TER. EUN. ACT. I. SC. I.

I

T is an old obfervation, which has been made of politicians who would rather ingratiate themfelves with their fovereign, than promote his real fervice, that they accommodate their counfels to his inclination, and advise him to fuch actions only as his heart is naturally fet upon. The privy-counsellor of one in love muft obferve the fame conduct, unlefs he would forfeit the friendship of the perfon who defires his advice. I have known feveral odd cafes of this nature. Hipparchus was going to marry a common woman, but being refolved to do nothing without the advice of his friend Philander, he confulted him upon the occafion. Philander told him his mind freely, and reprefented his mistress to him in fuch trong colours, that the next morning he received a challenge for his pains, and before twelve o'clock was run through the body by the man who had afked his advice. Celia was more prudent on the like occafion; fhe defired Leonilla to give her opinion freely upon a young fellow who made his addreffes to her, Leonilla, to oblige her, told her with great franknefs, that fhe looked upon him as one of the most worthiefs Cælia, forefeeing what a character she was to expect, begged her not to go on, for that he had been privately married to him above a fortnight. The truth of it is, a woman feldom afks advice before he has bought her wedding cloaths. When he has made her own choice, for form's fake the fends congé d'elire to her friends.

If we look into the fecret fprings and motives that fet people at work on thefe occafions, and put them upon afking advice which they never intend to take; I look upon it to be none of the leaft, that they are incapable of keeping a fe cret which is fo very pleafing to them, A girl longs to tell her confident, that the hopes to be married in a little time, and, in order to talk of the pretty fel

low that dwells fo much in her thoughts, asks her very gravely, what she would advife her to do in a case of so much difficulty. Why elfe should Meliffa, who had not a thousand pounds in the world, go into every quarter of the town to ask her acquaintance whether they would advise her to take Tom Townly, that made his addreffes to her with an estate of five thousand a year? It is very pleasant on this occafion, to hear the lady propofe her doubts, and to see the pains the is at to get over them.

I must not here omit a practice that is in ufe among the vainer part of our own fex, who will often afk a friend's advice in relation to a fortune whom they are never like to come at. Will Honeycomb, who is now on the verge of threescore, took me afide not long fince, and asked me in his most serious look, whether I would advife him to marry my Lady Betty Single, who, by the way, is one of the greatett fortunes about town. I ftared him full in the face upon to ftrange a question; upon which he immediately gave me an inventory of her jewels and eftate, adding, that he was refolved to do nothing in a matter of fuch confequence without my approbation. Finding he would have an answer, I told him, if he could get the lady's confent he had mine. This is about the tenth match which, to my knowledge, Will has confulted his friends upon, without ever opening his mind to the party herself.

I have been engaged in this fubject by the following letter, which comes to me from fome notable young female fcribe, who, by the contents of it, feems to have carried matters fo far, that the is ripe for afking advice; but as I would not lofe her good will, nor forfeit the reputation which I have with her for wisdom, I fhall only communicate the letter to the public, without returning any answer to it,

MR.

MR. SPECTATOR,

you

NOW, Sir, the thing is this: Mr. Shapely is the prettieft gentleman about town. He is very tall, but not too tall neither. He dances like an angel. His mouth is made I do not know how, but it is the prettieft that I ever faw in my life. He is always laughing, for he has an infinite deal of wit. If did but fee how he rolls his stockings! He has a thoufand pretty fancies; and I am fure, if you faw him, you would like him. He is a very good fcholar, and can talk Latin as fast as English. I wish you could but see him dance. Now you must understand, poor Mr. Shapely has no eftate; but how can he help that, you know? And yet my friends are fo unreasonable as to be always teazing me about him, becaufe he has no eftate; but I am fure he has what is better than an estate; for he is a good-natured, ingenious, modest, civil, tall, well-bred, handsome man,

and I am obliged to him for his civilities ever fince I faw him. I forgot to tell you that he has black eyes, and looks upon me now and then as if he had tears in them. And yet my friends are fo unreasonable, that they would have me be uncivil to him. Í have a good portion which they cannot hinder me of, and I fhall be fourteen on the 29th day of August next, and am therefore willing to fettle in the world as foon as I can, and fo is Mr. Shapely. But every body I advife with here is poor Mr. Shapely's enemy. I defire therefore you will give me your advice, for I know you are a wife man; and if you advise me well, I am refolved to follow it. I heartily with you could fee him dance; and am, Sir, your molt humble fervant, B. D.

He loves your Spectators mightily.

METHOD.

