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built?' The king replied, "His ancestors, And who,' says the dervise, was the last person that lodged here?' The king replied, His father.' 'And who is it," says the dervise, that lodges here at present?' The king told him, that it was he himself. "And who,' says the dervise, will be here after you?' The king answered, 'The young prince his son.' 'Ah, sir,' said the dervise, a house that changes its inhabitants so often, and receives such a perpetual succession of guests, is not a palace, but a caravansary.'

L.

No. 290.] Friday, February 1, 1711-12.
Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.
Hor. Ars Poet. v. 97.*
Forgets his swelling and gigantic words.

Roscommon.

known only to particular tempers, yet in the above-mentioned considerations, the sorrow of the heroine will move even the generality of mankind. Domestic virtues concern all the world, and there is no one living who is not interested that Andromache should be an imitable character. The generous affection to the memory of the deceased husband, that tender care for her son, which is ever heightened with the consideration of his father, and these regards preserved in spite of being tempted with the possession of the highest greatness, are what cannot but be venerable even to such an audience as at present frequents the English theatre. My friend Will Honeycomb commended several tender things that were said, and told me they were very genteel, but whispered me, that he feared the piece was not busy enough for the present taste. To supply this, he THE players, who know I am very much recommended to the players to be very their friend, take all opportunities to ex- careful in their scenes, and above all things press a gratitude to me for being so. They that every part should be perfectly new could not have a better occasion of obliging dressed. I was very glad to find that they me, than one which they lately took hold of. did not neglect my friend's admonition, beThey desired my friend Will Honeycomb cause there are a great many in this class to bring me to the reading of a new tragedy: of criticism who may be gained by it; but it is called The Distressed Mother. I indeed the truth is, that as to the work must confess, though some days are passed itself, it is every where Nature. The persince I enjoyed that entertainment, the pas- sons are of the highest quality in life, even sions of the several characters dwell strong- that of princes; but their quality is not rely upon my imagination; and I congratu- presented by the poet with directions that late the age that they are at last to see guards and waiters should follow them in truth and human life represented in the every scene, but their grandeur appears in incidents which concern heroes and hero- greatness of sentiment, flowing from minds The style of the play is such as be-worthy their condition. To make a chacomes those of the first education, and the racter truly great, this author understands sentiments worthy of those of the highest that it should have its foundation in supefigure. It was a most exquisite pleasure to rior thoughts and maxims of conduct. It me to observe real tears drop from the eyes is very certain, that many an honest woman of those who had long made it their profes- would make no difficulty, though she had sion to dissemble affliction; and the player been the wife of Hector, for the sake of a who read, frequently threw down the book, kingdom, to marry the enemy of her husuntil he had given vent to the humanity band's family and country; and indeed who which rose in him at some irresistible can deny but she might be still an honest touches of the imagined sorrow. We have woman, but no heroine? That may be deseldom had any female distress on the stage, fensible, nay, laudable, in one character, which did not, upon cool examination, ap- which would be in the highest degree expear to flow from the weakness, rather ceptionable in another. When Cato Uticen than the misfortune of the person repre- cis killed himself, Cottius, a Roman of sented: but in this tragedy you are not en- ordinary quality and character, did the tertained with the ungoverned passions of same thing; upon which one said, smiling, such as are enamoured of each other,Cottius might have lived, though Cæsar merely as they are men and women, but their regards are founded upon high conceptions of each other's virtue and merit; and the character which gives name to the play, is one who has behaved herself with heroic virtue in the most important circumstances of a female life, those of a wife, a widow, and a mother. If there be those whose minds have been too attentive upon the affairs of life, to have any notion of the passion of love in such extremes as are

ines.

