Persius, the Latin satirist, affected obscurity for another reason; with which, however, Mr. Cowley is so offended, that, writing to one of his friends, 'You,' says he, tell me that you do not know whether Persius be a good poet or no, because you cannot understand him; for which very reason I affirm that he is not so.' country people soon came with lights to the sepulchre, and discovered that the statue, which was made of brass, was nothing more than a piece of clock-work; that the floor of the vault was all loose, and underlaid with several springs, which upon any man's entering, naturally produced that which had happened.' However, this art of writing unintelligibly has been very much improved, and followed by several of the moderns, who, observing the general inclination of mankind to dive into a secret, and the reputation many have acquired by concealing their meaning under obscure terms and phrases, resolve, that they may be still more abstruse, to write without any mean- No. 380.] Friday, May 16, 1712. ing at all. This art, as it is at present practised by many eminent authors, consists in throwing so many words at a venture into different periods, and leaving the curious reader to find the meaning of them. Rosicrusius, say his disciples, made use of this method to show the world that he had reinvented the ever-burning lamps of the ancients, though he was resolved no one should reap any advantage from the discovery. X. Rivalem patienter habe. Ovid. Ars Am. ii. 538. With patience bear a rival in thy love. The Egyptians, who made use of hieroThursday, May 8, 1712. glyphics to signify several things, express'SIR,-The character you have in the ed a man who confined his knowledge and world of being the ladies' philosopher, and discoveries altogether within himself by the pretty advice I have seen you give to the figure of a dark lantern closed on all others in your papers, make me address sides; which, though it was illuminated myself to you in this abrupt manner, and within, afforded no manner of light or ad- to desire your opinion of what in this age a vantage to such as stood by it. For my own woman may call a lover. I have lately had part, as I shall from time to time commu- a gentleman that I thought made pretennicate to the public whatever discoveries Isions to me, insomuch that most of my happen to make, I should much rather be compared to an ordinary lamp, which consumes and wastes itself for the benefit of every passenger. friends took notice of it, and thought we were really married. I did not take much pains to undeceive them, and especially a young gentlewoman of my particular acI shall conclude this paper with the story quaintance, who was then in the country. of Rosicrusius's sepulchre. I suppose I She coming to town, and seeing our intineed not inform my readers that this man macy so great, she gave herself the liberty was the author of the Rosicrusian sect, and of taking me to task concerning it. I ingethat his disciples still pretend to new dis-nuously told her we were not married, but coveries, which they are never to communicate to the rest of mankind.* I did not know what might be the event. She soon got acquainted with the gentleman, and was pleased to take upon her to examine him about it. Now, whether a new face had made a greater conquest than the old I will leave you to judge. I am informed that he utterly denied all pretensions to courtship, but withal professed a sincere friendship for me; but, whether marriages are proposed by way of friendship or not, is what I desire to know, and what I may really call a lover? There are so many who talk in a language fit only for that character, and yet guard themselves against speaking in direct terms to the point, that it is impossible to distinguish between courtship and conversation. I hope you will do me justice both upon my lover and my friend, if they provoke me further. In the mean time I carry it with so equal a behaviour, that the nymph and the swain too are mightily at a loss: each believes I, who know them both well, think myself revenged in their love to one another, which creates an irreconcilable jealousy. If all comes right again, you shall hear fur* See Comte de Gabalis, par l'Abbe Villars. Warburther from, sir, your most obedient servant, 'A certain person having occasion to dig somewhat deep in the ground, where this philosopher lay interred, met with a small door, having a wall on each side of it. His curiosity, and the hopes of finding some hidden treasure, soon prompted him to force open the door. He was immediately surprised by a sudden blaze of light, and discovered a very fair vault. At the upper end of it was a statue of a man in armour, sitting by a table, and leaning on his left arm. He held a truncheon in his right hand, and had a lamp burning before him. The man had no sooner set one foot within the vault, than the statue erected itself from its leaning posture, stood bolt upright, and, upon the fellow's advancing another step, lifted up the truncheon in his right hand. The man still ventured a third step, when the statue, with a furious blow, broke the lamp into a thousand pieces, and left his guest in a sudden darkness. Upon the report of this adventure, the ton's Pope. vol. i. p. 109, 12ino. 