HOR. ARS POET. VER. 41.

beftow on the public, there are fome which are written with regularity and method, and others that run out into the wildnefs of thofe compofitions which go by the name of effays. As for the firft, I have the whole fcheme of the discourse in my mind before I fet pen to paper. In the other kind of writing, it is fufficient that I have feveral thoughts on a fubject, without troubling myfelf to range them in such order, that they may feem to grow out of one another, and be difpofed under the proper heads. Seneca and Montaigne are patterns for writing in this laft kind, as Tully and Ariftotle excel in the other. When I read an author of genius who writes without method, I fancy myself in a wood that abounds with a great many noble objects, rifing among one another in the greatest confufion and diforder. When I read a methodical difcourse, I am in a regular plantation, and can place myfelf in it's feveral centers, fo as to take a view of all the lines

You may ramble in the one a whole day together, and every moment discover fomething or other that is new to you; but when you have done, you will have but a confufed imperfect notion of the place: in the other your eye commands the whole profpect, and gives you fuch an idea of it, as is not easily worn out of the memory.

Irregularity and want of method are only fupportable in men of great learning or genius, who are often too full to be exact, and therefore choose to throw down their pearls in heaps before the reader, rather than be at the pains of ftringing them.

Method is of advantage to a work both in refpect to the writer and the reader. In regard to the first, it is a great help to his invention. When a man has planned his difcourfe, he finds a great many thoughts iling out of every head, that do not offer themfelves upon the general furvey of a fubje&t. His thoughts are at the fame time more 6 D 2 intelligible,

intelligible, and better discover their drift and meaning, when they are placed in their proper lights, and follow one another in a regular feries, than when they are thrown together without order and connection. There is always an obfcurity in confufion, and the fame fentence that would have enlightened the reader in one part of a difcourfe, perplexes him in another. For the fame reafon likewife every thought in a methodical difcourfe fhews itself in it's greatest beauty, as the several figures in a piece of painting receive new grace from their difpofition in the picture. The advantages of a reader from a methodical difcourfe, are correfpondent with thofe of the writer. He comprehends every thing eafily, takes it in with pleafure, and retains it long.

Method is not lefs requifite in ordinary converfation than in writing, provided a man would talk to make himfelf understood. I, who hear a thoufand coffee-house debates every day, am very fenfible of this want of method in the thoughts of my honeft countrymen. There is not one difpute in ten which is managed in thofe fchools of politics, where, after the three firft fentences, the question is not intirely loft. Our difputants put me in mind of the fcuttlefifh, that when he is unable to extricate himself, blackens all the water about him until he becomes invifible. The man who does not know how to methodize his thoughts has always, to borrow a phrafe from the Difpenfary, a barren fuperfluity of words; the fruit is loft amidft the exuberance of leaves.' Tom Puzzle is one of the most eminent immethodical difputants of any that has fallen under my obfervation.

Tom has read enough to make him very impertinent; his knowledge is fufficient to raise doubts, but not to clear them. It is pity that he has fo much learning, or that he has not a great deal more. With thefe qualifications Tom sets up for a free-thinker, finds a great many things to blame in the constitution of his country, and gives fhrewd intimations that he does not believe another world. In fhort, Puzzle is an atheist as much as his parts will give him leave. He has got about half a dozen common-place topics, into which he never fails to turn the converfation, whatever was the occafion of it: though the matter in debate be about Doway or Denain, it is ten to one but half his discourse runs upon the unreasonableness of bigotry and prieft-craft. This makes Mr. Puzzle the admiration of all those who have lefs fenfe than himself, and the contempt of thofe who have more. There is none in town whom Tom dreads fo much as my friend Will Dry. Will, who is acquainted with Tom's logic, when he finds him running off the queftion, cuts him short with aWhat then? We allow all this to be true, but what is it to our present purpofe?' I have known Tom eloquent half an hour together, and triumphing, as he thought, in the fuperiority of the argument, when he has been nonpluffed on a fudden by Mr. Dry's defiring him to tell the company what it was that he endeavoured to prove. In fhort, Dry is a man of a clear methodical head, but few words, and gains the fame advantage over Puzzle, that a fmall body of regular troops would gain over a numberless undifciplined militia.

HOR. OD. IV. L. 3. V. 5.

SIR,

[AVING lately read your effay on

I was so taken with your thoughts upon fome of our English gardens, that I cannot forbear troubling you with a letter upon that fubject. I am one, you muft know, who am looked upon as an humourist in gardening. I have feveral acres about my houfe, which I call my garden, and which a skilful gardener would not know what to call. It is a confufion of kitchen and parterre, orchard and flower garden, which lie fo mixt and interwoven with one another, that if a foreigner, who had feen nothing of our country, fhould be conveyed into my garden at his firft landing, he would look upon it as a natural wilderness, and one of the uncultivated parts of our country. My flowers grow up in feveral parts of the garden in the greatest luxuriancy and profufion. I am fo far from being fond of any particular one, hy reafon of it's rarity, that if I meet with any one in a field which pleafes me, I give it a place in my garden. By this means, when a ftranger walks with me, he is furprised to fee feveral large fpots of ground covered with ten thoufand different colours, and has often fingled out flowers that he might have met with under a common hedge, in a field, or a meadow, as fome of the greatest beauties of the place. The only method I obferve in this particular, is to range in the fame quarter the products of the fame feafon, that they may make their appearance together, and compofe a picture of the greateft variety. There is the fame irregularity in my plantations, which run into as

