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No. 361.] Thursday, April 24, 1712.
Tartaream intendit vocem, qua protinus omnis
Contremuit domus-
Virg. Æn. vii. 514.
The blast Tartarean spreads its notes around;
The house astonish'd trembles at the sound.

I HAVE lately received the following letter from a country gentleman:

very well, that musical instruments took their first rise from the notes of birds, and other melodious animals; and what,' says he, was more natural than for the first ages of mankind to imitate the voice of a cat, that lived under the same roof with them?" He added, that the cat had contributed more to harmony than any other animal; as we are not only beholden to her for this wind instrument, but for our stringmusic in general.

Another virtuoso of my acquaintance will not allow the cat-call to be older than Thespis, and is apt to think it appeared in the world soon after the ancient comedy; for which reason it has still a place in our dramatic entertainments. Nor must I here omit what a very curious gentleman, who is lately returned from his travels, has more than once assured me; namely, that there was lately dug up at Rome the statue of a Momus, who holds an instrument in his right hand, very much resembling our modern cat-call.

There are others who ascribe this invention to Orpheus, and look upon the cat-call to be one of those instruments which that famous musician made use of to draw the beasts about him. It is certain that the roasting of a cat does not call together a greater audience of that species than this instrument, if dexterously played upon in proper time and place.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-The night before I left London I went to see a play called The Humourous Lieutenant. Upon the rising of the curtain I was very much surprised with the great concert of cat-calls which was exhibited that evening, and began to think with myself that I had made a mistake, and gone to a music-meeting instead of the play-house. It appeared indeed a little odd to me, to see so many persons of quality, of both sexes, assembled together at a kind of caterwauling, for I cannot look upon that performance to have been any thing better, whatever the musicians them- But, notwithstanding these various and selves might think of it. As I had no ac-learned conjectures, I cannot forbear thinkquaintance in the house to ask questions of, and was forced to go out of town early the next morning, I could not learn the secret of this matter, What I would therefore desire of you, is, to give me some account of this strange instrument, which I found the company called a cat-call; and particularly to let me know whether it be a piece of music lately come from Italy. For my own part to be free with you, I would rather hear an English fiddle; though I durst not show my dislike whilst I was in the play-house, it being my chance to sit the very next man to one of the performers. I am, sir, your most affectionate friend and

servant,

JOHN SHALLOW, Esq.'

In compliance with Squire Shallow's request, I design this paper as a dissertation upon the cat-call. In order to make myself a master of the subject, I purchased one the beginning of last week, though not without great difficulty, being informed at two or three toy-shops that the players had lately bought them all up. I have since consulted many learned antiquaries in relation to its original, and find them very much divided among themselves upon that particular. A fellow of the Royal Society who is my good friend, and a great proficient in the mathematical part of music, concludes, from the simplicity of its make, and the uniformity of its sound, that the cat-call is older than any of the inventions of Jubal. He observes

ing that the cat-call is originally a piece of English music. Its resemblance to the voice of some of our British songsters, as well as the use of it, which is peculiar to our nation, confirms me in this opinion. It has at least received great improvements among us, whether we consider the instrument itself, or those several quavers and graces which are thrown into the playing of it. Every one might be sensible of this who heard that remarkable overgrown catcall which was placed in the centre of the pit, and presided over all the rest at the celebrated performance lately exhibited at Drury-lane.

Having said thus much concerning the origin of the cat-call, we are in the next place to consider the use of it. The catcall exerts itself to most advantage in the British theatre. It very much improves the sound of nonsense, and often goes along with the voice of the actor who pronounces it, as the violin or harpsichord accompanies the Italian recitativo.

It has often supplied the place of the ancient chorus, in the words of Mr. ***. In short, a bad poet has as great an antipathy to a cat-call as many people have to à real cat.

Mr. Collier in his ingenious essay upon music, has the following passage:

'I believe it is possible to invent an instrument that shall have a quite contrary effect to those martial ones now in use; an

instrument that shall sink the spirits and of private families, or the clubs of honest shake the nerves, and curdle the blood, fellows. I cannot imagine how a Spectator and inspire despair, and cowardice, and can be supposed to do his duty, without consternation, at a surprising rate. 'Tis frequent resumption of such subjects as probable the roaring of lions, the warbling concern our health, the first thing to be of cats and screech-owls, together with a regarded, if we have a mind to relish any mixture of the howling of dogs, judiciously thing else. It would, therefore, very well imitated and compounded, might go a great become your spectatorial vigilance, to give way in this invention. Whether such anti-it in orders to your officer for inspecting music as this might not be of service in a camp, I shall leave to the military men to consider.'

