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O brave! oh excellent if you maintain it!
But if you try, and can't go through with spirit,
And finding you can't bear it, uninvited,
Your peace unmade, all of your own accord,
You come and swear you love, and can't endure it,
Good night! all's over! ruin'd! and undone!
She'll jilt you, when she sees you in her power.-
Colman.

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shall be hereafter an honour to you to bear my name; and your pride that you are the delight, the darling, and ornament of a man of honour, useful and esteemed by his friends; and I no longer one that has buried some merit in the world, in compliance to a froward humour which has grown upon To Mr. Spectator. an agreeable woman by his indulgence. 'SIR,-This is to inform you, that Mr. Mr. Freeman ended this with a tenderness reeman had no sooner taken coach, but in his aspect, and a downcast eye, which is lady was taken with a terrible fit of the showed he was extremely moved at the anapours, which it is feared will make her guish he saw her in; for she sat swelling iscarry, if not endanger her life; there- with passion, and her eyes firmly fixed on ore, dear sir, if you know of any receipt the fire; when I, fearing he would lose all at is good against this fashionable reign-again, took upon me to provoke her out of ng distemper, be pleased to communicate for the good of the public, and you will blige, yours, A. NOEWILL.'

that amiable sorrow she was in, to fall upon me; upon which I said very seasonably for my friend, that indeed Mr. Freeman was become the common talk of the town: and 'MR. SPECTATOR,-The uproar was so that nothing was so much a jest, as when it reat as soon as I had read the Spectator was said in company Mr. Freeman has prooncerning Mrs. Freeman, that after many mised to come to such a place. Upon which evolutions in her temper, of raging, swoon- the good lady turned her softness into downg, railing, fainting, pitying herself, and right rage, and threw the scalding tea-keteviling her husband, upon an accidental tle upon your humble servant, flew into the oming in of a neighbouring lady (who says middle of the room, and cried out she was he has writ to you also) she had nothing the unfortunatest of all women. Others eft for it but to fall into a fit. I had the kept family dissatisfactions for hours of onour to read the paper to her, and have privacy and retirement. No apology was pretty good command of countenance to be made to her, no expedient to be found, and temper on such occasions; and soon no previous manner of breaking what was ound my historical name to be Tom Meg- amiss in her; but all the world was to be ot in your writings, but concealed myself acquainted with her errors, without the ntil I saw how it affected Mrs. Freeman. least admonition. Mr. Freeman was going She looked frequently at her husband, as to make a softening speech, but I interposed: ften at me; and she did not tremble as she "Look you, madam, I have nothing to say illed tea, until she came to the circum- to this matter, but you ought to consider tance of Armstrong's writing out a piece you are now past a chicken: this humour, of Tully for an opera tune. Then she burst which was well enough in a girl, is insufut, she was exposed, she was deceived, ferable in one of your motherly character." he was wronged and abused. The tea-cup With that she lost all patience, and flew was thrown in the fire; and without taking directly at her husband's periwig. I got engeance on her spouse, she said to me, her in my arms, and defended my friend; hat I was a pretending coxcomb, a med- he making signs at the same time that it ler that knew not what it was to interpose was too much; I beckoning, nodding, and so nice an affair as between a man and frowning over her shoulder, that he was is wife. To which Mr. Freeman: Ma- lost if he did not persist. In this manner am, were I less fond of you than I am, I she flew round and round the room in a mohould not have taken this way of writing ment, until the lady I spoke of above and the Spectator to inform a woman, whom servants entered; upon which she fell on a God and nature have placed under my di- couch as breathless. I still kept up my ection, with what I request of her; but friend: but he, with a very silly air, bid ince you are so indiscreet as not to take them bring the coach to the door, and we he hint which I gave you in that paper, I went off: I being forced to bid the coachmust tell you, madam, in so many words, man drive on. We were no sooner come to at you have for a long and tedious space my lodgings, but all his wife's relations came ftime acted a part unsuitable to the sense to inquire after him; and Mrs. Freeman's ou ought to have of the subordination in mother writ a note, wherein, she thought which you are placed. And I must ac- never to have seen this day, and so forth. uaint you once for all, that the fellow with- In a word, sir, I am afraid we are upon ut-Ha, Tom!" (Here the footman en- thing we have not talents for, and I can ered and answered, Madam.") "Sirrah, observe already, my friend looks upon me on't you know my voice? Look upon me rather as a man that knows a weakness of then I speak to you.-I say, madam, this him that he is ashamed of, than one who ellow here is to know of me myself, whe- has rescued him from slavery. Mr. Specher I am at leisure to see company or not. tator, I am but a young fellow, and if Mr. am from this hour master of this house; Freeman submits, I shall be looked upon as nd my business in it, and every where else, an incendiary, and never get a wife as long to behave myself in such a manner, as it as I breathe. He has indeed sent word