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has seized the Roman liberty.' Cottius's condition might have been the same, let things at the upper end of the world pass as they would. What is further very extraordinary in this work is, that the persons are all of them laudable, and their misfortunes arise rather from unguarded virtue than propensity to vice. The town has an opportunity of doing itself justice in supporting the representations of passion, sorrow, indignation, even despair itself, within the rules of decency, honour, and good-breeding; and since there is none Can flatter himself his life will be always fortunate, they may here see sorrow as

they would wish to bear it whenever it critic, whereas one who has not these pre

arrives.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am appointed to act a part in the new tragedy called the Distressed Mother. It is the celebrated grief of Orestes which I am to personate; but I shall not act it as I ought, for I shall feel it too intimately to be able to utter it. I was last night repeating a paragraph to myself, which I took to be an expression of rage, and in the middle of the sen tence there was a stroke of self-pity which quite unmanned me. Be pleased, sir, to print this letter, that when I am oppressed in this manner at such an interval, a certain part of the audience may not think I am out; and I hope, with this allowance, to do it with satisfaction. I am, sir, your your most humble servant,

'GEORGE POWELL.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,-As I was walking the other day in the Park, I saw a gentleman with a very short face; I desire to know whether it was you. Pray inform me as soon as you can, lest I become the most heroic Hecatissa's rival. Your humble servant to command, SOPHIA.'

'DEAR MADAM,-It is not me you are in love with, for I was very ill, and kept my chamber all that day. Your most humble servant,

T.

'THE SPECTATOR.'

vious lights is very often an utter stranger to what he reads, and apt to put a wrong interpretation upon it.

Nor is it sufficient that a man, who sets up for a judge in criticism, should have perused the authors above-mentioned, unWithout this talent he is perpetually puzless he has also a clear and logical head. zled and perplexed amidst his own blunders, mistakes the sense of those he would confute, or, if he chances to think right, does not know how to convey his thoughts Aristotle, who was the best critic, was also to another with clearness and perspicuity. one of the best logicians that ever appeared

in the world.

Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding would be thought a very odd book for a man to make himself master of, who would get a reputation by critical writings; though at the same time it is very certain, that an author who has not learned the art of distinguishing between words and things, and of ranging his thoughts and setting them in proper lights, whatever notions he may have, will lose himself in confusion and obscurity. I might further observe, that there is not a Greek or Latin critic, who has not shown, even in the style of his criticism, that he was a master of all the elegance and delicacy of his native tongue.

The truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd, than for a man to set up for a critic, without a good insight into all the parts of

No. 291.] Saturday, February 2, 1711-12. learning; whereas many of those, who have

-Ubi plura nitent in carmine, aon ego paucis Offendor maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, Aut humana parum cavit natura.

Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 351.

But in a poem elegantly writ, I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.-Roscommon. I HAVE NOW considered Milton's Paradise Lost under those four great heads, of the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language; and have shown that he excels in general, under each of these heads. I hope that I have made several discoveries which may appear new even to those who are versed in critical learning. Were I indeed to choose my readers, by whose judgment I would stand or fall, they should not be such as are acquainted only with the French and Italian critics, but also with the ancient and modern who have written in either of the learned languages. Above all, I would have them well versed in the Greek and Latin poets, without which a man very often fancies that he understands a critic, when in reality he does not comprehend his meaning.

It is in criticism as in all other sciences and speculations; one who brings with him any implicit notions and observations, which he has made in his reading of the poets, will find his own reflections methodized and explained, and perhaps several little hints that had passed in his mind, perfected and improved in the works of a good

endeavoured to signalize themselves by works of this nature, among our English writers, are not only defective in the abovementioned particulars, but plainly discover by the phrases which they make use of, and by their confused way of thinking, that they are not acquainted with the most common and ordinary systems of arts and sciences. A few general rules extracted out of the French authors, with a certain cant or words, has sometimes set up an illiterate heavy writer for a most judicious and formidable critic.

This

One great mark, by which you may discover a critic who has neither taste nor learning, is this, that he seldom ventures to praise any passage in an author which has not been before received and applauded by the public, and that his criticism turns wholly upon little faults and errors. part of a critic is so very easy to succeed in, that we find every ordinary reader upon the publishing of a new poem, has wit and ill-nature enough to turn several passages of it into ridicule, and very' often in the right place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably remarked in these two celebrated lines;

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls, must dive below. A true critic ought to dwell rather upor excellences than imperfections, to discover the concealed beauties of a writer, and

communicate to the world such things as it had been just thrashed out of the sheaf. are worth their observation. The most He then bid him pick out the chaff from exquisite words and finest strokes of an among the corn, and lay it aside by itself. author, are those which very often appear The critic applied himself to the task with the most doubtful and exceptionable to a great industry and pleasure, and after hav» man who wants a relish for polite learning made the due separation, was presenting; and they are these, which a soured by Apollo with the chaff for his pains. undistinguishing critic generally attacks with the greatest violence. Tully ob

L.