'MYRTILLA,' 'April 28, 1712. 'MR.SPECTATOR,-Your observations on persons that have behaved themselves irreverently at church, I doubt not have had a good effect on some that have read them; but there is another fault which has hitherto escaped your notice; I mean of such persons as are there very zealous and punctual to perform an ejaculation that is only preparatory to the service of the church, and yet neglect to join in the service itself. There is an instance of this in a friend of Will Honeycomb's, who sits opposite to me. He seldom comes in till the prayers are about half over: and when he has entered his seat, (instead of joining with the congregation,) he devoutly holds his hat before his face for three or four moments, then bows to all his acquaintance, sits down, takes a pinch of snuff, (if it be the evening service, perhaps takes a nap,) and spends the remaining time in surveying the congregation. Now, sir, what I would desire is, that you would animadvert a little on this gentleman's practice. In my opinion, this gentleman's devotion, cap in hand, is only a compliance to the custom of the place, and goes no farther than a little ecclesiastical good-breeding. If you will not pretend to tell us the motives that bring such trifles to solemn assemblies, yet let me desire that you will give this letter a place in your paper, and I shall remain, sir, your obliged humble servant, J. S.' May the 5th. MR. SPECTATOR,-The conversation at a club of which I am a member, last night, falling upon vanity and the desire of being admired, put me in mind of relating how agreeably I was entertained at my own door last Thursday, by a clean fresh him a courtesy, and went my way. He followed me, and, finding I was going about my business, he came up with me, and told me plainly that he gave me the guinea with no other intent but to purchase my person for an hour. "Did you so, sir?" says I; "you gave it me then to make me wicked; I will keep it to make me honest; however, not to be in the least ungrateful, I promise you I will lay it out in a couple of rings, and wear them for your sake." I am so just sir, besides, as to give every body that asks how I came by my rings, this account of my benefactor; but to save me the trouble of telling my tale over and over again, I humbly beg the favour of you to tell it once for all, and you will extremely oblige your humble servant, 'BETTY LEMON.' 'St. Bride's, May 15, 1712. 'SIR, 'Tis a great deal of pleasure to me, and I dare say will be no less satisfactory to you, that I have an opportunity of informing you, that the gentlemen and others of the parish of St. Bride's, have raised a charity-school of fifty girls, as before of fifty boys. You were so kind to recommend the boys to the charitable world; and the other sex hope you will do them the same favour in Friday's Spectator for Sunday next, when they are to appear with their humble airs at the parish church of Saint Bride's. Sir, the mention of this may possibly be serviceable to the children; and sure no one will omit a good action attended with no expense. I am, sir, your very humble servant, coloured girl, under the most elegant and No. 381.] Saturday, May 17, 1712. the best furnished milk-pail I had ever observed. I was glad of such an opportunity of seeing the behaviour of a coquette in low life, and how she received the extraordinary notice that was taken of her; which I found had affected every muscle of her face, in the same manner as it does the features of a first-rate toast at a play or in an assembly. This hint of mine made the discourse turn upon the sense of pleasure; which ended in a general resolution, that the milk-maid enjoys her vanity as exquisitely as the woman of quality. I think it would not be an improper subject for you to examine this frailty, and trace it to all conditions of life; which is recommended to you as an occasion of obliging many of your readers, among the rest, your most humble servant, Æquam memento rebus in arduis Hor. Od. 3. 1. 2. v. 1. Be calm, my Delius, and serene, The settled quiet of thy mind destroy. Anon. I HAVE always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit of the mind. Mirth is short and transient, cheerfulness fixed and the greatest transports of mirth, who are permanent. Those are often raised into subject to the greatest depressions of melancholy. On the contrary, cheerfulness though it does not give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling 'SIR,-Coming last week into a coffee-into any depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a house, not far from the Exchange, with flash of lightning, that breaks through a my basket under my arm, a Jew, of consi-gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment; derable note, as I am informed, takes half cheerfulness keeps up a kind of day-light a dozen oranges of me, and at the same in the mind, and fills it with a steady and time slides a guinea into my hand; I made perpetual serenity. T. B.' 'May 12, 1712. Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too wanton and dissolute for a state of probation, and as filled with a certain triumph and insolence of heart that is inconsistent with a life which is every moment obnoxious to the greatest dangers. Writers of this complexion have observed, that the Sacred Person who was the great pattern of perfection, was never seen to laugh. Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these exceptions; it is of a serious and composed nature; it does not throw the mind into a condition improper for the present state of humanity, and is very conspicuous in the characters of those who are looked upon as the greatest philosophers among the heathens, as well as among those who have been deservedly esteemed as saints and holy men among Christians. the natural effect of virtue and innocence. Cheerfulness in an ill man deserves a harder name than language can furnish us with, and is many degrees beyond what we commonly call folly or madness. Atheism, by which I mean a disbelief of a Supreme Being, and consequently of a future state, under whatsoever titles it shelters itself, may likewise very reasonably deprive a man of this cheerfulness of temper. There is something so particularly gloomy and offensive to human nature in the prospect of non-existence, that I cannot but wonder, with many excellent writers, how it is possible for a man to outlive the expectation of it. For my own part, I think the being of a God is so little to be doubted, that it is almost the only truth we are sure of; and such a truth as we neet with in every object, in every occurrence, and in every thought. If we look into the characters of this tribe of infidels, we g nerally find they are made up of pride, sp'een, and cavil. It is indeed no wonder, that men who are uneasy to themselves should be so to the rest of the world; and how is it possible for a man to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every moment of losing his entire existence, and dropping into nothing? If we consider cheerfulness in three lights, with regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and to the great Author of our being, it will not a little recommend itself on each of these accounts. The man who is possessed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only easy in his thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and faculties of his soul. His imagination is always clear, and his judgment undisturbed; his temper is even and unruffled, whether in The vicious man and atheist have thereaction or in solitude. He comes with relish fore no pretence to cheerfulness, and would to all those goods which nature has provided act very unreasonably should they endeafor him, tastes all the pleasures of the crea-vour after it. It is impossible for any one tion, which are poured about him, and does to live in good humour, and enjoy his prenot feel the full weight of those accidental sent existence, who is apprehensive either evils which may befall him. of torment or of annihilation; of being miseIf we consider him in relation to the per-rable, or of not being at all. sons whom he converses with, it naturally produces love and good-will towards him. A cheerful mind is not only disposed to be affable and obliging; but raises the same good-humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, with the cheerfulness of his companion. It is like a sudden sunshine that awakens a secret delight in the mind, without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out into friendship and benevolence towards the person who has so kindly an effect upon it. When I consider this cheerful state of mind in its third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a constant habitual gratitude to the great Author of nature. An inward cheerfulness is an implicit praise and thanksgiving to Providence under all its dispensations. It is a kind of acquiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a secret approbation of the divine will in his conduct towards man. There are but two things which, in my opinion, can reasonably deprive us of this cheerfulness of heart. The first of these is the sense of guilt. A man who lives in a state of vice and impenitence can have no title to that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of the soul, and After having mentioned these two great principles, which are destructive of cheerfulness, in their own nature, as well as in right reason, I cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy temper from a virtuous mind. Pain and sickness, shame and reproach, poverty and old age, nay, death itself, considering the shortness of their duration, and the advantage we may reap from them, do not deserve the name of evils. A good mind may bear up under them with fortitude, with indolence, and with cheerfulness of heart. The tossing of a tempest does not discompose him, which he is sure will bring him to a joyful harbour. A man who uses his best endeavours to live according to the dictates of virtue and right reason has two perpetual sources of cheerfulness, in the consideration of his own nature, and of that Being on whom he has a dependance. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that existence which is so lately bestowed upon him, and which, after millions of ages, will be still new, and still in its beginning. How many self-congratulations naturally rise in the mind, when it reflects on this its entrance into eternity, when it takes a view of those improvable faculties which in a few years, and even at its first setting out, have made so considerable a progress, and which will still be receiving an increase of perfection, and consequently an increase of happiness! The consciousness of such a being spreads a perpetual diffusion of joy through the soul of a virtuous man, and makes him look upon himself every moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive. The second source of cheerfulness, to a good mind, is the consideration of that Being on whom we have our dependence, and in whom, though we behold him as yet but in the first faint discoveries of his perfections, we see every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or amiable. We find ourselves every where upheld by his goodness, and surrounded with an immensity of love and mercy. In short, we depend upon a Being, whose power qualifies him to make us happy by an infinity of means, whose goodness and truth engage him to make those happy who desire it of him, and whose unchangeableness will secure us in this happiness to all eternity. you, that though the circumstance which displeased was never in his thoughts, he has that respect for you, that he is unsatisfied till it is wholly out of yours. It must be confessed, that when an acknowledgment of an offence is made out of poorness of spirit, and not conviction of heart, the circumstance is quite different. But in the case of my correspondent, where both the notice is taken, and the return made in private, the affair begins and ends with the highest grace on each side. To make the acknowledgment of a fault in the highest manner graceful, it is lucky when the circumstances of the offender place him above any ill consequences from the resentment of the person offended. A dauphin of France, upon a review of the army, and a command of the king to alter the posture of it by a march of one of the wings, gave an improper order to an officer at the head of a brigade, who told his highness, he presumed he had not received the last orders, which were to move a contrary way. The Such considerations, which every one prince, instead of taking the admonition, should perpetually cherish in his thoughts, which was delivered in a manner that acwill banish from us all that secret heavi- counted for his error with safety to his unness of heart which unthinking men are derstanding, shaked a cane at the officer, subject to when they lie under no real and, with the return of opprobrious lanaffliction: all that anguish which we may guage, persisted in his own orders. The feel from any evil that actually oppresses whole matter came necessarily before the us, to which I may likewise add those little king, who commanded his son, on foot, to cracklings of mirth and folly that are apter lay his right hand on the gentleman's stirto betray virtue than support it; and esta-rup as he sat on horseback in sight of the blish in us such an even and cheerful temper, as makes us pleasing to ourselves, to those with whom we converse, and to Him whom we were made to please. L. I OUGHT not to have neglected a request of one of my correspondents so long as I have; but I dare say I have given him time to add practice to profession. He sent me some time ago a bottle or two of excellent wine, to drink the health of a gentleman who had by the penny-post advertised him of an egregious error in his conduct. My correspondent received the obligation from an unknown hand with the candour which is natural to an ingenuous mind; and promises a contrary behaviour in that point for the future. He will offend his monitor with no more errors of that kind, but thanks him for his benevolence. This frank carriage makes me reflect upon the amiable atonement a man makes in an ingenuous acknowledgment of a fault. All such miscarriages as flow from inadvertency are more than repaid by it; for reason, though not concerned in the injury, employs all its force in the atonement. He that says, he did not design to disoblige you in such an action, does as much as if he should tell whole army, and ask his pardon. When the prince touched his stirrup, and was going to speak, the officer with an incredible agility, threw himself on the earth and kissed his feet. The body is very little concerned in the pleasure or sufferings of souls truly great; and the reparation, when an honour was designed this soldier, appeared as much too great to be borne by his gratitude, as the injury was intolerable to his resentment. When we turn our thoughts from these extraordinary occurrences into common life, we see an ingenuous kind of behaviour not only make up for faults committed, but in a manner expiate them in the very commission. Thus many things wherein a man has pressed too far, he implicitly excuses, by owning, This is a trespass: you'll pardon my confidence; I am sensible I have no pretensions to this favour;' and the like. But commend me to those gay fellows about town who are directly impudent, and make up for it no otherwise than by calling themselves such and exulting in it. But this sort of carriage, which prompts a man against rules to urge what he has a mind to, is pardonable only when you sue for another. When you are confident in preference of yourself to others of equal merit, every man that loves virtue and