What this learned gentleman supposes in speculation, I have known actually verified in practice. The cat-call has struck a damp into generals, and frighted heroes off the stage. At the first sound of it I have seen a crowned head tremble, and a princess fall into fits. The humourous lieutenant himself could not stand it; nay, I am told that even Almanzor looked like a mouse, and trembled at the voice of this terrifying instrument.

As it is of a dramatic nature, and peculiarly appropriated to the stage, I can by no means approve the thought of that angry lover, who, after an unsuccessful pursuit of some years, took leave of his mistress in a serenade of cat-calls.

signs, that in his march he would look into the itinerants who deal in provisions, and inquire where they buy their several wares. Ever since the decease of Colly-Molly-Puff, of agreeable and noisy memory, I cannot say I have observed any thing sold in carts, or carried by horse, or ass, or, in fine, in any moving market, which is not perished or putrefied; witness the wheel-barrows of rotten raisins, almonds, figs, and currants, which you see vended by a merchant dressed in a second-hand suit of a foot soldier. You should consider that a child may be poisoned for the worth of a farthing; but except his poor parents send him to one certain doctor in town, they can have no advice for him under a guinea. When poisons are thus cheap, and medicines thus dear, how can you be negligent in inspecting what we eat and drink, or take no I must conclude this paper with the ac-notice of such as the above-mentioned citicount I have lately received of an ingenious | zens, who have been so serviceable to us artist, who has long studied this instrument, of late in that particular? It was a custom and is very well versed in all the rules of among the old Romans, to do him particuthe drama. He teaches to play on it by lar honours who had saved the life of a book, and to express by it the whole art of citizen. How much more does the world criticism. He has his bass and his treble owe to those who prevent the death of mulcat-call; the former for tragedy, the latter titudes! As these men deserve well of your for comedy; only in tragi-comedies they office, so such as act to the detriment of may both play together in concert. He has our health, you ought to represent to thema particular squeak, to denote the violation selves and their fellow-subjects in the colours of each of the unities, and has different which they deserve to wear. I think it sounds to show whether he aims at the poet would be for the public good, that all who or the player. In short, he teaches the vend wines should be under oath in that smut-note, the fustian-note, the stupid-note, behalf. The chairman at the quarter-sesand has composed a kind of air that may sions should inform the country, that the serve as an act-tune to an incorrigible play, vintner who mixes wine to his customers, and which takes in the whole compass of shall (upon proof that the drinker thereof the cat-call. L. died within a year and a day after taking it,) be deemed guilty of wilful murder, and the jury shall be instructed to inquire and present such delinquents accordingly. It is no mitigation of the crime, nor will it be conceived that it can be brought in chancemedley, or man-slaughter, upon proof that it shall appear wine joined to wine, or right Herefordshire poured into Port O Port: but his selling it for one thing, knowing it to be another, must justly bear the foresaid guilt of wilful murder: for that he, the said vintner, did an unlawful act willingly in the false mixture, and is therefore with equity liable to all the pains to which a man would be, if it were proved that he designed only to run a man through the arm whom he whipped through the lungs. This is my third year at the Temple, and this is, or should be, law. An ill intention, well proved, should meet with no alleviation, because it outran itself. There cannot be too great.

No. 352.] Friday, April 25, 1712.

Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus

Hor. Ep. xix. Lib. 1. 6. He praises wine; and we conclude from thence, He lik'd his glass, on his own evidence.

