by him at one of those games in his leisure | T. But, though I hope for the best, I shall not pronounce too positively on this point, till I have seen forty weeks well over; at which period of time, as my good friend Sir Roger has often told me, he has more business as justice of peace, among the dis solute young people in the country, than at any other season of the year. Neither must I forget a letter which I received near a fortnight since from a lady, who, it seems, could hold out no longer, telling me she looked upon the month as then out, for that she had all along reckoned by the new style. On the other hand, I have great reason to believe, from several angry letters which have been sent to me by disappointed lovers, that my advice has been of very signal service to the fair sex, who, according to the old proverb, were 'forewarned, forearmed." One of these gentlemen tells me, that he would have given me a hundred pounds, rather than I should have published that paper; for that his mistress, who had promised to explain herself to him about the beginning of May, upon reading that dis course told him, that she would give him her answer in June. Thyrsis acquaints me, that when he desired Sylvia to take a walk in the fields, she told him, the Spectator had forbidden her. Another of my correspondents, who writes himself Mat Meager, complains that, whereas he constantly used to breakfast with his mistress upon chocolate; going to wait upon her the first of May, he found his usual treat very much changed for the worse, and has been forced to feed ever since upon green tea. As I begun this critical season with a caveat to the ladies, I shall conclude it with a congratulation, and do most heartily wish them joy of their happy deliverance. They may now reflect with pleasure on the dangers they have escaped, and look back with as much satisfaction on the perils that threatened them, as their great grandmothers did formerly on the burning ploughshares, after having passed through the ordeal trial. The instigations of the spring are now abated. The nightingale gives over her love-labour'd song,' as Milton phrases it; the blossoms are fallen, and the beds of flowers swept away by the scythe of the mower. No. 395.] Tuesday, June 3, 1712. made in the last month. Then commonly called Barbadoes water. their city, when they fancied the siege was raised, and the danger past, were the very next night burnt in their beds. I must also observe, that as in some climates there is perpetual spring, so in some female consti ions there is a perpetual May. These e a kind of valetudinarians in chastity, om I would continue in a constant diet. cannot think these wholly out of danger, they have looked upon the other sex at st five years through a pair of spectacles. ill Honeycomb has often assured me, that s much easier to steal one of this species, en she has passed her grand climacteric, an to carry off an icy girl on this side e-and-twenty; and that a rake of his acaintance, who had in vain endeavoured to in the affections of a young lady of fifteen, d at last made his fortune by running ay with her grandmother. But as I do not design this speculation for e evergreens of the sex, I shall again apmyself to those who would willingly en to the dictates of reason and virtue, can now hear me in cold blood. If ere are any who have forfeited their innonce, they must now consider themselves der that melancholy view in which Chaont regards his sister, in those beautiful es: Long she flourish'd, Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye. On the contrary, she who has observed shes and sweetness about her. I must, wever, desire these last to consider, how ameful it would be for a general who has de a successful campaign, to be surprised his winter quarters. It would be no less honourable for a lady to lose, in any other enth in the year, what she has been at the ins to preserve in May. There is no charm in the female sex that supply the place of virtue. Without ocence, beauty is unlovely, and quality temptible; good-breeding degenerates o wantonness, and wit into impudence. is observed, that all the virtues are reesented by both painters and statuaries der female shapes; but if any of them has nore particular title to that sex, it is mosty. I shall leave it to the divines to ard them against the opposite vice, as ey may be overpowered by temptations. is sufficient for me to have warned them ainst it, as they may be led astray by in nct. I desire this paper may be read with re than ordinary attention, at all teales within the cities of London and West nster. X. .396.] Wednesday, June 4, 1712. Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton. HAVING a great deal of business upon my ads at present, I shall beg the reader's ve to present him with a letter that I re To the Spectator. 'From St. John's College, Cambridge, Feb. 3, 1712. 'A conquest by one of this species of W- (who is certainly a very able projector, and whose system of divinity and spiritual mechanics obtains very much among the better part of our under-graduates) whether a general intermarriage, enjoined by parliament, between this sisterhood of the olive-beauties and the fraternity of the people called quakers, would not be a very serviceable expedient, and abate that overflow of light which shines within them so powerfully, that it dazzles their eyes, and dances them into a thousand vagaries of error and enthu The students of St. John's College. siasm. These reflections may impart some pearance of grief; but when one told them No. 397.] Thursday, June 5, 1712. Fecerat- Those who have laid down rules for rhe toric or poetry, advise the writer to work himself up, if possible, to the pitch of sorrow which he endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up pity so much as those who indite their own sufferings. Grief has a natural eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving sentiments than can be supplied by the finest imagination. Nature on this occasion dictates a thousand passionate things which cannot be supplied by art It is for this reason that the short speeches or sentences which we often meet with in history make a deeper impression on the mind of the reader than the most laboured strokes in a well-written tragedy. Truth and matter of fact sets the person actually before us in the one, whom fiction places at a greater distance from us in the other. I do not remember to have seen any ancient or modern story more affecting than a letter of Ann of Bologne, wife to king Henry the Eighth, and mother to Queen Elizabeth, which is still extant in the Cotton library, as written by her own hand. Shakspeare himself could not have made her talk in a strain so suitable to her con dition and character. One sees in it the expostulation of a slighted lover, the resentment of an injured woman, and the sorrows of an imprisoned queen. I need not acquaint my readers that this princess was then under prosecution for disloyalty to the king's bed, and that she was afterwards publicly beheaded upon the same account; though this prosecution was believed by many to proceed, as she herself intimates, rather from the king's love to Jane Seymour, than from any actual crime of Ann of Bologne. Queen Anne Boleyn's last letter to King 'SIR, Cotton Lib. Your grace's displeasure, and Otho C. 10. my imprisonment, are things so strange unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me, (willing me to confess a truth, and to obtain your favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command. doubt not (whatever the world may think of me,) mine innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared. If 'My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burden of your grace's displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen who (as I understand,) are likewise in straight imprisonment for my sake. ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Ann Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain this request, and I will so leave to trouble your grace any further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity, to have your grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions. From my doleful prison in the Tower, this sixth of May; your most loyal and ever faithful wife, L. 'ANN BOLEYN.' Insanire pares certa ratione modoque. Hor. Sat. iii. Lib. 2. 272 'But let not your grace ever imagine, that your poor wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never prince had wife more oyal in all duty, and in all true affection, han you have ever found in Ann Boleyn: with which name and place I could wilingly have contented myself, if God and Your grace's pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget myself in my exaltation, or received queenship, but that I always looked for such an No. 398.] Friday, June 6, 1712. alteration as I now find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundaion than your grace's fancy, the least alceration I knew was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other object. You ave chosen me from a low, estate to be our queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy of such honour, good your grace, et not any light fancy, or bad counsel of nine enemies, withdraw your princely fayour from me; neither let that stain, that nworthy stain of a disloyal heart towards your good grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess your daughter. Try me, good king, out let me have a lawful trial, and let not ny sworn enemies sit as my accusers and udges; yea, let me receive an open trial, or my truth shall fear no open shame; then hall you see either mine innocence cleared, our suspicion and conscience satisfied, the gnominy and slander of the world stopped, rmy guilt openly declared. So that, whatever God or you may determine of me, our grace may be freed from an open cenure; and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your grace is at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute worthy unishment on me as an unlawful wife, but follow your affection, already settled on hat party, for whose sake I am now as I m, whose name I could some good while ince have pointed unto your grace, not eing ignorant of my suspicion therein. 'But if you have already determined of e, and that not only my death, but an inmous slander must bring you the enjoying your desired happiness; then I desire of od, that he will pardon your great sin herein, and likewise mine enemies, the inruments thereof; and that he will not call ou to a strict account for your unprincely d cruel usage of me, at his general judgent seat, where both you and myself must ortly appear, and in whose judgment I VOL. II. 16 Creech. CYNTHIỎ and Flavia are persons of distinction in this town, who have been lovers these ten months last past, and writ to each other for gallantry sake under those feigned names; Mr. Such-a-one and Mrs. Such-aone not being capable of raising the soul out of the ordinary tracts and passages of life, up to that elevation which makes the life of the enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the world. But ever since the beauteous Cecilia has made such a figure as she now does in the circle of charming women, Cynthio has been secretly one of her adorers. Cecilia has been the finest woman in the town these three months, and so long Cynthio has acted the part of a lover very awkwardly in the presence of Flavia. Flavia has been too blind towards him, and has too sincere a heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would have discovered this change of mind to any one less engaged than she was. Cynthio was musing yesterday in the piazza in Covent-garden, and was saying to himself that he was a very ill man to go on in visiting and professing love to Flavia, when his heart was enthralled to another. It is an infirmity that I am not constant to Flavia; but it would be a still greater crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess that I do. To marry a woman with the coldness that usually indeed comes on after marriage, is ruining one's self with one's eyes open; besides, it is really doing her an injury. This last consideration, forsooth, of injuring her in persisting, made him resolve to break off upon the first favourable opportunity of making her angry. When he was in this thought, he saw Robin the porter, who waits at Will's coffee-house, passing by. Robin, you must DEAR CYNTHIO,-I have walked a turn her. and asked whether it was Cynthio who 'June 4, 1712. 'FLAVIA.' After Cynthio had read the letter, he asked Robin how she looked, and what she said at the delivery of it. Robin said she spoke short to him, and called him back again, and had nothing to say to him, and bid him and all the men in the world go out of her sight; but the maid followed, and bid him bring an answer. Cynthio returned as follows: June 4, Three afternoon, 1712. 'CYNTHIO.' As soon as Robin arrived with this, Flavia answered: * Resembled. 'I will not open the letter which my Cynthio writ upon the misapprehension you must have been under, when you writ, for want of hearing the whole circum stance.' Robin came back in an instant, and Cynthio answered: But Half an hour six minutes after three, June 4, Will's coffee-house. MADAM,-It is certain I went by your lodgings with a gentlewoman to whom I have the honour to be known; she is indeed my relation, and a pretty sort of a woman, owning you have not done me the honour your starting manner of writing, and so much as to open my letter, has in it something very unaccountable, and alarms one that has had thoughts of passing his days with you. But I am born to admire you with all your little imperfections. CYNTHIO.' Robin ran back and brought for answer: 'Exact sir, that are at Will's coffeehouse, six minutes after three, June 4; one that has had thoughts, and all my little imperfections. Sir, come to me immediately, or I shall determine what may perhaps not FLAVIA' be very pleasing to you. Robin gave an account that she looked excessive angry when she gave him the that Cynthio only looked at the clock, tak letter; and that he told her, for she asked, ing snuff, and writ two or three words on the top of the letter when he gave him his Now the plot thickened so well, as that Cynthio saw he had not much more to ac complish, being irreconcilably banished: he writ, 'MADAM,-I have that prejudice in favour of all you do, that it is not possible for you to determine upon what will not be very pleasing to your obedient servant, 'CYNTHIO.' This was delivered, and the answer returned, in a little more than two seconds. 'SIR,-Is it come to this? You never loved me, and the creature you were with is the properest person for your associate. I despise you, and hope I shall soon hate you as a villain to the credulous FLAVIA.' Robin ran back with: 'MADAM,-Your credulity when you are to gain your point, and suspicion when you |