timed that the most judicious critic could never except against it. As soon as any shining thought is expressed in the poet, or any uncommon grace appears in the actor, he smites the bench or the wainscot. If the audience does not concur with him,

No. 235.] Thursday, November 29, 1711. smites a second time: and if the audience

THERE is nothing which lies more within the province of a Spectator than public shows and diversions; and as among these there are none which can pretend to vie with those elegant entertainments that are exhibited in our theatres, I think it particularly incumbent on me to take notice of every thing that is remarkable in such numerous and refined assemblies.

is not yet awakened, looks round him with great wrath, and repeats the blow a third time, which never fails to produce the clap. He sometimes lets the audience begin the clap of themselves, and at the conclusion of their applause ratifies it with a single thwack.

He is of so great use to the play-house, that it is said, a former director of it, upan his not being able to pay his attendance by reason of sickness, kept one in pay to offciate for him until such time as he recovered; but the person so employed, though he laid about him with incredible violence, did it in such wrong places, that the audience soon found out that it was not their old friend the trunk-maker.

It has been remarked, that he has not yet exerted himself with vigour this sea son. He sometimes plies at the opera; and upon Nicolini's first appearance was said to have demolished three benches in the fury of his applause. He has broken half a dozen oaken plants upon Dogget, and seldom goes away from a tragedy of Shak speare, without leaving the wainscot extremely shattered.

cheer

It is observed, that of late years there has been a certain person in the upper gallery of the playhouse, who when he is pleased with any thing that is acted upon the stage, expresses his approbation by a loud knock upon the benches or the wainscot, which may be heard over the whole theatre. The person is commonly known by the name of the Trunk-maker in the upper gallery.' Whether it be that the blow he gives on these occasions resembles that which is often heard in the shops of such artisans, or that he was supposed to have been a real trunk-maker, who, after the finishing of his day's work, used to unbend his mind at these public diversions with his hammer in his hand, I cannot certainly tell. There are some, I know, who have been foolish enough to imagine it is a spirit which haunts the upper gallery, and from time to time makes those strange noises; and the rather, because he is observed to be louder than ordinary every time the ghost of Hamlet appears. Others have reported, In the meanwhile, I cannot but take no that, it is a dumb man, who has chosen tice of the great use it is to an audience this way of uttering himself when he is that a person should thus preside over thei transported with any thing he sees or heads like the director of a concert, in or hears. Others will have it to be the play-der to awaken their attention, and beat tim house thunderer, that exerts himself after this manner in the upper gallery when he has nothing to do upon the roof.

The players do not only connive at his obstreperous approbation, but very fully repair at their own cost whatever damages he makes. They once had a thought of erecting a kind of wooden anvil for his use, that should be made of a very sounding plank, in order to render his strokes more deep and mellow; but as this might not have been distinguished from the music of a kettle-drum, the project was laid aside.

to their applauses; or, to raise my simile, have sometimes fancied the trunk-make in the upper gallery to be like Virgil ruler of the winds, seated upon the top of mountain, who when he struck his sceptr upon the side of it, roused a hurricane, an set the whole cavern in an uproar.†

It is certain the trunk-maker has save many a good play, and brought many graceful actor into reputation, who wou not otherwise have been taken notice of is very visible, as the audience is not a litt

But having made it my business to get the best information I could in a matter of this moment, I find that the trunk-maker, as he is commonly called, is a large black man, whom nobody knows. He generally leans forward on a huge oaken plant with great attention to every thing that passes upon the stage. He never is seen to smile, but upon hearing any thing that pleases him, he takes up his staff with both hands, and lays it upon the next piece of timber that stands in his way with exceeding ve-in hemence; after which he composes himself in his former posture, till such time as something new sets him again at work.

It has been observed, his blow is so well

Thomas Dogget, a celebrated comic actor, ma years joint manager of Drury-lane Theatre. He d 1721, leaving a legacy to provide a coat and ba to be rowed for, from London Bridge to Chelsea, by watermen yearly, on the first of August, the day of accession of George I. There is a particular acco of him in Cibber's Apology.

