Tetrachtys, that is the number four, will tion of their own rules. This is cer ainly a know very well that the number ten, which is prodigious inconsistency in behaviour, and signified by the letter X, (and which has so makes much such a figure in morals, as a much perplexed the town) has in it many par- monstrous birth in naturals; with this differticular powers; that it is called by Platonic ence only, which greatly aggravates the wonwriters the complete oumber; that one, two, der that it happens much more frequently: three, and four put together make up the num- and what a blemish does it cast upon wit and ber ten; and that ten is all. But these are learning in the general account of the world? not mysteries for ordinary readers to be let and in how disadvantgeous a light does it exinto. A man must have spent many years in pose them to the busy class of mankind, that hard study before he can arrive at the know- there should be so many instances of persons ledge of them. who have so conducted their lives in spite of We had a rabbinical divine in England, who these transcendent advantages, as neither to was chaplain to the Earl of Essex in Queen be happy in themselves nor useful to their Elizabeth's time, that had an admirable head friends; when every body sees it was entirely for secrets of this nature. Upon his taking the doctor of divinity's degree, he preached before the university of Cambridge, upon the first verse of the first chapter of the first book of Chronicles, 'in which,' says he, you have the three following words: "Adam, Sheth, Enosh." He divided his short text into many parts, and by discovering several mysteries in each word, made a most learned and elaborate discourse. The name of this profound preacher was Dr. Alabaster, of whom the reader may find a more particular account in Dr. Fuller's book of English Worthies. This instance will, I hope, convince my readers that there may be a great deal of fine writing in the capital letters which bring up the rear of my paper, and give them some satisfaction in that particular. But as for the full explication of these matters, I must refer them to time, which discovers all things. No. 222.] Wednesday, Nov. 14, 1711. Cur alter fratrum cessare, et ludere, et ungi, C. Why, of two brothers, one his pleasure loves, 6 MR. SPECTATOR, in their own power to be eminent in both these 'Your most humble servant.' What this correspondent wonders at, has been matter of admiration ever since there was any such thing as human life. Horace Hor. Lib. 2. Ep. ii. 183. reflects upon this inconsistency very agreeably in the character of Tigellius, whom he makes a mighty pretender to economy, and tells you, you might one day hear him speak the most philosophic things imaginable con"THERE is one thing I have often looked for cerning being contented with a little, and his in your papers, and have as often wondered to contempt of every thing but mere necessaries; find myself disappointed; the rather, because and in half a week after spend a thousand I think it a subject every way agreeable to pounds. When he says this of him with relayour design, and by being left unattempted tion to expense, he describes him as unequal to by others, seems reserved as a proper employ-himself in every other circumstance of life; ment for you; I mean a disquisition, from and indeed, if we consider lavish men carewhence it proceeds, that men of the brightest fully, we shall find it always proceeds from a parts, and most comprehensive genius, com- certain incapacity of possesing themselves, pletely furnished with talents for any province and finding enjoyment in their own minds. in human affairs; such as by their wise les- Mr. Dryden has expressed this very excellentsons of economy to others, have made it evi- ly in the character of Zimri: dent that they have the justest notions of life, and of true sense in the conduct of it;from what unhappy contradictious cause it proceeds, that persons thus finished by nature and by art, should so often fail in the management of that which they so well understand, and want the address to make a right applica *See Stanley's Lives of the Philosophers, page 527, 2nd edit. 1687, folio. VOL. I. 'A man so various, that he seemed to be 37 This loose state of the soul hurries the ex-ful as those of Sappho. They give us a taste travagant from one pursuit to another; and of her way of writing, which is perfectly conthe reason that his expenses are greater than formable with that extraordinary character we another's is, that his wants are also more nu- find of her in the remarks of those great critmerous. But what makes so many go on in ics who were conversant with her works when this way to their lives' end, is, that they cer- they were entire. One may see by what is left tainly do not know how contemptible they are of them, that she followed nature in all her In the eyes of the rest of mankind, or rather, thoughts, without descending to those little that indeed they are not so contemptible as points, conceits, and turns of wit with which they deserve. Tully says, it is the greatest many of our modern lyrics are so miserably of wickedness to lessen your paternal estate. infected. Her soul seems to have been made And if a man would thoroughly consider how up of love and poetry. She felt the passion much worse than banishment it must be to his in all its warmth, and described it in all its child, to ride by the estate which should have symptoins. She is called by ancient authors been his, had it not been for his father's injus- the tenth muse; and by Plutarch is compared tice to him, he would be smitten with reflection to Cacus the son of Vulcan, who breathed out more deeply than can be understood by any nothing but flame. I do not know by the chabut one who is a father. Sure there can be racter that is given of her works, whether it is nothing more afflicting, than to think it had not for the benefit of mankind that they are been happier for his son to have been born of lost. They were filled with such bewitching any other man living than himself. tenderness and rapture, that it might have been dangerous to have given them a reading. It is not perhaps much thought of, but it is certainly a very important lesson, to learn how to enjoy ordinary life, and