowly ends. The two young ladies having given saved his neck; the audience was astonish- a notable example of out-witting those who ed, and an old acquaintance of mine, a per- had a right in the disposal of them, and son of worth, whom I would have bowed to marrying without consent of parents, one in the pit, at two yards' distance did not of the injured parties, who is easily reconknow me.

ciled, winds up all with this remark, If you were what the country-people

-Design whate'er we will, reported you, a white witch, I could have

There is a fate which over-rules us still." wished you had been there to have exorcised that rabble of broomsticks, with which •We are to suppose that the gallants are we were haunted for above three hours. I men of merit, but if they had been rakes, could have allowed them to set Clod in the the excuse might have served as well. tree, to have scared the sportsmen, plagued Hans Carvel's wife was of the same princithe justice, and emploved honest Teague ple, but has expressed it with a delicacy with his holy water. This was the proper which shows she is not serious in her exuse of them in comedy, if the author had cuse, but in a sort of humorous philosophy stopped here; but I cannot conceive what turns off the thought of her guilt, and says, relation the sacrifice of the black lamb,

" That if weak women go astray, and the ceremonies of their worship to the Their stars are more in fault than they." devil, † have to the business of mirth and

• This no doubt is a full reparation, and humour.

dismisses the audience with very edifying • The gentleman who writ this play, and has drawn some characters in it very justly,

impressions. appears to have been misled in his

witch-have partly pursued already, and therefore

•These things fall under a province you Shakspeare. The incantations in Macbeth demands your animadversion, for the reguhave a solemnity admirably adapted to the lating so noble an entertainment as that of

the stage. It were to be wished, that all

who write for it hereafter would raise their * Alluding to Shadwell's comedy of the Lancashire genius by the ambition of pleasing people good run at this time. It was advertised for the very of the best understanding; and leave others, night in which this Number is dated.

who show nothing of the human species but The names of two actors then upon the stage. 1 Different incidents in the play of the Lancashire

$ The concluding distich of Shadwell's play.



risibility, to seek their diversion at the is all my attention broken! my books are bear-garden, or some other privileged blank paper, and my friends intruders. I place, where reason and good manners have no hope of quiet but from your pity. have no right to disturb them.

To grant it would make more for your August 8, 1711.

I am, &c.' triumph. To give pain is the tyranny, to T.

make happy the true empire of beauty. If you would consider aright, you would find

an agreeable change in dismissing the atNo. 142.] Monday, August 13, 1711.

tendance of a slave, to receive the com

plaisance of a companion. I bear the former Irrupta tenet copula, Hor. Lib. 1. Od. xiii. 33. in hopes of the latter condition. As I live Whom love's unbroken bond unites.

in chains without murmuring at the power

which inflicts them, so I could enjoy freeThe following letters being genuine, and dom withcut forgetting the mercy that gave the images of a worthy passion, I am will- it. I am, Madam, your most devoted, most ing to give the old lady's admonition to my- obedient servant. self, and the representation of her own happiness, a place in my writings.

'Though I made him no declarations in

his favour, you see he had hopes of me • August 9, 1711. when he writ this in the month following. Mr. SPECTATOR,-I am now in the sixty-seventh year of my age, and read you

“September 3, 1671. with approbation; but methinks you do not

“MADAM,—Before the light this morning strike at the root of the greatest evil in life, dawned upon the earth, I awaked, and lay which is the false notion of gallantry in love. in expectation of its return, not that it could It is, and has long been, upon a very ill give any new sense of joy to me, but as I foot; but I who have been a wife forty hoped it would bless you with its cheerful years, and was bred up in a way that has face, after a quiet which I wished you last made me ever since very happy, see

night. If my prayers are heard, the day through the folly of it. In a word, sir, appeared with all the influence of a merciful when I was a young woman, all who Creator upon your person and actions. Let avoided the vices of the age were very pthers, my lovely charmer, talk of a blind carefully educated, and all fantastical ob- being that disposes their hearts, I contemn jects were turned out of our sight. The their low images of love. I have not a tapestry-hangings, with the great and ve- thought which relates to you, that I cannerable simplicity of the scripture stories, not with confidence beseech the All-seeing had better effects than now the loves of Power to bless me in. May he direct you Venus and Adonis, or Bacchus and Ariadne, in all your steps, and reward your innoin your fine present prints. The gentle cence, your sanctity of manners, your pruman I am married to, made love to me in dent youth, and becoming piety, with the rapture, but it was the rapture of a Chris- continuance of his grace and protection. tian and a man of honour, not a romantic This is an unusual language to ladies; but hero or a whining coxcomb. This put our you have a mind elevated above the giddy life upon a right basis.

To give you an

notions of a sex insnared by flattery and idea of our regard one to another, I enclose misled by a false and short adoration into a to you several of his letters writ forty years solid and long contempt. Beauty, my fairest ago, when my lover; and one writ the other creature, palls in the possession, but I love day, after so many years cohabitation. also your mind: your soul is as dear to me Your servant, ANDROMACHE.' as my own; and if the advantages of a li

beral education, some knowledge, and as “August 7, 1671. much contempt of the world, joined with Madam,- If my vigilance, and ten the endeavours towards a life of strict virthousand wishes for your welfare and re- tue and religion, can qualify me to raise pose, could have any force, you last night new ideas in a breast so well disposed as slept in security, and had every good angel your's is, our days will pass away with joy; in your attendance. To have my thoughts and old age, instead of introducing melanever fixed on you, to live in constant fear choly prospects of decay, give us hope of of every accident to which human life is eternal youth in a better life. I have but liable, and to send up my hourly prayers few minutes from the duty of my employ: to avert them from you: I say, madam, ment to write in, and without time to read thus to think, and thus to suffer, is what I over what I have writ, therefore beseech do for her who is in pain at my approach, you to pardon the first hints of my mind, and calls all my tender sorrow imperti- which I have expressed in so little order. You are now before my eyes, my

I am, dearest creature, your most obedient eyes that are ready to flow with tenderness, most devoted servant. but cannot give relief to my gushing heart, that dictates what I am now saying, and

* This and the following letters in this Number are yearns to tell you all its achings. How art all genuine, having been written by Sir Richard Steele, thou, oh my soul, stolen from thyself! how Letters, Vol. II.

to Miss Scurlock, afterwards Lady Steele.-See Steele's


$ 1

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