† Æneid, i. 85.

bashed, if they find themselves betrayed to a clap, when their friend in the upper allery does not come into it; so the actors o not value themselves upon the clap, but egard it as a mere brutum fulmen, or mpty noise, when it has not the sound of e oaken plant in it. I know it has been iven out by those who are enemies to the unk-maker, that he has sometimes been ribed to be in the interest of a bad poet, or vicious player; but this is a surmise which as no foundation: his strokes are always st, and his admonitions seasonable; he es not deal about his blows at random, it always hits the right nail upon the head. The inexpressible force wherewith he lays em on sufficiently shows the evidence and rength of his conviction. His zeal for a od author is indeed outrageous, and breaks own every fence and partition, every board d plank, that stands within the expreson of his applause.

'dispositions are strangely averse to conjugal
friendship) but no one, I believe, is by his
own natural complexion prompted to tease
and torment another for no reason but being
nearly allied to him. And can there be any
thing more base, or serve to sink a man so
much below his own distinguishing charac-
teristic, (I mean reason,) than returning evil
for good in so open a manner, as that of
treating a helpless creature with unkind-
ness, who has had so good an opinion of
him as to believe what he said relating to
one of the greatest concerns of life, by de-
livering her happiness in this world to his
care and protection? Must not that man be
abandoned even to all manner of humanity,
who can deceive a woman with appearances
of affection and kindness, for no other end
but to torment her with more ease and au-
thority? Is any thing more unlike a gentle-
man than when his honour is engaged for
the performing his promises, because no-
thing but that can oblige him to it, to be-
come afterwards false to his word, and be
alone the occasion of misery to one whose
happiness he but lately pretended was
dearer to him than his own? Ought such a
one to be trusted in his common affairs? or
treated but as one whose honesty consisted
only in his incapacity of being otherwise?

Be

As I do not care for terminating my
oughts in barren speculations, or in re-
orts of pure matter of fact, without draw-
g something from them for the advantage
my countrymen, I shall take the liberty
make an humble proposal, that when-
er the trunk-maker shall depart this life,
whenever he shall have lost the spring
his arm by sickness, old age, infirmity, There is one cause of this usage no less
the like, some able-bodied critic should absurd than common, which takes place
advanced to this post, and have a com- among the more unthinking men; and that
tent salary settled on him for life, to be is, the desire to appear to their friends free
rnished with bamboos for operas, crab-and at liberty, and without those trammels
ee cudgels for comedies, and oaken plants they have so much ridiculed. To avoid this
rtragedy, at the public expense. And to they fly into the other extreme, and grow
e end that this place should be always tyrants that they may seem masters.
sposed of according to merit, I would have cause an uncontrollable command of their
ne preferred to it, who has not given con- own actions is a certain sign of entire domi-
ncing proofs both of a sound judgment, nion, they will not so much as recede from
d a strong arm, and who could not, upon the government even in one muscle of their
casion, either knock down an ox, or write faces. A kind look they believe would be
comment upon Horace's Art of Poetry. fawning, and a civil answer yielding the
short, I would have him a due composi- superiority. To this we must attribute an
n of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly austerity they betray in every action. What
alified for this important office, that the but this can put a man out of humour in his
ink-maker may not be missed by our wife's company, though he is so dintinguish-
sterity.
C. ingly pleasant every where else? The bit-
terness of his replies, and the severity of
his frowns to the tenderest of wives, clearly
demonstrate that an ill-grounded fear of
being thought too submissive, is at the bot-
tom of this, as I am willing to call it, affected
moroseness; but if it be such, only put on to
convince his acquaintance of his entire do-
minion, let him take care of the conse-
quence, which will be certain and worse
than the present evil; his seeming indiffer-
ence will by degrees grow into real con-
tempt, and if it doth not wholly alienate the
affections of his wife for ever from him,
make both him and her more miserable
than if it really did so.

0.236.] Friday, November 30, 1711.

-Dare jura maritis.-Hor. Ars Poct. v. 398. With laws connubial tyrants to restrain.

MR. SPECTATOR,-You have not spoken
so direct a manner upon the subject of
rriage, as that important case deserves.
would not be improper to observe upon
peculiarity in the youth of Great Britain
railing and laughing at that institution;
when they fall into it, from a profligate
it of mind, being insensible of the satis-
tion in that way of life, and treating their
es with the most barbarous disrespect.
· However inconsistent it may appear, to
Particular circumstances, and cast of be thought a well-bred person has no small
per, must teach a man the probability share in this clownish behaviour. A dis-
nighty uneasiness in that state; (for un-course therefore relating to good-breeding
estionably some there are whose very towards a loving and a tender wife, would

T.