CREECH.

great a wildnefs as their natures will permit. I take in none that do not na

rejoice in the foil, and am pleated

when I am walking in a labyrinth of my own raifing, not to know whether the next tree I fhall meet with is an apple or an oak, an elm or a pear-tree. My kitchen has likewife it's particular quarters affigned it; for befides the wholefome luxury which that place abounds with, I have always thought a kitchen-garden a more pleasant fight than the fineft orangery or artificial green-houfe. I love to fee every thing in it's perfection, and am more pleafed to furvey my rows of colworts and cabbages, with a thoufand nameless potherbs, fpringing up in their full fragrancy and verdure, than to fee the tender plants of foreign countries kept alive by artificial heats, or withering in an air and foil that are not adapted to them. I must not omit, that there is a fountain rifing in the upper part of my garden, which forms a little wandering rill, and adminifters to the pleafure as well as the plenty of the place. I have fo conducted it, that it vifits most of my plantations; and have taken particular care to let it run in the fame manner as it would do in an open field, fo that it generally paffes through banks of violets and primrofes, plats of willow, or other plants, that feem to be of it's own producing. There is another circumtance in which I am very particular, or, as my neighbours call me, very whimfical: as my garden invites into it all the birds of the country, by offering them the conveniency of fprings and fhades, folitude and fhelter, I do not fuffer any one to deftroy their nefts in

the

the fpring, or drive them from their utual haunts in fruit-time. I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their fongs. By this means I have always the mufic of the feafon in it's perfection, and am highly delighted to fee the jay or the thrush hopping about my walks, and fhooting before my eyes across the feveral little glades and alleys that I pafs through. I think there are as many kinds of gardening as of poetry: your makers of parterres and flower-gardens, are epigrammatifts and fonneteers in this art; contrivers of bowers and grottoes, treillages and cafcades, are romance writers. Wife and London are our heroic poets; and if, as a critic, I may fingle out any paffage of their works to commend, I hall take notice of that part in the upper garden at Kenfington, which was at firit nothing but a gravel-pit. It muft have been a fine genius for gardening, that could have thought of forming fuch an unfightly hollow into fo beautiful an area, and to have hit the eye with fo uncommon and agreeable a fcene as that which it is now wrought into. To give this particular spot of ground the greater effect, they have made a very pleafing contraft; for as on one fide of the walk you fee this hollow bafon, with it's feveral little plantations lying fo conveniently under the eye of the beholder; on the other fide of it there appears a feeming mount, made up of trees rifing one higher than an other in proportion as they approach the centre. A fpectator who has not heard this account of it, would think this circular mount was not only a real one, but that it had been actually scooped out of that hollow fpace which I have before mentioned. I never yet met with any one who has walked in this garden, who was not ftruck with that part of it which I have here mentioned. As for myfelf, you will find, by the account which I have already given you, that my compofitions in gardening are altogether after the Pindaric manner, and run into the beautiful wildnefs of nature, without affecting the nicer elegancies of art. What I am now going to mention, will, perhaps, deferve your attention more than any thing I have yet faid. I find that in the difcourfe which I fpoke of at the beginning of my letter, you are against filling an Eng

lifh garden with ever-greens; and in deed I am so far of your opinion, that I can by no means think the verdure of an ever-green comparable to that which fhoots out annually, and cloaths our trees in the fummer feafon. But I have often wondered that those who are like myself, and love to live in gardens, have never thought of contriving a winter-garden, which would confift of fuch trees only as never caft their leaves. We have very often little snatches of funfhine and fair weather in the moft uncomfortable parts of the year, and have frequently feveral days in Novem ber and January that are as agreeable as any in the finest months. At fuch times, therefore, I think there could not be a greater pleasure, than to walk in fuch a winter-garden as I have propofed. In the fummer feason the whole country blooms, and is a kind of gar den, for which reafon we are not fo fenfible of thofe beauties that at this time may be every where met with; but when nature is in her defolation, and presents us with nothing but bleak and barren profpects, there is fomething unfpeakably chearful in a spot of ground which is covered with trees that finile amidst all the rigour of winter, and give us a view of the most gay feafon in the midft of that which is the most dead and melancholy. I have fo far indulged myfelf in this thought, that I have set apart a whole acre of ground for the executing of it. The walls are covered with ivy instead of vines. The laurel, the bay-tree, and the holly, with many other trees and plants of the fame nature, grow fo thick in it, that you cannot imagine a more lively scene. The glowing redness of the berries with which they are hung at this time, vies with the verdure of their leaves, and are apt to infpire the heart of the beholder with that vernal delight which you have fomewhere taken notice of in your former papers. It is very pleafant, at the fame time, to fee the feveral kinds of birds retiring into this little green spot, and enjoying themselves among the branches and foliage, when my great garden, which I have before mentioned to you, does not afford a single leaf for their thelter.

You must know, Sir, that I look upon the pleafure which we take in a garden, as one of the most innocent delights in human life. A garden was the habita