modesty ought, in defence of those qualities, to oppose you. But, without considering the morality of the thing, let us at this time be hold any natural consequence of candour when we speak of ourselves. thinking on a subject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three irregular bounces at The Spectator writes often in an elegant, my landlady's door, and upon the opening often in an argumentative, and often in a of it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whesublime style, with equal success; but how ther the philosopher was at home. The would it hurt the reputed author of that child who went to the door answered very paper to own, that of the most beautiful innocently, that he did not lodge there. pieces under his title he is barely the pub-I immediately recollected that it was my fisher? There is nothing but what a man good friend sir Roger's voice; and that I really performs can be an honour to him; had promised to go with him on the water what he takes more than he ought in the to Spring-garden,* in case it proved a good eve of the world, he loses in the conviction evening. The knight put me in mind of of his own heart; and a man must lose his my promise from the bottom of the stairconsciousness, that is, his very self, before case, but told me, that if I was speculating, he can rejoice in any falschood without in- he would stay below till I had done. Upon ward mortification. my coming down, I found all the children of the family got about my old friend; and my landlady herself, who is a notable prating gossip engaged in a conference with him; being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy on the head, and bidding him to be a good child and mind his book." We were no sooner come to the Templestairs, but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were walking towards it, You must know,' says Sir Roger, 'I never make use of any body to row me, that has not lost either a leg or an arm. I would rather bate him a few strokes of his oar than not employ an honest man that has been wounded in the queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg.' Who has not seen a very criminal at the bar, when his counsel and friends have done all that they could for him in vain, prevail on the whole assembly to pity him, and his judge to recommend his case to the mercy of the throne, without offering any thing new in his defence, but that he whom before we wished convicted, became so out of his own mouth, and took upon himself all the shame and sorrow we were just before preparing for him? The great opposition to this kind of candour arises from the unjust idea people ordinarily have of what we call a high spirit. It is far from greatness of spirit to persist in the wrong in any thing; nor is it a diminution of greatness of spirit to have been in the wrong. Perfection is not the attribute of man, therefore he is not degraded by the acknowledgment of an imperfection; but it is the work of little minds to imitate the fortitude of great spirits on worthy occasions, by obstinacy in the wrong. This obstinacy prevails so far upon them, that they make it extend to the My old friend, after having seated himdefence of faults in their very servants. It self, and trimmed the boat with his coachwould swell this paper to too great a length man, who, being a very sober man, always should I insert all the quarrels and debates serves for ballast on these occasions, we which are now on foot in this town; where made the best of our way for Vauxhall. one party, and in some cases both, is sensi- Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us ble of being on the faulty side, and have not the history of his right leg; and, hearing spirit enough to acknowledge it. Among that he had left it at La Hogue, with many the ladies the case is very common; for particulars which passed in that glorious there are very few of them who know that action, the knight, in the triumph of his it is to maintain a true and high spirit, to heart, made several reflections on the throw away from it all which itself disap- greatness of the British nation; as that one proves, and to scorn so pitiful a shame, as Englishman could beat three Frenchmen; that which disables the heart from acquir- that we could never be in danger of popery ing a liberality of affections and sentiments. so long as we took care of our fleet; that The candid mind, by acknowledging and the Thames was the noblest river in discharging its faults, has reason and truth Europe; that London bridge was a greater for the foundations of all its passions and de- piece of work than any of the seven wonsires, and consequently is happy and sim-ders of the world; with many other honest ple; the disingenuous spirit, by indulgence prejudices which naturally cleave to the of one unacknowledged error, is entangled heart of a true Englishman. with an after-life of guilt, sorrow, plexity. and per- No. 383.] Tuesday, May 20, 1712. After some short pause, the old knight turning about his head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great metropolis, bid me observe how thick the city was set with churches, and that there was scarce a single steeple on this side Temple-bar. A most heathenish sight!' says sir Roger: Or Vauxhall. |