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lady asks for a thing, I hear, and have half brought it, when the woman meets me in the middle of the room to receive it, and at that instant she says, "No she will not have it." Then I go back, and her woman comes up to her, and by this time she will have that, and two or three things more, in an instant. The woman and I run to each other; I am loaded and delivering the things to her, when my lady says she wants none of all these things, and we are the dullest creatures in the world, and she the unhappiest woman living, for she shall not be drest in any time. Thus we stand, not knowing what to do, when our good lady, with all the patience in the world, tells us as plain as she can speak, that she will have temper because we have no manner of understanding; and begins again to dress, and see if we can find out of ourselves what we are to do. When she is dressed she goes to dinner, and after she has disliked every thing there, she calls for a coach, then commands it in again, and then she will not go out at all, and then will go too, and orders the chariot. Now, good Mr. Specter, I desire you would, in the behalf of all who serve froward ladies, give out in your paper, that nothing can be done without allowing time for it, and that one cannot be back again with what one was sent for, if one is called back before one can go a step for that they want. And if you please, let them know that all mistresses are as like as all servants. I am your lov-pleasant enough to see such persons coning friend, PATIENCE GIDDY.' tend without opponents, and triumph without victory.

ONE meets now and then with persons who are extremely learned and knotty in expounding clear cases. Tully tells us of an author that spent some pages to prove that generals could not perform the great enterprises which have made them so illustrious, if they had not had men. He asserted also, it seems, that a minister at home, no more than a commander abroad, could do any thing without other men were his instruments and assistants. On this occasion he produces the example of Themistocles, Pericles, Cyrus, and Alexander himself, whom he denies to have been capable of effecting what they did, except they had been followed by others. It is

These are great calamities; but I met the other day in the Five-fields, towards Chelsea, a pleasanter tyrant than either of the above represented. A fat fellow was puffing on in his open waistcoat; a boy of fourteen in a livery, carrying after him his cloak, upper coat, hat, wig, and sword. The poor lad was ready to sink with the weight, and could not keep up with his master, who turned back every half furlong, and wondered what made the lazy young dog lag behind.

There is something very unaccountable, that people cannot put themselves in the condition of the persons below them, when they consider the commands they give. But there is nothing more common than to see a fellow (who, if he were reduced to it, would not be hired by any man living,) lament that he is troubled with the most worthless dogs in nature.

It would, perhaps, be running too far out of common life to urge, that he who is not master of himself and his own passions, cannot be a proper master of another. Equanimity in a man's own words and actions, will easily diffuse itself through his whole family. Pamphilio has the happiest household of any man I know, and that proceeds from the humane regard he has to them in their private persons, as well as in respect that they are his servants. If

there be any occasion, wherein they may
in themselves be supposed to be unfit to
attend their master's concerns, by reason
of any attention to their own, he is so good
as to place himself in their condition. I
thought it very becoming in him, when at
dinner the other day, he made an apology
for want of more attendants. He said,
'One of my footmen is gone to the wedding
of his sister, and the other I do not expect
to wait, because his father died but two
days ago.'

No. 138.]

Wednesday, August 8, 1711.

Utitur in re non dubia testibus non necessariis. — Tull.

He uses unnecessary proofs in an indisputable point.

The author above-mentioned by the orator is placed for ever in a very ridiculous light, and we meet every day in conversation such as deserve the same kind of renown, for troubling those with whom they converse with the like certainties. The persons that I have always thought to deserve the highest admiration in this kind are your ordinary story-tellers, who are most religiously careful of keeping to the truth in every particular circumstance of a narration, whether it concerns the main end or not. A gentleman whom I had the honour to be in company with the other day, upon some occasion that he was pleased to take, said, he remembered a very pretty repartee made by a very witty man in King Charles's time upon the like occasion. I remember (said he, upon entering into the tale) much about the time of Oates's plot, that a cousin-german of mine and I were at the Bear in Holborn. No, I am out, it was at the Cross-keys, but Jack Thomson was there, for he was very great with the gentleman who made the answer. But I am sure it was spoken somewhere thereabouts, for we drank a bottle in that neighbourhood every evening; but no matter for all that, the thing is the same; but-'

He was going on to settle the geography of the jest when I left the room, wondering

at this odd turn of head which can play | is really no such thing as colour in nature; in a word, they can turn what little knowledge they have into a ready capacity of raising doubts; into a capacity of being always frivolous and always unanswerable. It was of two disputants of this impertinent and laborious kind that the cynic said, One of these fellows is milking a ram, and the other holds the pail.'

away its words, with uttering nothing to the purpose, still observing its own impertinences, and yet proceeding in them. I do not question but he informed the rest of his audience, who had more patience than I, of the birth and parentage, as well as the collateral alliances of his family who made the repartee, and of him who provoked him to it.

