cannot any offer more worthy a generous mind. Would you do a handsome thing without return; do it for an infant that is not sensible of the obligation. Would you do it for public good; do it for one who will be an honest artificer. Would you do it for the sake of heaven; give it to one who shall be instructed in the worship of Him for whose sake you give it. It is, methinks, a most laudable institution this, if it were of no other expectation than that of producing a race of good and useful servants, who will have more than a liberal, a religious education. What would not a man do in common prudence to lay out in purchase of one about him, who would add to all his orders he gave, the weight of the commandments, to enforce an obedience to them? for one who would consider his master as his father, his friend, and benefactor, upon easy terms, and in expectation of no other return but moderate wages and gentle usage? It is the common vice of children to run too much among the servants; from such as are educated in these places they would see nothing but lowliness in the servant, which would not be disingenuous in the child. All the ill offices and defamatory whispers, which take their birth from domestics, would be prevented, if this charity could be made universal: and a good man might have a knowledge of the whole life of the person he designs to take into his house for his own service, or that of his family or children, long before they were admitted. This would create endearing dependencies: and the obligation would have a paternal air in the master, who would be relieved from much care and anxiety by the gratitude and diligence of an humble friend attending him as his servant. I fall into this discourse from a letter sent to me, to give me notice that fifty boys would be clothed, and take their seats (at the charge of some generous benefactors,) in St. Bride's church, on Sunday next. I wish I could promise to myself any thing which my correspondent seems to expect from a publication of it in this paper; for there can be nothing added to what so many excellent and learned men have said on this occasion. But that there may be something here which would move a generous mind, like that of him who wrote to me, I shall transcribe a handsome paragraph of Dr. Snape's sermon on these charities, which my correspondent enclosed with his letter. The wise Providence has amply compensated the disadvantages of the poor and indigent, in wanting many of the conveniences of this life, by a more abundant provision for their happiness in the next. Had they been higher born, or more richly endowed, they would have wanted this manner of education, of which those only enjoy the benefit who are low enough to submit to it; where they have such advantages without money, and without price, as the rich cannot purchase with it. The 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am turned of my great climacteric, and am naturally a man of a meek temper. About a dozen years ago, I was married, for my sins, to a young woman of a good family, and of a high spirit; but could not bring her to close with me, before I had entered into a treaty with her longer than that of the grand alliance. Among other articles, it was therein stipulated, that she should have 400l. a year for pin-money, which I obliged myself to pay quarterly into the hands of one, who acted as her plenipotentiary in that affair. I have ever since religiously observed my part in this solemn agreement. Now sir, so it is, that the lady has had several children since I married her; to which, if I should credit our malicious neighbours, her pin-money has not a little contributed. The education of these my children, who, contrary to my expectation, are born to me every year, straitens me so much, that I have begged their mother to free me from the obligation of the above-mentioned pin-money, that it may go towards making a provision for her family. This proposal makes her noble blood swell in her veins, insomuch, that finding me a little tardy in my last quarter's payment, she threatens me every day to arrest me; and proceeds so far as to tell me, that if I do not do her justice, I shall die in a jail. To this she adds, when her passion will let her argue calmly, that she has several play-debts on her hand, which must be discharged very suddenly, and that she cannot lose her money as becomes a woman of her fashion, if she makes me any abatement in this article. I hope, sir, you will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if there are any precedents for this usage, among our ancestors: or whether you find any mention of pin-money in Grotius, Puffendorf, or any other of the civilians. 