'T.S.'

be of great use to this sort of gentlemen. | yet taken any notice of it: if you mention it Could you but once convince them, that to in your paper, it may perhaps have a very be civil at least is not beneath the character good effect. What I mean is, the disturbof a gentleman, nor even tender affection ance some people give to others at church, towards one who would make it reciprocal, by their repetition of the prayers after the betrays any softness or effeminacy that the minister; and that not only in the prayers, most masculine disposition need be ashamed but also in the absolution; and the comof; could you satisfy them of the generosity mandments fare no better, which are in a of voluntary civility, and the greatness of particular manner the priest's office. This soul that is conspicuous in benevolence with- I have known done in so audible a manner, out immediate obligations; could you re- that sometimes their voices have been as commend to people's practice the saying of loud as his. As little as you would think it, the gentleman quoted in one of your specu- this is frequently done by people seemingly lations, "That he thought it incumbent devout. This irreligious inadvertency is a upon him to make the inclinations of a wo- thing extremely offensive: But I do not reman of merit go along with her duty;" commend it as a thing I give you liberty to could you, I say, persuade these men of the ridicule, but hope it may be amended by beauty and reasonableness of this sort of the bare mention. Sir, your very humble behaviour, I have so much charity, for servant, some of them at least, to believe you would convince them of a thing they are only ashamed to allow. Besides, you would recommend that state in its truest, and consequently its most agreeable colours: and the gentlemen, who have for any time been such professed enemies to it, when occasion should serve, would return you their thanks for assisting their interest in prevailing over their prejudices. Marriage in general would by this means be a more easy and comfortable condition; the husband would be no where so well satisfied as in his own parlour, nor the wife so pleasant as in the company of her husband. A desire of being agreeable in the lover would be increased in the husband, and the mistress be more amiable by becoming the wife. Besides all which, I am apt to believe we should find the race of men grow wiser as their progenitors grew kinder, and the affection of their parents would be conspicuous in the wisdom of their children; in short, men would in general be much better humoured than they are, did they not so frequently exercise the worst turns of their temper where they ought to exert the best,'

No. 237.] Saturday, December 1, 1711.
Visu carentem magna pars verit latet.

Seneca in adip
They that are dim of sight see truth by halves.

IT is very reasonable to believe, that part of the pleasure which happy minds shall enjoy in a future state, will arise from an enlarged contemplation of the Divine Wis dom in the government of the world, and a discovering of the secret and amazing steps of Providence, from the beginning to the end of time. Nothing seems to be an enter tainment more adapted to the nature of man, if we consider that curiosity is one of the strongest and most lasting appetites in planted in us, and that admiration is one of our most pleasing passions; and what a per petual succession of enjoyments will be af forded to both these, in a scene so large and various as shall there be laid open to our view in the society of superior spirits, who perhaps will join with us in so delightful a prospect!

MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a woman who part of the punishment of such as are ex It is not impossible, on the contrary, that left the admiration of the whole town to cluded from bliss, may consist not only throw myself (for love of wealth) into the their being denied this privilege, but in arms of a fool. When I married him, I could have had any one of several men of vastly increased without any satisfaction having their appetites at the same time sense who languished for me; but my case afforded to them. In these, the vain pur is just. I believed my superior understand-suit of knowledge shall, perhaps, add ing would form him into a tractable crea- their infelicity, and bewilder them into ture. But, alas! my spouse has cunning and labyrinths of error, darkness, distraction suspicion, the inseparable companions of and uncertainty of every thing but their little minds; and every attempt I make to own evil state. Milton has thus represented divert, by putting on an agreeable air, a the fallen angels reasoning together in sudden cheerfulness, or kind behaviour, he kind of respite from their torments, and looks upon as the first act towards an insur-creating to themselves a new disquiet amids rection against his undeserved dominion their very amusements; he could not pro over me. Let every one who is still to perly have described the sport of com choose, and hopes to govern a fool, remem-demned spirits, without that cast of horro and melancholy he has so judiciously min gled with them:

ber

TRISTISSA.'