It is no small misfortune to any who have a just value for their time, when this quality of being so very circumstantial, and careful to be exact, happens to show itself in a man whose quality obliges them to attend his proofs, that it is now day, and the like. But this is augmented when the same genius gets into authority, as it often does. Nay, I have known it more than once ascend the very pulpit. One of this sort taking it in his head to be a great admirer of Dr. Tillotson and Dr. Beveridge, never failed of proving out of these great authors things which no man living would have denied him upon his own single authority. One day resolving to come to the point in hand, he said, according to that excellent divine, I will enter upon the matter, or in his words, in his fifteenth sermon of the folio edition, page 160,

"I shall briefly explain the words, and then consider the matter contained in them."

This honest gentleman needed not, one would think, strain his modesty so far as to alter his design of entering upon the matter,' to that of briefly explaining.' But so it was, that he would not even be contented with that authority, but added also the other divine to strengthen his method, and told us, with the pious and learned Dr. Beveridge, page 4th of his ninth volume, "I shall endeavour to make it as plain as I can from the words which I have now read, wherein for that purpose we shall consider- "This wiseacre was reckoned by the parish, who did not understand him, a most excellent preacher; but that he read too much, and was so humble that he did not trust enough to his own parts.


'The exercises of the snuff-box, according to the most fashionable airs and motions, in opposition to the exercise of the fan, will be taught with the best plain or perfumed snuff, at Charles Lillie's, perfumer, at the corner of Beaufort-buildings, in the Strand, and attendance given for the benefit of the young merchants about the Exchange for two hours every day at noon, except Saturdays, at a toy-shop, near Garraway's coffee-house. There will be likewise taught the ceremony of the stuff-box, or rules for offering snuff to stranger, a friend, or a mistress, according to the degree of familiarity or distance; with an explanation of the careless, the scornful, the politic, and the surly pinch, and the gestures proper to each of them.

N. B. The undertaker does not question but in a short time to have formed a body of regular snuff-boxes ready to meet and make head against all the regiment of fans which have been lately disciplined, and are now in motion.' T.

pits: Sir, I must beg your pardon for that, for though I am very loth to have any dispute with you, yet, I must take the liberty to tell you, it was nine when I saw him at St. James's.' When men of this genius are pretty far gone in learning they will put you to prove that snow is white, and when you are upon that topic can say that there

No. 139.] Thursday, August 9, 1711.

ficta omnia celeriter, tanquam flosculi, decidunt, nec Vera gloria radices agit, atque etiam propagatur' simulatum potest quidquam esse diuturnum. Tull.

True glory takes root, and even spreads: all false pretences, like flowers, fall to the ground; nor can any counterfeit last long.

Next to these ingenious gentlemen, who argue for what nobody can deny them, are to be ranked a sort of people who do not indeed attempt to prove insignificant things, but are ever labouring to raise arguments with you about matters you will give up to them without the least controversy. One of these people told a gentleman who said he saw Mr. Such-a-One go this morning

OF all the affections which attend human life, the love of glory is the most ardent. According as this is cultivated in princes, it produces the greatest good or the greatest evil. Where sovereigns have it by impressions received from education only, it creates an ambitious rather than a noble mind: where it is the natural bent of the prince's inclination, it prompts him to the pursuit of things truly glorious. The two greatest men now in Europe (according to the common acceptation of the word great)_are Lewis King of France, and Peter Emperor of Russia. As it is certain that all fame does not arise from the practice of virtue, it is, methinks, no unpleas

at nine of the clock towards the Gravel-ing amusement to examine the glory of these potentates, and distinguish that which is empty, perishing, and frivolous, from what is solid, lasting, and important.