'Temple, April 24. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-Several of my friends were this morning got over a dish of tea in very good health, though we had celebrated yesterday with more glasses that we could have dispensed with, had we not been beholden to Brooke and Hellier. In gratitude, therefore, to those citizens, I am, in the name of the company, to accuse you of great negligence in overlooking their merit, who have imported true and generous wine, and taken care that it should not be adulterated by the retailers before it comes to the tables

severity used against the injustice as well as cruelty of those who play with men's lives, by preparing liquors whose nature, for aught they know, may be noxious when mixed, though innocent when apart: and Brooke and Hellier, who have insured our safety at our meals, and driven jealousy from our cups in conversation, deserve the custom and thanks of the whole town; and it is your duty to remind them of the obligation. I am, sir, your humble servant,

'TOM POTTLE.'

has from a great wit, governed by as great
prudence, and both adorned with innocence,
the happiness of always being ready to dis-
cover her real thoughts. She has many of
us, who now are her admirers; but her
treatment of us is so just and proportioned
to our merit towards her, and what we are
in ourselves, that I protest to you I have
neither jealousy nor hatred towards my
rivals. Such is her goodness, and the ac-
knowledgment of every man who admires
her, that he thinks he ought to believe she
will take him who best deserves her. I
will not say that this peace among us is not
owing to self-love, which prompts each to
think himself the best deserver. I think
there is something uncommon and worthy
of imitation in this lady's character. If you
will please to print my letter, you will
oblige the little fraternity of happy rivals,
and in a more particular manner, sir, your
most humble servant,
WILL CYMON.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a person who
was long immured in a college, read much,
saw little; so that I knew no more of the
world than what a lecture or view of the
map taught me. By this means I improved
in my study, but became unpleasant in con-
versation. By conversing generally with
the dead, I grew almost unfit for the society
of the living; so by a long confinement I
contracted an ungainly aversion to conver-
sation, and ever discoursed with pain to
myself, and little entertainment to others.
At last I was in some measure made sensi- No. 363.] Saturday, April 26, 1712.
ble of my failing, and the mortification of
never being spoken to, or speaking, unless
the discourse ran upon books, put me upon
forcing myself among men. I immediately
affected the politest company, by the fre-
quent use of which, I hoped to wear off the
rust I had contracted: but, by an uncouth
imitation of men, used to act in public,
got no further than to discover I had a mind
to appear a finer thing than I really was.

-Crudelis ubique

Luctus, ubique pavor, et plurima mortis imago.
Virg. Æn. ii. 368.
All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears,
And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.-Dryden.
MILTON has shown a wonderful art in

describing that variety of passions which
arise in our first parents upon the breach
of the commandment that had been given
the triumph of their guilt, through remorse,
them. We see them gradually passing from
shame, despair, contrition, prayer and hope,
to a perfect and complete repentance. At
the end of the tenth book they are repre-
sented as prostrating themselves upon the
tears: to which the poet joins this beautiful
ground, and watering the earth with their
circumstance, that they offered up their
penitential prayers on the very place where
their judge appeared to them when he pro-

nounced their sentence:

-They forthwith to the place
Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell
Before him reverent, and both confess'd
Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'd, with tears
Watering the ground.-

Such I was, and such was my condition, when I became an ardent lover, and passionate admirer of the beauteous Belinda. Then it was that I really began to improve. This passion changed all my fears and diffidences in my general behaviour to the sole concern of pleasing her. I had not now to study the action of a gentleman; but love possessing all my thoughts, made me truly be the thing I had a mind to appear. My thoughts grew free and generous; and the ambition to be agreeable to her I admired, produced in my carriage a faint similitude of that disengaged manner of my Belinda. The way we are in at present is, that she sees my passion, and sees I at present forbear speaking of it through prudential reThere is a beauty of the same kind in a gards. This respect to her she returns with tragedy of Sophocles, where Edipus, after much civility, and makes my value for her having put out his own eyes, instead of as little misfortune to me as is consistent breaking his neck from the palace battlewith discretion. She sings very charmingly, ments, (which furnishes so elegant an enand is readier to do so at my request, be-tertainment for our English audience) decause she knows I love her. She will dance sires that he may be conducted to Mount with me rather than another for the same Citharon, in order to end his life in that reason. My fortune must alter from what very place where he was exposed in his it is, before I can speak my heart to her: infancy, and where he should then have and her circumstances are not considerable died, had the will of his parents been exeenough to make up for the narrowness of cuted.* mine. But I write to you now, only to give you the character of Belinda, as a woman that has address enough to demonstrate a gratitude to her lover, without giving him hopes of success in his passion. Belinda