Illam, quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit,
Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor.
Tibul. Eleg. ii. Lib. 4. 8.
Whate'er she does, where'er her steps she bends,
Grace on each action silently attends.

serves, that it is very easy to brand or fix No. 292.] Monday, February 4, 1711-12. a mark upon what he calls verbum ardens, or as it may be rendered into English, a glowing bold expression, and to turn it into ridicule by a cold ill-natured criticism. A little wit is equally capable of exposing a beauty, and of aggravating a fault: and though such treatment of an author naturally produces indignation in the mind of an understanding reader, it has however its effect among the generality of those whose hands it falls into, the rabble of mankind being very apt to think that every thing which is laughed at, with any mixture of wit, is ridiculous in itself.

Such a mirth as this is always unseasonable in a critic, as it rather prejudices the reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a beauty, as well as a blemish, the subject of derision. A man who can not write with wit on a proper subject, is duil and stupid; but one who shows it in an improper place, is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a man who has the gift of ridicule is apt to find fault with any thing that gives him an opportunity of exerting his beloved talent, and very often censures a passage, not because there is any fault in it, but because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of pleasantry are very unfair and disingenuous in works of criticism, in which the greatest masters, both ancient and modern, have always appeared with a serious and instructive air.

As I intend in my next paper to show the defects in Milton's Paradise Lost, I thought fit to premise these few particulars, to the end that the reader may know I enter upon it as on a very ungrateful work, and that I shall just point at the imperfections, without endeavouring to inflame them with ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, that the productions of a great genius, with many lapses and inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the works of an inferior kind of author, which are scrupulously exact, and conformable to all the rules of correct writing.

I shall conclude my paper with a story out of Boccalini, which sufficiently shows us the opinion that judicious author entertained of the sort of critics I have been here mentioning. A famous critic, says he, having gathered together all the faults of an eminent poet, made a present of them to Apollo, who received them very graciously, and resolved to make the author a suitable return for the trouble he had been at in collecting them. In order to this, he set before him a sack of wheat, as

As no one can be said to enjoy health who is only not sick, without he feel within himself a lightsome and invigorating principle, which will not suffer him to remain idle, but still spurs him on to action; so in the practice of every virtue, there is some additional grace required, to give a claim of excelling in this or that particular action. A diamond may want polishing, though the value be still intrinsically the same; and the same good may be done with different degrees of lustre. No man should be contented with himself that he barely does well, but he should perform every thing in the best and most becoming manner that he is able.

Tully tells us he wrote his book of Offices, because there was no time of life in which some corresponding duty might not be practised; nor is there a duty without a certain decency accompanying it, by which every virtue it is joined to will seem to be doubled. Another may do the same thing, and yet the action want that air and beauty which distinguish it from others; like that inimitable sunshine Titian is said to have diffused over his landscapes; which denotes them his, and has been always unequalled by any other person.

There is no one action in which this quality I am speaking of will be more sensibly perceived, than in granting a request, or doing an office of kindness. Mummius, by his way of consenting to a benefaction, shall make it lose its name; while Carus doubles the kindness and the obligation. From the first, the desired request drops indeed at last, but from so doubtful a brow, that the obliged has almost as much reason to resent the manner of bestowing it, as to be thankful for the favour itself. Carus invites with a pleasing air, to give him an opportunity of doing an act of humanity, meets the petition half way, and consents to a request with a countenance which proclaims the satisfaction of his mind in assisting the distressed.

The decency, then, that is to be observed in liberality, seems to consist, in its being performed with such cheerfulness, as may express the godlike pleasure to be met with, in obliging one's fellow creatures; that may show good-nature and benevo

lence overflowed, and do not, as in some men, run upon the tilt, and taste of the sediments of a grudging, uncommunicative disposition.

Since I have intimated that the greatest decorum is to be preserved in the bestowing our good offices, I will illustrate it a little by an example drawn from private life, which carries with it such a profusion of liberality, that it can be exceeded by nothing but the humanity and good-nature which accompanies it. It is a letter of Pliny's, which I shall here translate, because the action will best appear in its first dress of thought, without any foreign or ambitious ornaments.