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home he shall lie at Hampstead to-night; | some member's chamber, where every one but I believe fear of the first onset after is to pick out what belonged to her from this rupture has too great a place in this this confused bundle of silks, stuffs, laces, resolution. Mrs. Freeman has a very pretty and ribands. I have hitherto given you an sister; suppose I delivered him up, and account of our diversion on ordinary clubarticled with the mother for her for bring-nights; but must acquaint you further, that ing him home. If he has not courage to once a month we demolish a prude, that is, stand it (you are a great casuist,) is it such we get some queer formal creature in an ill thing to bring myself off as well as I among us, and unrig her in an instant. can? What makes me doubt my man is, Our last month's prude was so armed and that I find he thinks it reasonable to ex-fortified in whalebone and buckram, that postulate at least with her; and Captain we had much ado to come at her; but you Sentry will tell you, if you let your orders would have died with laughing to have seen be disputed, you are no longer a comman- how the sober awkward thing looked when der. I wish you could advise me how to get she was forced out of her entrenchments clear of this business handsomely. Yours, In short, sir, it is impossible to give you a TOM MEGGOT.' true notion of our sport, unless you would come one night amongst us; and though it be directly against the rules of our society

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T.

No. 217.] Thursday, November 8, 1711. to admit a male visitant, we repose so much

-Tunc fœmina simplex,

Et pariter toto repetitur clamor ab antro.Juv. Sat. vi. 326. Then unrestrain'd by rules of decency, Th' assembled females raise a general cry. I SHALL entertain my reader to-day with some letters from my correspondents. The first of them is the description of a club, whether real or imaginary I cannot determine; but am apt to fancy, that the writer of it, whoever she is, has formed a I kind of nocturnal orgie out of her own fancy. Whether this be so or not, her letter may conduce to the amendment of that kind of persons who are represented in it, and whose characters are frequent enough in

the world.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-In some of your first papers you were pleased to give the public a very diverting account of several clubs and nocturnal assemblies; but I am a member of a society which has wholly escaped your notice, I mean a club of She-Romps. We take each a hackney-coach, and meet once a week in a large upper-chamber, which we hire by the year for that purpose; our landlord and his family, who are quiet people, constantly contriving to be abroad on our club-night. We are no sooner come together, than we throw off all that modesty and reservedness with which our sex are obliged to disguise themselves in public places. I am not able to express the pleasure we enjoy from ten at night till four in the morning, in being as rude as you men can be for your lives. As our play runs high, the room is immediately filled with broken fans, torn petticoats, lappets, or head-dresses, flounces, furbelows, garters, and working-aprons. I had forgot to tell you at first, that besides the coaches we come in ourselves, there is one which stands always empty to carry off our dead men, for so we call all those fragments and tatters with which the room is strewed, and which we pack up together in bundles and "put into the aforesaid coach. It is no small diversion for us to meet the next night at

confidence in your silence and taciturnity, that it was agreed by the whole club, at our last meeting, to give you entrance for one night as a spectator. I am your humble servant,

KITTY TERMAGANT.

'P. S. We shall demolish a prude next Thursday.'

Though I thank Kitty for her kind offer, do not at present find in myself any inand her romping companions. I should reclination to venture my person with her gard myself as a second Clodius intruding on the mysterious rites of the Bona Dea, and should apprehend being demolished as much as the prude.

The following letter comes from a gen tleman whose taste I find is much too delicate to endure the least advance towards romping. I may perhaps hereafter improve upon the hint he has given me, and make it the subject of a whole Spectator; in the mean time take it as it follows in his own words:

'MR. SPECTATOR,-It is my misfortune to be in love with a young creature who is daily committing faults, which though they give me the utmost uneasiness, I know not how to reprove her for, or even acquaint her with. She is pretty, dresses well, is rich, and good-humoured; but either wholly neglects, or has no notion of that which polite people have agreed to distinguish by the name of delicacy. After our retur from a walk the other day, she threw her self into an elbow-chair, and professed be fore a large company, that she was all over in a sweat. She told me this afternoon that her stomach ached; and was complaining yesterday at dinner of something that stuck in her teeth. I treated her with a baske of fruit last summer, which she eat so very greedily, as almost made me resolve neve to see her more. In short, sir, I begin t tremble whenever I see her about to spea or move. As she does not want sense, she takes these hints I am happy; if not,

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n more than afraid, that these things hich shock me even in the behaviour of a istress, will appear insupportable in that a wife. I am, sir, yours, &c.'