Lewis of France had his infancy attended by crafty and worldly men, who made extent of territory the most glorious instance of power, and mistook the spreading of fame for the acquisition of honcur. The

young monarch's heart was by such con- grace? Who ever thought himself mean versation easily deluded into a fondness for in absolute power, till he had learned to vain-glory, and upon these unjust princi- use it? ples to form or fall in with suitable projects of invasion, rapine, murder, and all the guilts that attend war when it is unjust. At the same time this tyranny was laid, sciences and arts were encouraged in the most generous manner, as if men of higher faculties were to be bribed to permit the massacre of the rest of the world. Every superstructure which the court of France built upon their first designs, which were in themselves vicious, was suitable to its false foundation. The ostentation of riches, the vanity of equipage, shame of poverty, and ignorance of modesty, were the common arts of life: the generous love of one woman was changed into gallantry for all the sex, and friendship among men turned into commerce of interest, or mere professions. While these were the rules of life, perjuries in the prince, and a general corruption of manners in the subject, were the snares in which France has entangled all her neighbours.' With such false colours have the eyes of Lewis been enchanted, from the debauchery of his early youth, to the superstition of his present old age. Hence it is, that he has the patience to have statues erected to his prowess, his valour, his fortitude, and in the softness and luxury of a court to be applauded for magnanimity and enterprise in military achievements.

If we consider this wonderful person, it is perplexity to know where to begin his encomium. Others may, in a metaphorical or philosophical sense, be said to command themselves, but this emperor is also literally under his own command. How generous and how good was his entering his own name as a private man in the army he raised, that none in it might expect to outrun the steps with which he himself advanced! By such measures this godlike prince learned to conquer, learned to use his conquests. How terrible has he appeared in battle, how gentle in victory! Shall then the base arts of the Frenchman be held polite, and the honest labours of the Russian barbarous? No: barbarity is the ignorance of true honour, or placing any thing instead of it. The unjust prince is ignoble and barbarous, the good prince only renowned and glorious.

Though men may impose upon themselves what they please by their corrupt imaginations, truth will ever keep its station; and as glory is nothing else but the shadow of virtue, it will certainly disappear at the departure of virtue. But how carefully ought the true notions of it to be preserved, and how industrious should we be to encourage any impulses towards it! The Westminster school-boy that said the other day he could not sleep or play for the colours in the hall, ought to be free from receiving a blow for ever.


But let us consider what is truly glorious according to the author I have to-day quoted in the front of my paper.

The perfection of glory, says Tully, consists in these three particulars; That the people love us; that they have confidence in us; that being affected with a certain admiration towards us, they think we deserve honour.' This was spoken of greatness in a commonwealth. But if one were

Peter Alexovitz of Russia, when he came to years of manhood, though he found himself emperor of a vast and numerous people, master of an endless territory, absolute commander of the lives and fortunes of his subjects, in the midst of this unbounded power and greatness, turned his thoughts upon himself and people with sorrow. Sordid ignorance and a brute manner of life, this generous prince beheld and contemned, from the light of his own genius. His judgment suggested this to him, and his courage prompted him to amend it. In to form a notion of consummate glory order to this, he did not send to the nation under our constitution, one must add to the from whence the rest of the world has bor-above-mentioned felicities a certain necesrowed its politeness, but himself left his sary in existence, and disrelish of all the diadem to learn the true way to glory and rest, without the prince's favour. He honour, and application to useful arts, should, methinks, have riches, power, howherein to employ the laborious, the sim-nour, command, and glory; but riches, ple, the honest part of his people. Me- power, honour, command, and glory, chanic employments and operations were should have no charms, but as accompavery justly the first objects of his favour nied with the affection of his prince. He and observation. With this glorious in- should, methinks, be popular because a tention he travelled into foreign nations in favourite, and a favourite because popular. an obscure manner, above receiving little Were it not to make the character too honours where he sojourned, but prying imaginary, I would give him sovereignty into what was of more consequence, their over some foreign territory, and make him arts of peace and of war. By this means has esteem that an empty addition without the this great prince laid the foundation of a kind regards of his own prince. One may great and lasting fame, by personal labour, merely have an idea of a man thus compersonal knowledge, personal valour. It would be injury to any of antiquity to name them with him. Who, but himself, ever left a throne to learn to sit in it with more