As the author never fails to give a poetical

folio, but added on the republication of the papers in *This paragraph was not in the original paper in volumes.

turn to his sentiments, he describes in the eclipse, a bright cloud descends in the beginning of this book the acceptance which western quarter of the heavens, filled with these their prayers met with, in a short a host of angels, and more luminous than allegory formed upon that beautiful passage the sun itself. The whole theatre of nature in holy writ, And another angel came and is darkened, that this glorious machine may stood at the altar, having a golden censer; appear with all its lustre and magnificence. and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar, which was before the throne: and the smoke of the incense, which came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God.'*

-To heaven their prayer

Flew up, nor miss'd the way, by envious winds
Blown vagabond or frustrate; in they pass'd
Dimensionless through heav'nly doors, then clad
With incense, where the golden altar fum'd
By their great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Father's throne.

We have the same thought expressed a

second time in the intercession of the Mes

siah, which is conceived in very emphatical

sentiments and expressions.

Among the poetical parts of Scripture, which Milton has so finely wrought into this part of his narration, I must not omit that wherein Ezekiel, speaking of the angels who appeared to him in a vision adds, that every one had four faces, and that their whole bodies, and their backs, and their hands, and their wings, were full of eyes round about:

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-Yet lest they fain

At the sad sentence rigorously urg'd,
For I behold them soften'd, and with tears
Bewailing their excess, all terror hide.'

The conference of Adam and Eve is full of moving sentiments. Upon their going abroad, after the melancholy night which they had passed together, they discover the lion and the eagle, each of them pursuing their prey towards the eastern gates of Paradise. There is a double beauty in this incident, not only as it presents great and just omens, which are always agreeable in poetry, but as it expresses that enmity which was now produced in the animal creation. The poet, to show the like changes in nature, as well as to grace his fable with a noble prodigy, represents the sun in an eclipse. This particular incident has likewise a fine effect upon the imagination of the reader, in regard to what follows; for at the same time that the sun is under an

* Rev. viii. 3, 4.

--Why in the east

Darkness ere day's mid-course? and morning light
More orient in that western cloud that draws
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,
And slow descends with something heavenly fraught?"
He err'd not, for by this the heavenly bands
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now
In Paradise, and on a hill made halt;
A glorious apparition.-

-

I need not observe how properly this author, who always suits his parts to the actors whom he introduces, has employed Michael in the expulsion of our first parents casion neither appears in his proper shape, from Paradise. The archangel on this ocnor in the familiar manner with which Ra

phael, the sociable spirit, entertained the
father of mankind before the fall. His per-
son, his port, and behaviour, are suitable to
a spirit of the highest rank, and exquisitely
described in the following passage:

-Th' archangel soon drew nigh,
Not in his shape celestial; but as man
Clad to meet man: over his lucid arms
A military vest of purple flow'd,
Livelier than Meliban, or the grain
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old,
In time of truce: Iris had dipt the woof:
His starry helm, unbuckled, show'd him prime
In manhood where youth ended; by his side,
As in a glist'ring zodiac, hung the sword,
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear.
Adam bow'd low; he kingly from his state
Inclin'd not, but his coming thus declared.

Eve's complaint, upon hearing that she was to be removed from the garden of Paradise, is wonderfully beautiful. The sentiments are not only proper to the subject, but have something in them particularly soft and womanish:

'Must I then leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades
Fit haunt of gods, where I had hope to spend
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both? O flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last

At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave you names!
Who now shall rear you to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount?
Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorn'd
With what to sight or smell was sweet: from thee
How shall I part? and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this, obscure

And wild? How shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?'

Adam's speech abounds with thoughts which are equally moving, but of a more masculine and elevated turn. Nothing can be conceived more sublime and poetical than the following passage in it:

This most afflicts me, that departing hence
As from his face I shall be hid, deprived
His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent,
With worship, place by place, where he vouchsaf'd
Presence divine; and to my sons relate,
On this mount he appear'd, under this tree
Stood visible, among these pines his voice
I heard here with him at this fountain talk'd;

So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone

Of lustre from the brook, in memory
Or monuments to ages, and thereon
Offer sweet-smelling gums and flow'rs.
In yonder nether world, where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footsteps trace?
For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd
To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.'