My next letter comes from a corresndent whom I cannot but very much lue, upon the account which she gives

herself.

tive temper to the advantage or diminution of those whom they mention, without being moved either by malice or good-will. It will be too long to expatiate upon the sense all mankind have of fame, and the inexpressible pleasure which there is in the approbation of worthy men, to all who are capable of worthy actions, but methinks one may divide the general word fame into 'MR. SPECTATOR, I am happily arrived three different species, as it regards the a state of tranquillity, which few people different orders of mankind who have any vy, I mean that of an old maid; therefore thing to do with it. Fame therefore may ing wholly unconcerned in all that med-be divided into glory, which respects the of follies which our sex is apt to con- hero; reputation, which is preserved by act from their silly fondness of yours, I every gentleman; and credit, which must ad your railleries on us, without be supported by every tradesman. These On. I can say with Hamlet, possessions in fame are dearer than life to those characters of men, or rather are the life of these characters. Glory, while the hero pursues great and noble enterprises, is impregnable; and all the assailants of his renown do but show their pain and impatience of its brightness, without throwing the least shade upon it. If the foundation of an high name be virtue and service, all that is offered against it is but rumour, which is too short-lived to stand up in competition with glory, which is everlasting.

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-"Man delights not me,
Nor woman neither."

"Therefore, dear sir, as you never spare our own sex, do not be afraid of reproving hat is ridiculous in ours, and you will lige at least one woman, who is your umble servant,

'SUSANNAH FROST.' 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am wife to a clerman, and cannot help thinking that in our tenth or tithe character of womankind ou meant myself, therefore I have no arrel against you for the other nine chaacters. Your humble servant, X.

'A. B.'

o. 218.] Friday, November 9, 1711.
Quid de quoque viro, et cui dicas, sæpe caveto.
Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xviii. 68.
Of whom you talk, to whom, and what, and where.
Pooley.

-Have a care

Reputation, which is the portion of every man who would live with the elegant and knowing part of mankind, is as stable as glory, if it be as well founded; and the common cause of human society is thought concerned when we hear a man of good behaviour calumniated. Besides which, according to a prevailing custom amongst us, every man has his defence in his own arm: and reproach is soon checked, put out of countenance, and overtaken by disgrace.

The most unhappy of all men, and the most exposed to the malignity and wantonness of the common voice, is the trader. IHAPPENED the other day, as my way is, Credit is undone in whispers. The tradesstroll into a little coffee-house beyond man's wound is received from one who is ldgate; and as I sat there, two or three more private and more cruel than the rufery plain sensible men were talking of the fian with the lantern and dagger. The manpectator. One said, he had that morning ner of repeating a man's name,-As; 'Mr. rawn the great benefit ticket; another Cash, Oh! do you leave your money at his ished he had; but a third shaked his head shop? Why, do you know Mr. Searoom? nd said, It was a pity that the writer of He is indeed a general merchant.' I say, at paper was such a sort of man, that it I have seen, from the iteration of a man's as no great matter whether he had or no. name, hiding one thought of him, and exle is, it seems, said the good man, the most plaining what you hide, by saying sometravagant creature in the world; has run thing to his advantage when you speak, a rough vast sums, and yet been in con- merchant hurt in his credit; and him who, nual want: a man, for all he talks so well every day he lived, literally added to the economy, unfit for any of the offices of value of his native country, undone by fe by reason of his profuseness It would one who was only a burden and a blemish e an unhappy thing to be hs wife, his to it. Since every body who knows the hild, or his friend; and yet he talks as well world is sensible of this great evil, how those duties of life as any one. Much careful ought a man to be in his language flection has brought me to so easy a con- of a merchant? It may possibly be in the empt for every thing which is false, that power of a very shallow creature to lay is heavy accusation gave me no manner the ruin of the best family in the most opuuneasiness; but at the same tine it threw lent city; and the more so, the more highly e into deep thought upon the subject of he deserves of his country; that is to say, me in general; and I could not but pity the farther he places his wealth out of his uch as were so weak, as to valle what the hands, to draw home that of another cliommon people say out of their own talka-mate.