to be able to relish An inconstant lover, called Phaon, occayour being without the transport of some passioned great calamities to this poetical lady. sion, or gratification of some appetite. For She fell desperately in love with him, and took want of this capacity, the world is filled with a voyage into Sicily, in pursuit of him, he havwhetters, tipplers, cutters, sippers, and all the ing withdrawn himself thither on purpose to numerous train of those who, for want of avoid her. It was in that island, and on this thinking, are forced to be ever exercising their feeling, or tasting. It would be hard on this occasion to mention the harmless smokers of tobacco, and takers of snuff. occasion, she is supposed to have made the Hymn to Venus, with a translation of which I shall present my reader. Her Hymn was ineffectual for procuring that happiness which she prayed for in it. Phaon was still obdurate, and Sappho so transported with the vioFence of her passion, that she was resolved to get rid of it at any price. The slower part of mankind, whom my correspondent wonders should get estates, are the more immediately formed for that pursuit. They can expect distant things without impatience, because they are not carried out of There was a promontory in Acarnania caltheir way either by violent passion, or keen led Leucate, on the top of which was a little appetite to any thing. To men addicted to temple dedicated to Apollo. In this temple it delights, business is an interruption; to such was usual for despairing lovers to make their as are cold to delights, business is an enter- vows in secret, and afterwards to fling themtainment. For which reason it was said to one who commended a a dull man for his application, No thanks to him; if he had no business, he would have nothing to do.' T. No. 223.] Thursday, November 15, 1711. O suavis anima! qualem te dicam bonam, O sweet sou!! how good must you have been heretofore when your remains are so delicious! selves from the top of the precipice into the sea, where they were sometimes taken up alive. This place was therefore called the Lover's Leap; and whether or no the fright they had been in, or the resolution that could push them to so dreadful a remedy, or the bruises which they often received in their fall, banished all the tender sentiments of love, and gave their spirits another turn; those who had taken this leap were observed never to relapse into that passion. Sappho tried the cure, but perished in the experiment. After having given this short account of WHEN I reflect upon the various fate of Sappho, so far as it regards the following those multitudes of ancient writers who flou-Ode, I shall subjoin the translation of it as it rished in Greece and Italy, I consider time as was sent me by a friend, whose admirable an immense ocean, in which many noble authors Pastorals and Winter-piece have been already are entirely swallowed up, many very much so well received.* The reader will find in it shattered and damaged, some quite disjointed and broken into pieces, while some have wholly escaped the common wreck; but the number of the last is very small. Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto. Virg. Æn. i. ver. 122. One here and there floats on the vast abyss. Among the mutilated poets of antiquity there is none whose, fragments are so beauti that pathetic simplicity which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the ode he has here translated. This ode in the Greek (besides those beauties observed by Madam Dacier) has several harmonious turns in the words, which are not lost in the English. I must farther add, that the translation has preserved every image and sentiment of Sappho, notwithstand * Ambross Philips. -Fulgente trahit constrictos gloria curru ing it has all the ease and spirit of an original. No 224.] Friday, November 16, 1711. AN HYMN TO VENUS. If ever thou hast kindly heard Thou once didst leave almighty Jove, The birds dismiss'd (while you remain) What frenzy in my bosom rag'd, Though now he shuns thy longing arms, Celestial visitant, once more Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. vi. 23. Chain'd to her shining car, Fame draws along If we look abroad upon the great multitude of mankind, and endeavour to trace out the principles of action in every individual, it will, I think, seem highly probable that ambition runs through the whole species, and that every man in proportion to the vigour of his complexion is more or less actuated by it. It is indeed no uncommon thing to meet with men, who, by the natural bent of their inclinations, and without the discipline of philosophy, aspire not to the heights of power and grandeur; who never set their hearts upon a numerous train of clients and dependencies, nor other gay appendages of greatness; who are contented with a competency, and will not molest their tranquillity to gain an abundance. But it is not therefore to be concluded that such a man is not ambitious; his desires may have cut out another channel, and determined him to other pursuits; the motive however may be still the same; and in these cases likewise the man may be equally pushed on with the desire of distinction. Though the pure consciousness of worthy actions, abstracted from the views of popular applause, be to a generous mind an ample reward, yet the desire of distinction was doubtless implanted in our natures as an additional incentive to exert ourselves in virtuous excellence. This passion, indeed, like all others, is frequently perverted to evil and ingoble purposes; so that we may account for many of the excellencies and follies of life upon the same innate principle, to wit, the desire of being remarkable; for this, as it has been differently cultivated by education, study, and converse, will bring forth suitable effects as it falls in Madam Dacier observes, there is something mind. It does accordingly express itself in with an ingenuous disposition, or a corrupt very pretty in that circumstance of this ode, acts of magnanimity or selfish cunning, as it wherein Venus is described as sending away meets with a good or a weak understanding. her chariot upon her arrival at Sappho's lodg-As it has been employed in embellishing the ings, to denote that it was not a short transient visit which