'St. Martin's, Nov. 25. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-This is to complain of an evil practice which I think very well deserves a redress, though you have not as

Others apart sat on a hill retir'd,

In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,

Fixt fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute,
And found no end in wandering mazes lost.*
In our present condition, which is a mid-
le state, our minds are as it were check-our knowledge, and even that little we dis-
red with truth and falsehood: and as our cern imperfectly; or according to the ele-
aculties are narrow, and our views imper- gant figure in holy writ, we see but in
Ect, it is impossible but our curiosity must part, and as in a glass darkly '§ It is to be
neet with many repulses. The business considered, that Providence in its economy
f mankind in this life being rather to act regards the whole system of time and
han to know, their portion of knowledge is things together, so that we cannot dis-
ealt to them accordingly.
cover the beautiful connection between in-
cidents which lie widely separate in time,
and by losing so many links of the chain,
our reasonings become broken and imper-
fect. Thus those parts of the moral world
which have not an absolute, may yet have
a relative beauty, in respect of some other
parts concealed from us, but open to his
eye before whom past,' 'present,' and 'to
come,' are set together in one point of view:
and those events, the permission of which
seems now to accuse his goodness, may in
the consummation of things both magnify
his goodness, and exalt his wisdom. And
this is enough to check our presumption,
since it is in vain to apply our measures of
regularity to matters of which we know
neither the antecedents nor the consequents,
the beginning nor the end.

is, that we are not at present in a proper
situation to judge of the councils by which
Providence acts, since but little arrives at

From hence it is, that the reason of the quisitive has so long been exercised with ifficulties, in accounting for the promiscuus distribution of good and evil to the virous and the wicked in this world. From ence come all those pathetic complaints f so many tragical events which happen the wise and the good; and of such surrising prosperity, which is often the lott f the guilty and the foolish; that reason is ometimes puzzled, and at a loss what to ronounce upon so mysterious a dispenation.

Plato expresses his abhorrence of some
ables of the poets, which seem to reflect
the gods as the authors of injustice; and
ays it down as a principle, that whatever is
permitted to befal a just man, whether
overty, sickness, or any of those things I shall relieve my readers from this ab-
which seem to be evils, shall either in life stracted thought, by relating here a Jewish
death conduce to his good. My reader tradition concerning Moses, which seems
ill observe how agreeable this maxim is to be a kind of parable, illustrating what I
what we find delivered by a greater au- have last mentioned. That great prophet,
hority. Seneca has written a discourse it is said, was called up by a voice from
urposely
on this subject; in which he heaven to the top of a mountain; where in
akes pains, after the doctrine of the Stoics, a conference with the Supreme Being, he
show that adversity is not in itself an was admitted to propose to him some ques-
vil; and mentions a noble saying of Deme- tions concerning his administration of the
us, that nothing would be more unhappy universe. In the midst of this divine col-
an a man who had never known afflic- loquy he was commanded to look down on
on.' He compares prosperity to the in- the plain below. At the foot of the moun-
algence of a fond mother to a child, which tain there issued out a clear spring of water,
ften proves his ruin; but the affection of at which a soldier alighted from his horse
e Divine Being to that of a wise father, to drink. He was no sooner gone than a
ho would have his sons exercised with la- little boy came to the same place, and find-
our, disappointments, and pain, that they ing a purse of gold which the soldier had
ay gather strength and improve their for- dropped, took it up and went away with it.
tude. On this occasion, the philosopher Immediately after this came an infirm old
ses into that celebrated sentiment, That man, weary with age and travelling, and
ere is not on earth a spectacle more worthy having quenched his thirst, sat down to rest
e regard of a Creator intent on his works himself by the side of the spring. The sol-
an a brave man superior to his sufferings; dier missing his purse returns to search for
which he adds, that it must be a plea- it, and demands it of the old man, who
re to Jupiter himself to look down from affirms he had not seen it, and appeals to
eaven, and see Cato amidst the ruins of heaven in witness of his innocence. The
s country preserving his integrity." soldier not believing his protestations, kills
This thought will appear yet more rea- him. Moses fell on his face with horror
nable, if we consider human life as a state and amazement, when the divine voice thus
probation, and adversity as the post of prevented his expostulation: Be not sur-
ost select spirits.
nour in it, assigned often to the best and prised, Moses, nor ask why the Judge of
the whole earth has suffered this thing to
But what I would chiefly insist on here pass. The child is the occasion that the
blood of the old man is spilt; but know that
the old man whom thou sawest was the
murderer of that child's father.'

Paradise Lost, b. ii. v. 557.

Spect. in folio; for reward, &c. 4444444

Vid Senec. De constantia sapientis, sive quod in pientem non cadit injuria.

1 Cor. xiii. 12.

C.

No. 288.] Monday, December 3, 1711.