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In this case an ill word may change plenty them down as they have occurred to me, into want, and by a rash sentence a free without being at the pains to connect or and generous fortune may in a few days be methodise them. reduced to beggary. How little does a giddy prater imagine, that an idle phrase to the disfavour of a merchant, may be as pernicious in the consequence, as the forgery of a deed to bar an inheritance would be to a gentleman? Land stands where it did before a gentleman was calumniated, and the state of a great action is just as it was before calumny was offered to diminish it, and there is time, place, and occasion, expected to unravel all that is contrived against those characters; but the trader who is ready only for probable demands upon him, can have no armour against the inquisitive, the malicious, and the envious, who are prepared to fill the cry to his dishonour. Fire and sword are slow engines of destruction, in comparison of the babbler in the case of the merchant.

For this reason I thought it an imitable piece of humanity of a gentleman of my acquaintance, who had great variety of affairs, and used to talk with warmth enough against gentlemen by whom he thought himself ill dealt with; that he would never let any thing be urged against a merchant (with whom he had any difference) except in a court of justice. He used to say, that to speak ill of a merchant, was to begin his suit with judgment and execution. One cannot, I think, say more on this occasion, than to repeat, that the merit of the mer chant is above that of all other subjects; for while he is untouched in his credit, his hand-writing is a more portable coin for the service of his fellow-citizens, and his word the gold of Ophir to the country wherein

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No. 219.] Saturday, November 10, 1711.

Vix ea nostra voco. Ovid. Met. Lib. xiii. 141.
These I scarce call our own.

THERE are but few men, who are not ambitious of distinguishing themselves in the nation or country where they live, and of growing considerable among those with whom they converse. There is a kind of grandeur and respect, which the meanest and most insignificant part of mankind endeavour to procure in the little circle of their friends and acquaintance. The poorest mechanic, nay, the man who lives upon common alms, gets him his set of admirers, and delights in that superiority which he enjoys over those who are in some respects beneath him. This ambition, which is natural to the soul of man, might methinks receive a very happy turn; and, if it were rightly directed, contribute as much to a person's advantage, as it generally does to his uneasiness and disquiet.

I shall therefore put together some thoughts on this subject, which I have not met with in other writers; and shall set

All superiority and pre-eminence that one man can have over another, may be reduced to the notion of quality, which, con sidered at large, is either that of fortune, body, or mind. The first is that which consists in birth, title, or riches; it is the most foreign to our natures, and what we can the least call our own of any of the three kinds of quality. In relation to the body, quality arises from health, strength, or beauty which are nearer to us, and more a part of ourselves than the former. Quality, as it regards the mind, has its rise from knowledge or virtue; and is that which is more essential to us, and more intimately united with us than either of the other two.

The quality of fortune, though a man has less reason to value himself upon it than on that of the body or mind, is however the kind of quality which makes the most shining figure in the eye of the world.

As virtue is the most reasonable and genuine source of honour, we generally find in titles an intimation of some particular merit that should recommend men to the high stations which they possess. Holiness is ascribed to the pope; majesty to kings: serenity or mildness of temper to princes; excellence or perfection to ambassadors; grace to archbishops; honcur to peers; wor ship or venerable behaviour to magistrates; and reverence, which is of the same import as the former, to the inferior clergy.

In the founders of great families, such attributes of honour are generally corre spondent with the virtues of the person to whom they are applied; but in the descend ants they are too often the marks rather of grandeur than of merit. The stamp and denomination still continues, but the intrinsic value is frequently lost.

The death-bed shows the emptiness of titles in a true light. A poor dispirited sinof the state he is entering on; and is asked ner lies trembling under the apprehensions by a grave attendant how his holiness does? Another hears himself addressed to under the title of highness or excellency, who lies under such mean circumstances of mortality as are the disgrace of human nature. Titles at such a time look rather like insults and mockery than respect.

The truth of it is, honours are in this world under no regulation; true quality is neglected, virtue is oppressed, and vice triumphant The last day will rectify this disorder, and assign to every one a station suitable to the dignity of his character. Ranks will be then adjusted, and precedency set right.

Methinks we should have an ambition, if not to advance ourselves in another world, at least to preserve qur post in it, and outshine our inferiors in virtue here, that they may not be put above us in a state which to settle the distinction for eternity.