Blenheim, in 1704, were fixed up in Westminster-hall The colours taken by the Duke of Marlborough at after having been carried in procession through the city.

wish you would take some other opportunity to express further the corrupt taste the age has run into; which I am chiefly apt to attribute to the prevalency of a few popular authors, whose merit in some respects has given a sanction to their faults in others. Thus the imitators of Milton seem to place all the excellency of that sort writing either in the uncouth or antique words, or something else which was highly vicious, though pardonable in that great man. The admirers of what we call point, or turn, look upon it as the particular happiness to which Cowley, Ovid, and others, owe their reputation, and therefore endeavour to imitate them only in such instances. What is just, proper, and natural, does not seem to be the question with them, but by what means a quaint antithesis may be brought about, how one word may be made to look two ways, and what will be the consequence of a forced allusion. Now though such authors appear to me to resemble those who make themselves fine, instead of being well-dressed, or graceful; yet the mischief is, that these beauties in them, which I call blemishes, are thought to proceed from luxuriance of fancy, and overIn one word, they read-flowing of good sense. have the character of being too witty: but if you would acquaint the world they are not witty at all, you would, among many others, oblige, sir, your most benevolent reader, R. D.'

posed and circumstantiated, and if he were so made for power without a capacity of giving jealousy, he would be also glorious without the possibility of receiving disgrace. This humility and this importance must make his glory immortal.

These thoughts are apt to draw me beyond the usual length of this paper; but if I could suppose such rhapsodies could out-of live the common fate of ordinary things, I would say these sketches and faint images of glory were drawn in August, 1711, when John Duke of Marlborough made that memorable march wherein he took the French lines without bloodshed. T.

No. 140.] Friday, August 10, 1711.

Animum curis nune huc, nunc dividit illue. Virg. Æn. iv. 285. This way and that the anxious mind is torn.

WHEN I acquaint my reader, that I have many other letters not yet acknowledged, I believe he will own, what I have a mind he should believe, that I have no small charge upon me, but am a person of some consequence in this world. I shall therefore employ the present hour only in ing petitions in the order as follows.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I have lost so much time already, that I desire, upon the receipt hereof, you will sit down immediately and give me your answer. And I would know of you whether a pretender of mine ed pretty; therefore you will pardon me 'SIR,-I am a young woman, and reckonreally loves me. As well as I can I will that I trouble you to decide a wager be

describe his manners. When he sees me


is always talking of constancy, but vouch-tween me and a cousin of mine, who is al-
safes to visit me but once a fortnight, and ways contradicting one because he under-
then he is always in haste to be gone. with a single or a double p? I am, sir,
stands Latin: pray, sir, is Dimple spelt
When I am sick, I hear he says he is migh-
tily concerned, but neither comes nor sends, your very humble servant,
because, as he tells his acquaintance with a
sigh, he does not care to let me know all
the power I have over him, and how im-
possible it is for him to live without me.
When he leaves the town he writes once
in six weeks, desires to hear from me,
complains of the torment of absence, speaks
of flames, tortures, languishings, and ecsta
sies. He has the cant of an impatient lover,
but keeps the pace of a lukewarm one.
You know I must not go faster than he

does, and to move at this rate is as tedious
as counting a great clock. But you are to
know he is rich, and my mother says, as he
is slow he is sure; he will love me long if he
love me little: but I appeal to you whether
he loves at all. Your neglected humble

All these fellows who have money are extremely saucy and cold; pray, sir, tell

them of it.'

MR. SPECTATOR,-I have been delighted with nothing more through the whole course of your writings than the substantial account you lately gave of wit, and I could

Pray, sir, direct thus, "To the kind Querist," and leave it at Mr. Lillie's, for I do not care to be known in the thing at all. I am, sir, again, your humble servant.'