Pliny to Quintilian.

full of numberless nameless graces, the other of as many nameless faults.

The comeliness of person, and the decency of behaviour, add infinite weight to what is pronounced by any one. It is the want of this that often makes the rebukes and advice of old rigid persons of no effect, and leave a displeasure in the minds of those they are directed to: but youth and beauty, if accompanied with a graceful and becoming severity, is of mighty force to raise, even in the most profligate, a sense of shame. In Milton, the devil is never described ashamed but once, and that at the rebuke of a beauteous angel;

So spake the cherub; and his grave rebuke,
Severe in youthful beauty, added grace
Invincible. Abash'd the devil stood,
And felt how awful Goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her own shape how lovely! saw, and pin'd
His loss.

"Though I am fully acquainted with the contentment and just moderation of your mind, and the conformity the education The care of doing nothing unbecoming you have given your daughter bears to your has accompanied the greatest minds to own character; yet since she is suddenly their last moments. They avoided even to be married to a person of distinction, an indecent posture in the very article of whose figure in the world makes it neces-death. Thus Cæsar gathered his robe sary for her to be at a more than ordinary about him, that he might not fall in a expense, in clothes and equipage suitable manner unbecoming of himself; and the to her husband's quality; by which, though her intrinsic worth be not augmented, yet will it receive both ornament and lustre: and knowing your estate to be as moderate as the riches of your mind are abundant, I must challenge to myself some part of the burden; and as a parent of your child, I present her with twelve hundred and fifty crowns, towards these expenses; which sum had been much larger, had I not feared the smallness of it would be the greatest inducement with you to accept of it.-Farewell.'

greatest concern that appeared in the be-
haviour of Lucretia when she stabbed her-
self, was, that her body should lie in an
attitude worthy the mind which had in-
habited it:

-Ne non procumbat honeste,
Extrema hæc etiam cura cadentis erat.

Ovid. Fast. Lib. 3. 833.
'Twas her last thought how decently to fall.
without a fortune; but of a very high mind:
'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a young woman
that is, good sir, I am to the last degree
proud and vain. I am ever railing at the
rich, for doing things which, upon search
into my heart, I find I am only angry a
because I cannot do the same myself. I
wear the hooped petticoat, and am all in
calicoes when the finest are in silks. It is
a dreadful thing to be poor and proud;
therefore, if you please, a lecture on that
subject for the satisfaction of your uneasy
humble servant,
Z.
'JEZEBEL.'

Thus should a benefaction be done with a good grace, and shine in the strongest point of light; it should not only answer all the hopes and exigencies of the receiver, but even outrun his wishes. It is this happy manner of behaviour which adds new charms to it, and softens those gifts of art and nature, which otherwise would be rather distasteful than agreeable. Without it valour would degenerate into brutality, learning into pedantry, and the genteelest demeanour into affectation. Even Religion itself, unless Decency be the handmaid No. 293.] Tuesday, February 5, 1711-12. which waits upon her, is apt to make people appear guilty of sourness and illhumour: but this shows Virtue in her first original form, adds a comeliness to Religion, and gives its professors the just title to the beauty of holiness.'. A man fully instructed in this art, may assume a thousand shapes, and please in all; he may do a thousand actions shall become none other but himself; not that the 'hings themselves are different, but the manner of doing them. If you examine each feature by itself, Aglaura and Calliclea are equally handsome, but take them in the whole, and you cannot suffer the comparison: the one is

Πασιν γαρ ευφρονεσι συμμαχει τυχή.

Frag. Vet. Poet. The prudent still have fortune on their side. THE famous Grecian, in his little book wherein he lays down maxims for a man's advancing himself at court, advises his reader to associate himself with the fortunate, and to shun the company of the unfortunate; which, notwithstanding the baseness of the precept to an honest mind, may have something useful in it, for those who push their interest in the world. It is certain a great part of what we call good or ill fortune, rises out of right or wrong measures and

schemes of life. When I hear a man complain of his being unfortunate in all his undertakings, I shrewdly suspect him for a very weak man in his affairs. In conformity with this way of thinking, Cardinal Richelieu used to say, that unfortunate and imprudent were but two words for the same thing. As the Cardinal himself had a great share both of prudence and good fortune, his famous antagonist, the Count d'Olivares, was disgraced at the court of Madrid, because it was alleged against him that he had never any success in his undertakings. This, says an eminent author, was indirectly accusing him of imprudence.