The angel afterwards leads Adam to the highest mount of Paradise, and lays before him a whole hemisphere, as a proper stage for those visions which were to be represented on it. I have before observed how the plan of Milton's poem is in many particulars greater than that of the Iliad or Æneid. Virgil's hero, in the last of these poems, is entertained with a sight of all those who are to descend from him; but though that episode is justly admired as one of the noblest designs in the whole Æneid, every one must allow that this of Milton is of a much higher nature. Adam's vision is not confined to any particular tribe of mankind, but extends to the whole species.

In this great review which Adam takes of all his sons and daughters, the first objects he is presented with exhibit to him the story of Abel, which is drawn together with much closeness and propriety of expression. The curiosity and natural horror which arises in Adam at the sight of the first dying man is touched with great beauty.

'But have I now seen death? Is this the way
I must return to native dust? O sight
Of terror foul, and ugly to behold!
Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!'

The second vision sets before him the image of death in a great variety of appearances. The angel, to give him a general idea of those effects which his guilt had brought upon his posterity, places before him a large hospital, or lazar-house, filled with persons lying under all kinds of mortal diseases. How finely has the poet told us that the sick persons languished under lingering and incurable distempers, by an apt and judicious use of such imaginary beings as those I mentioned in my last Saturday's paper:

Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; Despair
Tended the sick, busy from couch to couch;
And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook, but delay'd to strike, tho' oft invok'd
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.
The passion which likewise rises in
Adam on this occasion is very natural:

Sight so deform what heart of rock could long
Dry-ey'd behold? Adam could not, but wept,
Though not of woman born; compassion quell'd
His best of man, and gave him up to tears.

The discourse between the angel and Adam which follows, abounds with noble morals.

As there is nothing more delightful in poetry than a contrast and opposition of incidents, the author, after this melancholy prospect of death and sickness, raises up a scene of mirth, love, and jollity. The secret pleasure that steals into Adam's heart, as

he is intent upon this vision, is imagined
with great delicacy. I must not omit the
description of the loose female troop, who
seduced the sons of God, as they are called
in Scripture.

'For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seem'd
Of goddesses, so blythe, so smooth, so gay,
Yet empty of all good, wherein consists
Woman's domestic honour, and chief praise;
Bred only and completed to the taste
Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,

To dress, and troule the tongue, and roll the eye;
To these that sober race of men, whose lives
Religious titled them the sons of God,

Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame,
Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles
Of those fair atheists."

The next vision is of a quite contrary nature, and filled with the horrors of war. Adam at the sight of it melts into tears, and breaks out into that passionate speech,

-O what are these!

Death's ministers, not men, who thus deal death
Inhumanly to men, and multiply

Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew
His brother: for of whom such massacre
Make they, but of their brethren, men of men?

Milton to keep up an agreeable variety in his visions, after having raised in the mind of his reader the several ideas of terror which are conformable to the description of war, passes on to those softer images of triumphs and festivals, in that vision of lewdness and luxury which ushers in the flood.

As it is visible that the poet had his eye upon Ovid's account of the universal deluge, the reader may observe with how much judgment he has avoided every thing that is redundant or puerile in the Latin poet. We do not here see the wolf swimming among the sheep, nor any of those wanton imaginations which Seneca found fault with, as unbecoming this great catastrophe of nature. If our poet has imitated that verse in which Ovid tells us that there was nothing but sea, and that this sea had no shore to it, he has not set the thought in such a light as to incur the censure which critics have passed upon it. The latter part of that verse in Ovid is idle and superfluous, but just and beautiful in Milton,

Jamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant;
Nil nisi pontus erat; deerant quoque littora ponto.
Ovid. Met. i. 291.

Now seas and earth were in confusion lost;
A world of waters, and without a coast.-Dryden.
-Sea cover'd sea,

Sea without shore.

Milton.

In Milton the former part of the description does not forestall the latter. How much more great and solemn on this occasion is that which follows in our English poet,

-And in their palaces,
Where luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd
And stabled-

than that in Ovid, where we are told that
the sea-calf lay in those places where the
goats were used to browse! The reader
may find several other parallel passages in
the Latin and English description of the

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