she intended to make her. This ode was preserved by an eminent Greek critic, who inserted it entire in his work, as a pattern of perfection in the structure of it. mind, or adorning the outside, it renders the Ambition therefore is not to be confined only man eminently praiseworthy or ridiculous. to one passion or pursuit; for as the same humours in constitutions, otherwise different, affect the body after different manners, so the same aspiring principle within us sometimes breaks forth upon one object, sometimes upon another. Louginus has quoted another ode of this great poetess, which is likewise admirable in its kind, and has been translated by the same hand with the foregoing one. I shall oblige my reader with it in another paper. In the It cannot be doubted, but that there is as meanwhile, I cannot but wonder, that these two great a desire of glory in a wring of wrestlers finished pieces have never been attempted beor cudgel-players, as in any other more refinfore by any of our own countrymen. But ed competition for superiority. No man that the truth of it is, the compositions of the an- could avoid it, would ever suffer his head to cients, which have not in them any of those be broken but out of a principle of honour. unnatural witticisms that are the delight of This is the secret spring that pushes them forordinary readers, are extremely difficult to ward; and the superiority which they gain render into another tongue, so as the beauties above the undistinguished many, does more of the original may not appear weak and fad- than repair those wounds they have received ed in the translation. C. in the combat. It is Mr. Waller's opinion, | some measure, excuse the disorderly ferments that Julius Cæsar, had he not been master of of youthful blood: I mean the passion for the Roman empire, would, in all probability, getting money, exclusive of the character of have made an excellent wrestler : 'Great Julius on the mountains bred, the provident father, the affectionate husband, or the generous friend. It may be remarked, for the comfort of honest poverty, that this desire reigns most in those who have but few good qualities to recommend them. This is a weed that will grow in a barren soil. HumaThat he subdued the world, was owing to the nity, good-nature, and the advantages of a accidents of art and knowledge; had he not liberal education, are incompatible with avamet with those advantages, the same sparks of rice. It is strange to see how suddenly this emulation would have kindled within him, and abject passion kills all the noble sentiments prompted him to distinguish himself in some and generous ambitions that adorn human naenterprise of a lower nature. Since there- ture; it renders the man who is overrun with fore no man's lot is so unalterably fixed in this it a peevish aud cruel master, a severe parent, life, but that a thousand accidents may either an unsociable husband, a distant and misforward or disappoint his advancement, it is, trustful friend. But it is more to the present methinks, a pleasant and inoffensive specula-purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of tion, to consider a great man as divested of the heart, rather than as a vicious affection of the adventitious circumstances of fortune, and the mind. As there are frequent instances to to bring him down in one's imagination to that be met with of a proud humility, so this pas low station of life, the nature of which bears sion, contrary to many others, affects applause, some distant resemblance to that high one by avoiding all show and appearance; for this he is at present possessed of. The one may reason it will not sometimes endure even the view him, exercising in miniature those talents common decencies of apparel. A covetous of nature, which being drawn out by educa-man will call himself poor, that you may sooth tion to their full length, enable him for the dis- his vanity by contradicting him.' Love and charge of some important employment. On the desire of glory, as they are the most nathe other hand, one may raise uneducated tural, so they are capable of being refined into merit to such a pitch of greatness as may the most delicate and rational passions. It is seem equal to the possible extent of his im- true, the wise man who strikes out of the seproved capacity. cret paths of a private life, for honour and dignity, allured by the splendour of a court, and the unfelt weight of public employment, whether he succeeds in his attempts or no, usually comes near enough to this painted greatness to discern the daubing; he is then desirous of extricating himself out of the hurry of life, that he may pass away the remainder of his days in tranquillity and retirement. Thus nature furnishes man with a general appetite of glory, education determines it to this or that particular abject. The desire of distinction is not, I think, in any instance more observable than in the variety of outsides and new appearances, which the modish part of the world are obliged to provide, in order to make themselves remarkable; for any thing glaring or particular, either in behaviour or It may be thought then but common pruapparel, is known to have this good effect, dence in a man not to change a better state that it catches the eye, and will not suffer you for a worse, nor ever to quit that which he to pass over the person so adorned without knows he shall take up again with pleasure; due notice and observation. It has likewise, and yet if human life be not a little moved with upon this account, been frequently resented the gentle gales of hopes and fears, there may as a very great slight, to leave any gentle-be some danger of its stagnating in an unmanman out of a lampoon or satire, who has as ly indolence and security. It is a known story much right to be there as his neighbour, be- of Domitian, that after he had possessed himcause it supposes the person not eminent self of the Roman empire, his desires turned enough to be taken notice of. To this pas- upon catching flies. Active and masculine sionate fondness for distinction are owing spirits in the vigour of youth neither can nor various frolicksome and irregular practices, ought to remain at rest. If they debar themas sallying out into nocturnal exploits, break-selves from