Cicero recommended Pompey to the Romans for their general upon three accounts, as he was a man of courage, conduct, and good fortune. It was, perhaps, for the reason above-mentioned, namely, that a series of good fortune supposes a prudent management in the person whom it befalls, that not only Sylla the dictator, but several of the Roman emperors, as is still to be seen upon their medals, among their other titles, gave themselves that of Felix or fortunate. The heathens, indeed, seem to have valued a man more for his good fortune than for any other quality, which I think is very natural for those who have not a strong belief of an those world. For how can i conceive a man crowned with any distinguishing blessings, that has not some extraordinary fund of merit and perfection in him which lies open to the Supreme eye, though perhaps it is not discovered by my observation? What is the reason Homer's and Virgil's heroes do not form a resolution, or strike a blow, without the conduct and direction of some deity? Doubtless, because the poets esteemed it the greatest honour to be favoured by the gods, and thought the best way of praising a man was, to recount those favours which naturally implied an extraordinary merit in the person on whom they descended.

Those who believe a future state of rewards and punishments act very absurdly, if they form their opinions of a man's merit from his successes. But certainly, if I thought the whole circle of our being was included between our births and deaths, I should think a man's good fortune the measure and standard of his real merit, since Providence would have no opportunity of rewarding his virtue and perfections, but in the present life. A virtuous unbeliever, who lies under the pressure of misfortunes, has reason to cry out, as they say Brutus did, a little before his death: 'O'virtue, I have worshipped thee as a substantial good, but I find thou art an empty name.

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But to return to our first point. Though prudence does undoubtedly in a great measure, produce our good or ill fortune in the world, it is certain there are many unforeseen accidents and occurrences which very often pervert the finest schemes that can he laid by human wisdom. The race

is

not always to the swift, nor he battle to the strong.' Nothing less than infinite wisdom can have an absolute command over fortune; the highest degree of it, which man can possess, is by no means equal to fortuitous events, and to such contingencies as may rise in the prosecutior of our affairs, Nay, it very often happens, inat prudence, which has always in it a great mixture of caution, hinders a man from being so fortunate as he might possibly have been without it. A person who only aims at what is likely to succeed, and follows closely the dictates of human prudence, never meets with those great and unforeseen successes, which are often the effect of a sanguine temper, or a more happy rashness; and this perhaps may be the reason, that, according to the common observation, Fortune, like other females, delights rather in favouring the young than the old.

Upon the whole, since man is so shortsighted a creature, and the accidents which may happen to him so various, I cannot but be of Dr. Tillotson's opinion in another case, that were there any doubt of a Providence, yet it certainly would be very desirable there should be such a Being of infinite wisdom and goodness, on whose direction we might rely in the conduct of human life. "It is a great presumption to ascribe our successes to our own management, and not to esteem ourselves upon any blessing, rather as it is the bounty of heaven than the acquisition of our own prudence. I am very well pleased with a medal which was struck by Queen Elizabeth, a little after the defeat of the invincible armada, to perpetuate the memory of that extraordinary event. It is well known how the king of Spain, and others who were the enemies of that great princess, to derogate from her glory, ascribed the ruin of their fleet rather to the violence of storms and tempests, than to the bravery of the English. Queen Elizabeth, instead of looking upon this as a diminution of her honour, valued herself upon such a signal favour of Providence, and accordingly, in the reverse of the medal above-mentioned, has represented a fleet beaten by a tempest, and falling foul upon one another, with that religious inscription, Afflavit Deus, et dissipantur,' He blew with his wind, and they were scattered."

It is remarked of a famous Grecian ge neral, whose name I cannot at present recollect, and who had been a particular favourite of Fortune, that, upon recounting his victories among his friends, he added at the end of several great actions, And in this Fortune had no share.' After which, it is observed in history, that he never pros pered in any thing he undertook.

As arrogance and a conceitedness of our own abilities are very shocking and offensive to men of sense and virtue, we may be sure they are highly displeasing to that

* Timotheus the Athenian

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