Nequicquam populo bibulas donaveris aures;
Respue quod non es-
Persius, Sat. iv. 50.
No more to flattering crowds thine ear incline,
Eager to drink the praise which is not thine.

Brewster.

AMONG all the diseases of the mind, there is not one more epidemical or more pernicious than the love of flattery. For as where the juices of the body are prepared to receive a malignant influence, there the disease rages with most violence; so in this distemper of the mind, where there is ever a propensity and inclination to suck in the poison, it cannot be but that the whole order of reasonable action must be overturned, for, like music, it

-So softens and disarms the mind,
That not one arrow can resistance find.

with merit enough to be a coxcomb. But if flattery be the most sordid act that can be complied with, the art of praising justly is as commendable; for it is laudable to praise well; as poets at one and the same time give immortality, and receive it themselves for a reward. Both are pleased; the one whilst he receives the recompence of merit, the other whilst he shows he knows how to discern it; but above all, that man is happy in this art, who, like a skilful painter, re tains the features and complexion, but still softens the picture into the most agreeable likeness.

There can hardly, I believe, be imagined a more desirable pleasure than that of praise unmixed with any possibility of flattery. Such was that which Germanicus enjoyed, when, the night before a battle, First we flatter ourselves, and then the desirous of some sincere mark of the esteem flattery of others is sure of success. It of his legions for him, he is described by awakens our self-love within, a party which Tacitus listening in a disguise to the dis is ever ready to revolt from our better judg-course of a soldier, and wrapt up in the ment, and join the enemy without. Hence it is, that the profusion of favours we so often see poured upon the parasite, are represented to us by our self-love, as justice done to the man who so agreeably reconciled us to ourselves. When we are overcome by such soft insinuations and ensnaring compliances, we gladly recompense the artifices that are made use of to blind our reason, and which triumph over the weaknesses of our temper and inclinations.

But were every man persuaded from how mean and low a principle this passion is derived, there can be no doubt but the person who should attempt to gratify it, would then be as contemptible as he is now successful. It is the desire of some quality we are not possessed of, or inclination to be something we are not, which are the causes of our giving ourselves up to that man who bestows upon us the characters and qualities of others, which perhaps suit us as ill, and were as little designed for our wearing, as their clothes. Instead of going out of our own complexional nature into that of others, it were a better and more laudable industry to improve our own, and instead of a miserable copy become a good original; for there is no temper, no disposition so rude and untractable, but may in its own peculiar cast and turn be brought to some agree able use in conversation, or in the affairs of life. A person of a rougher deportment, and less tied up to the usual ceremonies of behaviour, will, like Manly in the play, please by the grace which nature gives to every action wherein she is complied with; the brisk and lively will not want their admirers, and even a more reserved and melancholy temper may at sometimes be agreeable.

When there is not vanity enough awake in a man to undo him, the flatterer stirs up that dormant weakness, and inspires him

• Wychorley's comedy of the Plain Dealor.

fruition of his glory, whilst with an unde signed sincerity they praised his noble and majestic mien, his affability, his valour, conduct, and success in war. How musta man have his heart full-blown with joy in such an article of glory as this? What a spur and encouragement still to proceed in those steps which had already brought him to so pure a taste of the greatest of mortal enjoyments?

It sometimes happens that even enemies and envious persons bestow the sincerest marks of esteem when they least design it. Such afford a greater pleasure, as er torted by merit, and freed from all suspicion of favour or flattery. Thus it is with Mal volio; he has wit, learning, and discen ment, but tempered with an allay of envy, self-love, and detraction. Malvolio turs pale at the mirth and good-humour of the company, if it centre not in his person; he grows jealous and displeased when he ceases to be the only person admired, and looks upon the commendations paid to an other as a detraction from his merit, and an attempt to lessen the superiority he affects; but by this very method, he bestows such praise as can never be suspected of flattery. His uneasiness and distastes are so many sure and certain signs of another's title to that glory he desires, and has the mortif cation to find himself not possessed of.

A good name is fitly compared to a pre cious ointment,† and when we are praised with skill and decency, it is indeed the most agreeable perfume; but if too strongly admitted into a brain of a less vigorous and happy texture, it will, like too strong an odour, overcome the senses, and prove per nicious to those nerves it was intended to refresh. A generous mind is of all others the most sensible of praise and dispraise and a noble spirit is as much invigorated with its due proportion of honour and ap

Eccles, vii. 1.