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'MR. SPECTATOR,-I must needs tell you there are several of your papers I do not much like. You are often so nice, there is no enduring you; and so learned, there is no with our petticoats? Your humble servant, understanding you. What have you to do



'MR. SPECTATOR,-Last night, as I was walking in the Park, I met a couple of friends. 'Pr'ythee, Jack," says one of them, "let us go drink a glass of wine, for I am fit for nothing else." This put me upon reflecting on the many miscarriages which happen in conversations over wine, when men go to the bottle to remove such humours as it only stirs up and awakens. This I could not attribute more to any thing than to the humour of putting company upon others which men do not like themselves. Pray, sir, declare in your

papers, that he who is a troublesome com- | sent ignorance, may be thought a good panion to himself, will not be an agreeable presage and earnest of improvement, you one to others. Let people reason them- may look upon your time you shall bestow selves into good humour, before they im- in answering this request not thrown away pose themselves upon their friends. Pray, to no purpose. And I cannot but add, sir, be as eloquent as you can upon this that unless you have a particular and more subject, and do human life so much good, than ordinary regard for Leonora, I have as to argue powerfully, that it is not every a better title to your favour than she: since one that can swallow who is fit to drink I do not content myself with tea-table reada glass of wine. Your most humble ser- ing of your papers, but it is my entertainvant.' ment very often when alone in my closet. and hate flattery, I acknowledge I do not To show you I am capable of improvement,, like some of your papers; but even there I am readier to call in question my own shallow understanding than Mr. Spectator's profound judgment. I am sir, your already (and in hopes of being more your) obliged PARTHENIA.

'SIR,-I this morning cast my eye upon your paper concerning the expence of time. You are very obliging to the women, especially those who are not young and past gallantry, by touching so gently upon gaming: therefore I hope you do not think it wrong to employ a little leisure time in that diversion; but I should be glad to hear you say something upon the behaviour of some of the female gamesters.

'I have observed ladies, who in all other respects are gentle, good-humoured, and the very pinks of good-breeding; who as soon as the ombre-table is called for and sit down to their business, are immediately transmigrated into the veriest wasps in No. 141.] Saturday, August 11, 1711.


You must know I keep my temper, and win their money; but am out of countenance to take it, it makes them so very uneasy. Be pleased, dear sir, to instruct them to lose with a better grace, and you will oblige, Yours,


This last letter is written with so urgent and serious an air, that I cannot but think it incumbent upon me to comply with her commands, which I shall do very suddenly. T.


MR. SPECTATOR,-Your kindness to Leonora, in one of your papers, has given me encouragement to do myself the honour of writing to you. The great regard you have so often expressed for the instruction and improvement of our sex will I hope, in your own opinion, sufficiently excuse me from making any apology for the impertinence of this letter. The great desire have to embellish my mind with some of those graces which you say are so becoming, and which you assert reading helps us to, has made me uneasy until I am put in a capacity of attaining them. This, sir, I shall never think myself in, until you shall be pleased to recommend some author or authors to my perusal.

"I thought, indeed, when I first cast my eye on Leonora's letter, that I should have had no occasion for requesting it of you; but, to my very great concern, I found on the perusal of that Spectator, I was entirely disappointed, and am as much at a loss how to make use of my time for that end as ever. Pray, sir, oblige me at least with one scene, as you were pleased to entertain Leonora with your prologue. write to you not only my own sentiments, but also those of several others of my acquaintance, who are as little pleased with the ordinary manner of spending one's time as myself; and if a fervent desire after knowledge, and a great sense of our pre

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-Migravit ab aure voluptas


Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. ii. 187. :

Taste, that eterna! wanderer, that flies From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes. Pope. In the present emptiness of the town, I have several applications from the lower part of the players, to admit suffering to pass for acting. They in very obliging terms desire me to let a fall on the ground, a stumble, or a good slap on the back, be reckoned a jest. These gambols I shall tolerate for a season, because I hope the evil cannot continue longer than until the people of condition and taste return to town. The method some time ago, was to entertain that part of the audience, who have no faculty above eye-sight, with ropedancers and tumblers; which was a way discreet enough, because it prevented confusion, and distinguished such as could show all the postures which the body is capable of, from those who were to represent all the passions to which the mind is subject. But though this was prudently settled, corporeal and intellectual actors ought to be kept at a still wider distance than to appear on the same stage at all: for which reason I must propose some methods for the improvement of the beargarden, by dismissing all bodily actors to that quarter.

In cases of greater moment, where men appear in public, the consequence and imIportance of the thing can bear them out. And though a pleader or preacher is hoarse or awkward, the weight of their matter commands respect and attention; but in theatrical speaking, if the performer is not exactly proper and graceful, he is utterly ridiculous. In cases where there is little

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