aiming at a noble object, their deing of windows, singing of catches, beating sires will move downwards, and they will feel the watch, getting drunk twice a day, killing themselves actuated by some low and abject a great number of horses; with many other passion. Thus, if you cut off the top branches enterprises of the like fiery nature: for cer- of a tree, and will not suffer it to grow any tainly many a man is more rakish and extra-higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, vagant than he would willingly be, were there but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The not others to look on and give their appro- man indeed who goes into the world only with bation. the narrow views of self-interest, who catches One very common, and at the same time at the applause of an idle multitude, as he can the most absurd ambition that ever showed it- find no solid contentment at the end of his jourself in human nature, is that which comes up-ney, so he deserves to meet with disappointon a man with experience and old age, the sea-ments in his way: but he who is actuated by a son when it might be expected he should be nobler principle; whose mind is so far enlargwisest; and therefore it cannot receive any of ed as to take in the prospect of his country's those lessening circumstances which do, in good; who is enamoured with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, | Tully has therefore very justly exposed a and values not those acclamations which are precept delivered by some ancient writers, that not seconded by the impartial testimony of a man should live with his enemy in such a his own mind; who repines not at the low manner, as might leave him room to become station which Providence has at present al- his friend; and with his friend in such a manlotted him, but yet would willingly advance ner, that if he became his enemy, it should not himself by justifiable means to a more rising be in his power to hurt him The first part of and advantageous ground; such a man is this rule, which regards our behaviour towards warmed with a generous emulation; it is a an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well virtuous movement in him to wish and to en-as very prudential; but the latter part of it, deavour that his power of doing good may be which regards our behaviour towards a friend, equal to his will. savours more of cunning than of discretion' The man who is fitted out by nature, and and would cut a man off from the greatest sent into the world with great abilities, is ca-pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of pable of doing great good or mischief in it. conversation with a bosom friend. Besides It ought therefore to be the care of education that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, to infuse into the untainted youth early notices and, as the son of Sirach calls him, a beof justice and honour, that so the possible ad- wrayer of secrets,'* the world is just enough vantages of good parts may not take an evil to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend rather turn, nor be perverted to base and unworthy than the indiscretion of the person who conpurposes. It is the business of religion and fided in him. philosophy not so much to extinguish our pas- Discretion does not only show itself in sions as to regulate and direct them to valua- words, but in all the circumstances of action, ble well-chosen objects. When these have and is like an under-agent of Providence, to pointed out to us which course we may law-guide and direct us under the ordinary confully steer, it is no harm to set out all our cerns of life. sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity There are many more shining qualities in should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the mind of man, but there is none so useful as the haven where we would be, it will however discretion; it is this indeed which gives a vaprove no small consolation to us in these cir-lue to all the rest, which sets them at work in cumstances, that we have neither mistaken their proper times and places, and turns them our course, nor fallen into calamities of our to the advantage of the person who is possessown procuring. Religion therefore (were we to consider it no farther than as it interposes in the affairs of this life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great veneration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part, and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their effects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, correct love, and elegant desire. ed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice. Nor does discretion only make a man the master of his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe, that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives measures to the society. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force, which for want of sight is of no use to him. Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular station of life. I HAVE often thought if the minds of men were laid open, we should see but little difference between that of the wise man and that of the fool. There are infinite reveries, number- At the same time that I think discretion the less extravagancies, and a perpetual train of most useful talent a man can be master of, I vanities which pass through both. The great look upon cunning to be the accomplishment difference is, that the first knows how to pick of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion and cull his thoughts for conversation, by sup- points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues pressing some and communicating others; the most proper and laudable methods of atwhereas the other lets them all indifferently taining them. Cunning has only private selfly out in words. This sort of discretion, how- fish aims, and sticks at nothing which may ever, has no place in private conversation be- make them succeed. Diseretion has large and tween intimate friends. On such occasions extended views, and like a well-formed eye, the wisest men very often talk like the weakest; commands a whole horizon Cunning is a for indeed the talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud. * Eccles. vi. 9; xxvii. 17. |