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Men in Scripture are called strangers and Sojourners upon earth, and life a pilgrimage. Several heathen, as well as Christian auchors, under the same kind of metaphor, have represented the world as an inn, which was only designed to furnish us with accommodations in this our passage. It is herefore very absurd to think of setting up Our rest before we come to our journey's end, and not rather to take care of the reception we shall there meet, than to fix our choughts on the little conveniences and advantages which we enjoy one above another n the way to it.

children of God, and his lot is among the
saints!'

If the reader would see the description of
a life that is passed away in vanity and
among the shadows of pomp and greatness,
he may see it very finely drawn in the same
place. In the mean time, since it is ne-
cessary in the present constitution of things,
that order and distinction should be kept up
in the world, we should be happy, if those
who enjoy the upper stations in it, would
endeavour to surpass others in virtue, as
much as in rank, and by their humanity
and condescension make their superiority
easy and acceptable to those who are be-
is very beautiful, and won-neath them; and if, on the contrary, those

Epictetus makes use of another kind of
allusion, which to incline us to be satisfied who are in meaner posts of life, would con-
derfully proper
with the post in which Providence has
placed us We are here, says he, as in a
heatre, where every one has a part allot-
ed to him. The great duty which lies upon
man is to act his part in perfection. We
may indeed say, that our part does not suit
as, and that we could act another better.
But this, says the philosopher, is not our
business. All that we are concerned in is No. 220.] Monday, November 12, 1711.
co excel in the part which is given us. If it
De an improper one, the fault is not in us,
Out in Him who has cast our several parts,
and is the great disposer of the drama.*

sider how they may better their condition
hereafter, and by a just deference and
submission to their superiors, make them
happy in those blessings with which Provi-
dence has thought fit to distinguish them.
C.

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The part that was acted by this philosopher himself was but a very indifferent one, For he lived and died a slave. His motive o contentment in this particular, receives very great enforcement from the abovementioned consideration, if we remember Chat our parts in the other world will be new-cast, and that mankind will be there ranged in different stations of superiority and pre-eminence, in proportion as they have here excelled one another in virtue, and performed in their several posts of life the duties which belong to them.

Rumoresque serit varios

Virg. Æn. xii. 228.

A thousand rumours spreads. for my love? I cannot help it if he will give 'SIR,-Why will you apply to my father you my person; but I assure you it is not in his power, nor even in my own, to give you consequence of such a match; you are fiftymy heart. Dear sir, do but consider the ill five, I twenty-one. You are a man of business, and mightily conversant in arithmetic and making calculations; be pleased therefore to consider what proportion your spirits bear to mine; and when you have made a just estimate of the necessary decay on one side, and the redundance on the other, you There are many beautiful passages in the will act accordingly. This perhaps is such ittle apocryphal book, entitled, The Wis- language as you may not expect from a om of Solomon, to set forth the vanity of young lady; but my happiness is at stake, onour, and the like temporal blessings and I must talk plainly. I mortally hate which are in so great repute among men, you; and so, as you and my father agree, and to comfort those who have not the pos- you may take me or leave me: but if you session of them. It represents in very warm will be so good as never to see me more, and noble terms this advancement of a good you will for ever oblige, sir, your most man in the other world, and the great sur- humble servant, HENRIETTA.' prise which it will produce among those who are his superiors in this. Then shall 'MR. SPECTATOR,-There are so many he righteous man stand in great boldness artifices and modes of false wit, and such a Defore the face of such as have afflicted variety of humour discovers itself among its im, and made no account of his labours. votaries, that it would be impossible to exWhen they see it they shall be troubled haust so fertile a subject, if you would think with terrible fear, and shall be amazed at fit to resume it. The following instances he strangeness of his salvation, so far be- may, if you think fit, be added by way of ond all that they looked for. And they appendix to your discourses on that subject. epenting and groaning for anguish of spirit, That feat of poetical activity mentioned hall say within themselves, This was he by Horace, of an author who could compose whom we had sometime in derision, and a two hundred verses while he stood upon one Proverb of reproach. We fools accounted leg, has been imitated (as I have heard,) is life madness and his end to be without by a modern writer; who priding himself onour. How is he numbered among the on the hurry of his invention, thought it no tIbid. ch. v. 8-14

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*Epicteti Enchirid. cap. 23.

† Wisd. ch. v. 1-5

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