'I am ever the humblest of your admirers, JOSIAH FRIBBLE, Esq.' As there is no man living who is a more professed advocate for the fair sex than myself, so there is none that would be more | (in the phrase of a homely proverb,) of unwilling to invade any of their ancient being 'penny wise and pound foolish. rights and privileges; but as the doctrine of pin-money is of late date, unknown to our great grandmothers, and not yet received by many of our modern ladies, I think it is for the interest of both sexes to keep it from spreading. It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they never engage in a battle without securing a retreat, in case the event should not answer their expectations; on the other hand, the greatest conquerors have burnt their ships, or broke down the bridges behind them, as being determined either to succeed or die in the engagement. In the same manner I should very much suspect a woman who takes such precautions for her retreat, and contrives methods Mr. Fribble may not, perhaps, be much mistaken where he intimates, that the supplying a man's wife with pin-money, is furnishing her with arms against himself, and in a manner becoming accessary to his own dishonour. We may indeed, generally ob-how she may live happily, without the afserve, that in proportion as a woman is more or less beautiful, and her husband advanced in years, she stands in need of a greater or less number of pins, and upon a treaty of marriage, rises or falls in her demands accordingly. It must likewise be owned, that high quality in a mistress does very much inflame this article in the marriage reckoning. But where the age and circumstances of both parties are pretty much upon a level, I cannot but think the insisting upon pinmoney is very extraordinary; and yet we find several matches broken off upon this very head. What would a foreigner, or one who is a stranger to this practice think of a lover that forsakes his mistress, because he is not willing to keep her in pins? But what would he think of the mistress, should he be informed that she asks five or six hundred pounds a year for this use? Should a man unacquainted with our customs be told the sums which are allowed in Great Britain, under the title of pin-money, what a prodigious consumption of pins would he think there was in this island. 'A pin a day,' says our frugal proverb, is a groat a year:' so that, according to this calculation, my friend Fribble's wife must every year make use of eight million six hundred and forty thousand new pins. I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege they comprehend under this general term, several other conveniences of life: I could therefore wish for the honour of my countrywomen, that they had rather call it needle-money, which might have implied something of good housewifery, and not have given the malicious world occasion to think, that dress and trifles have always the uppermost place in a woman's thoughts. I know several of my fair readers urge, in defence of this practice, that it is but a necessary provision they make for themselves, in case their husband proves a churl, or a miser; so that they consider this allowance as a kind of alimony, which they may lay their claim to, without actually separating from their husbands. But with submission, I think a woman who will give up herself to a man in marriage, where there is the least room for such an apprehension, and trust her person to one whom she will not rely on for the common necessaries of life, may very properly be accused fection of one to whom she joins herself for life. Separate purses between man and wife are, in my opinion, as unnatural as separate beds. A marriage cannot be happy, where the pleasures, inclinations, and interests of both parties are not the same. There is no greater incitement to love in the mind of man, than the sense of a person's depending upon him for her ease and happiness; as a woman uses all her endeavours to please the person whom she looks upon as her honour, her comfort, and her support. For this reason I am not very much surprised at the behaviour of a rough country 'squire, who, being not a little shocked at the proceeding of a young widow_that would not recede from her demands of pinmoney, was so enraged at her mercenary temper, that he told her in great wrath, As much as she thought him her slave, he would show all the world he did not care a pin for her.' Upon which he flew out of the room, and never saw her more. Socrates in Plato's Alcibiades says, he was informed by one who had travelled through Persia, that as he passed over a great tract of land, and inquired what the name of the place was, they told him it was the Queen's Girdle: to which he adds, that another wide field which lay by it, was called the Queen's Veil: and that in the same manner there was a large portion of ground set aside for every part of her majesty's dress. These lands might not be improperly called the Queen of Persia's pin-money. I remember my friend Sir Roger, who, I dare say, never read this passage in Plato, told me some time since, that upon his courting the perverse widow (of whom I have given an account in former papers) he had disposed of a hundred acres in a diamond ring, which he would have presented her with, had she thought fit to accept it: and that upon her wedding-day, she should have carried on her head fifty of the tallest oaks upon his estate. He further informed me, that he would have given her a coal-pit to keep her in clean linen, that he would have allowed her the profits of a wind-mill for her fans, and have presented her once in three years, with the shearing of his sheep for her under petticoats. To which the knight always adds, that though he did not care for fine clothes the same opinion of me. I must own I love himself, there should not have been a woman to look at them all, one for being wellin the country better dressed than my lady Coverley. Sir Roger, perhaps may in this, as well as in many other of his devices, appear something odd and singular; but if the humour of pin-money prevails, I think it would be very proper for every gentleman of an estate, to mark out so many acres of it under the title of The Pins.' L. No. 296.] Friday, February 8, 1711-12. Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xix. 42. Add weight to trifles. 'DEAR SPEC,-Having lately conversed much with the fair sex on the subject of your speculations (which since their appearance in public, have been the chief exercise of the female loquacious faculty) I found the fair ones possessed with a dissatisfaction at your prefixing Greek mottos to the frontispieces of your papers; and, as a man of gallantry, I thought it a duty incumbent on me to impart it to you, in hopes of a reformation, which is only to be effected by a restoration of the Latin to the usual dignity in your papers, which, of late, the Greek, to the great displeasure of your female readers, has usurped; for though the Latin has the recommendation of being as unintelligible to them as the Greek, yet being written of the same character with their mother tongue, by the assistance of a spelling-book it is legible; which quality the Greek wants: and since the introduction of operas into this nation, the ladies are so charmed with sounds abstracted from their ideas, that they adore and honour the sound of Latin, as it is old Italian. I am a solicitor for the fair sex, and therefore think myself in that character more likely to be prevalent in this request, than if I should subscribe myself by my proper name. 'J. M. 'I desire you may insert this in one of your speculations, to show my zeal for removing the dissatisfaction of the fair sex, and restoring you to their favour.' dressed, a second for his fine eye, and one particular one, because he is the least man I ever saw; but there is something so easy and pleasant in the manner of my little man, that I observe he is a favourite of all his acquaintance. I could go on to tell you of many others, that I believe think I have encouraged them from my window: but pray let me have your opinion of the use of the window, in the apartment of a beautiful lady; and how often she may look out at the same man, without being supposed to have a mind to jump out to him. Your's, AURELIA CARELESS,’ ́ Let her alone ten days. York, Jan. 20, 1711-12. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-We have in this town a sort of people who pretend to wit, and write lampoons; I have lately been the subject of one of them. The scribbler had not genius enough in verse to turn my age, as indeed I am an old maid, into raillery, for affecting a youthier turn than is consistent with my time of day; and therefore he makes the title of his madrigal, The character of Mrs. Judith Lovebane, born in the year 1680. What I desire of you is, that you disallow that a coxcomb, who pretends to write verse, should put the most malicious thing he can say in prose. This I humbly conceive will disable our country wits, who indeed take a great deal of pains to say any thing in rhyme, though they say it ill. Sir, your humble servant, very 'SUSANNA LOVEBANE.' 'MR. SPECTATOR,-We are several of 'SIR,-I was some time since in company with a young officer, who entertained us, gentleman and ladies, who board in the same house, and after dinner one of our comus with the conquest he had made over a female neighbour of his; when a gentleman stands up, and reads your paper to us all. pany (an agreeable man enough otherwise) who stood by, as I suppose, envying the cap- We are the civilest people in the world to tain's good fortune, asked him what reason he had to believe the lady admired him? this way of desiring our reader, when he is one another, and therefore I am forced to "Why," says he, "my lodgings are oppo- doing this office, not to stand afore the fire. site to her's, and she is continually at her This will be a general good to our family, window, either at work, reading, taking this cold weather. He will, I know, take snuff, or putting herself in some toying it to be our common request when he comes posture on purpose to draw my eyes that to these words, "Pray, sir, sit down;" which The confession of this vain soldier I desire you to insert, and you will particumade me reflect on some of my own actions; for you must know, sir, I am often larly oblige your daily reader, at a window which fronts the apartments of several gentlemen, who I doubt not have way. 'CHARITY FROST.' 'SIR,-I am a great lover of dancing, but cannot perform so well as some others; | I have taken some pains in a former paper however, by my out-of-the-way capers, to show, that this kind of implex fable, and some original grimaces, I do not fail wherein the event is unhappy, is more apt to divert the company, particularly the to affect an audience than that of the ladies, who laugh immoderately all the first kind; notwithstanding many excellent time. Some, who pretend to be my friends pieces among the ancients, as well as most tell me that they do it in derision, and would of those which have been written of late advise me to leave it off, withal that I make years in our own country are raised upon myself ridiculous. I do not know what to contrary plans. I must however own, that do in this affair, but I am resolved not to I think this kind of fable, which is the most give over upon any account, until I have the perfect in tragedy, is not so proper for a opinion of the Spectator. Your humble heroic poem. JOHN TROTT.' servant, Milton seems to have been sensible of this fore endeavoured to cure it by several eximperfection in his fable, and has therepedients; particularly by the mortification which the great adversary of mankind meets with upon his return to the assembly of infernal spirits, as it is described in a beautiful passage of the third book; and likewise by the vision wherein Adam, at the close of the poem, sees his offspring, triumphing over his great enemy, and him No. 297.] Saturday, February 9, 1711-12. self restored to a happier paradise than that from which he fell. -velut si Egregio inspersos reprendas corpore nævos. AFTER what I have said in my last Saturday's paper, I shall enter on the subject Is of this without further preface, and remark the several defects which appear in the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language of Milton's Paradise Lost; not doubting but the reader will pardon me, if I allege at the same time whatever may be said for the extenuation of such defects. The first imperfection which I shall observe in the fable is, that the event of it is unhappy. The fable of every poem is, according to Aristotle's division, either simple or implex. It is called simple when there is no change of fortune in it; implex, when the fortune of the chief actor changes from bad to good, or from good to bad. The implex fable is thought the most perfect: I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the passions of the reader, and to surprise him with a greater variety of accidents. The implex fable is therefore of two kinds: in the first, the chief actor makes his way through a long series of dangers and difficulties, until he arrives at honour and prosperity, as we see in the stories of Ulysses and Æneas; in the second, the chief actor in the poem falls from some eminent pitch of honour and prosperity, into misery and disgrace. Thus we see Adam and Eve sinking from a state of innocence and happiness, into the most abject condition of sin and sorrow. The most taking tragedies among the ancients, were built on this last sort of implex fable, particularly the tragedy of Edipus, which proceeds upon a story, if we may believe Aristotle, the most proper for tragedy that could be invented by the wit of man. There is another objection against Milton's fable, which is indeed almost the same with the former, though placed in a different light, namely-That the hero in the Paradise Lost is unsuccessful, and by no means a match for his enemies. This gave occasion to Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the devil was in reality Milton's hero. I think I have obviated this objection in my first paper. The Paradise Lost is an epic, or a narrative poem, and he that looks for a hero in it, searches for that which Milton never intended; but if he will needs fix the name of a hero upon any person in it, it is certainly the Messiah who is the hero, both in the principal action, and in the chief episodes. Paganism could not furnish out a real action for a fable greater than that of the Iliad or Æneid, and therefore a heathen could not form a higher notion of a poem than one of that kind, which they call a heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a sublimer nature I will not presume to determine: it is sufficient that I show there is in the Paradise Lost all the greatness of plan, regularity of design, and masterly beauties which we discover in Homer and Virgil. I must in the next place observe, that Milton has interwoven in the texture of his fable some particulars which do not seem to have probability enough for an epic poem, particularly in the actions which he ascribes to Sin and Death, and the picture which he draws of the Limbo of Vanity,' with other passages in the second book. Such allegories rather savour of the spirit of Spencer and Ariosto, than of Homer and Virgil. In the structure of his poem he has likewise admitted too many digressions. It is finely observed by Aristotle, that the author of a heroic poem should seldom speak himself, but throw as much of his work as he can into the mouths of those who are his | of the angels eating, and several other pasprincipal actors. Aristotle has given no sages in his poem, are liable to the same reason for this precept: but I presume it is exception, though I must confess there is because the mind of the reader is more so great a beauty in these very digressions, awed and elevated, when he hears Eneas that I would not wish them out of his poem. or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or I have in a former paper spoken of the Homer talk in their own persons. Besides characters of Milton's Paradise Lost, and that assuming the character of an eminent declared my opinion, as to the allegorical man is apt to fire the imagination, and raise persons who were introduced in it. the ideas of the author. Tully tells us, mentioning his dialogue of old age, in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his thoughts on that subject. If we look into the sentiments, I think they are sometimes defective under the following heads; first, as there are several of them too much pointed, and some that degenerate even into puns. Of this last kind I am afraid is that in the first book, where, speaking of the pygmies, he calls them, -The small infantry my paper will not give me leave to be particular in instances of this kind; the reader will easily remark them in his perusal of the poem. A third fault in his sentiments is an unrecessary ostentation of learning, which likewise occurs very frequently. It is certain that both Homer and Virgil were masters of all the learning of their times, but it shows itself in their works after an indirect and concealed manner. Milton seems ambitious of letting us know, by his excursions on free-will and predestination, and his many glances upon history, astronomy, geography, and the like, as well as by the terms and phrases he sometimes makes use of, that he was acquainted with the whole circle of arts and sciences. If the reader would be at the pains to see how the story of the Iliad and the Æneid is delivered by those persons who act in it, he will be surprised to find how little either of these poems proceeds from the authors. Another blemish that appears in some of Milton has, in the general disposition of his thoughts, is his frequent allusion to his fable, very finely observed this great heathen fables, which are not certainly of rule; insomuch that there is scarce a tenth a piece with the divine subject of which he part of it which comes from the poet; the treats. I do not find fault with these allurest is spoken either by Adam or Eve, or by sions where the poet himself represents some good or evil spirit who is engaged them as fabulous, as he does in some either in their destruction or defence. places, but where he mentions them as From what has been here observed it ap-truths and matters of fact. The limits of pears, that digressions are by no means to be allowed of in an epic poem. If the poet, even in the ordinary course of his narration, should speak as little as possible, he should certainly never let his narration sleep for the sake of any reflections of his own. I have often observed, with a secret admiration, that the longest reflection in the Eneid is in that passage of the tenth book, where Turnus is represented as dressing himself in the spoils of Pallas, whom he had slain. Virgil here lets his fable stand still, for the sake of the following remark. 'How is the mind of man ignorant of futurity, and unable to bear prosperous fortune with moderation! The time will come when Turnus shall wish that he had left the body of Pallas untouched, and curse the day on which he dressed himself in If in the last place we consider the lanthese spoils.' As the great event of the guage of this great poet, we must allow Eneid, and the death of Turnus, whom what I have hinted in a former paper, that Eneas slew because he saw him adorned it is often too much laboured, and somewith the spoils of Pallas, turns upon this times obscured by old words, transposiincident, Virgil went out of his way to tions, and foreign idioms. Seneca's objecmake this reflection upon it, without which tion to the style of a great author, Riget so small a circumstance might possibly ejus oratio, nihil in ea placidum, nihil lene,' have slipped out of his reader's memory. is what many critics make to Milton. As Lucan, who was an injudicious poet, lets I cannot wholly refute it, so I have already drop his story very frequently for the sake apologized for it in another paper: to which of his unnecessary digressions, or his diver- I may further add, that Milton's sentiments ticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives and ideas were so wonderfully sublime, that it us an account of the prodigies which pre- would have been impossible for him to have ceded the civil war, he declaims upon the represented them in their full strength and occasion, and shows how much happier it beauty, without having recourse to these would be for man, if he did not feel his evil foreign assistances. Our language sunk fortune before it comes to pass; and suffer under him, and was unequal to that greatnot only by its real weight, but by the ap-ness of soul which furnished him with such prehension of it. Milton's complaint for glorious conceptions. his blindness, his panegyric on marriage, his reflections on Adam and Eve's going naked, A second fault in his language is, that he often affects a kind of jingle in his words, |