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expressed himself in the same favourable strain of modesty, when he says,

-In the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence-

that protection which was the pride of theirs? In the profession spoken of, it is obvious to every one whose attendance is required at Westminster-hall, with what difficulty a youth of any modesty has been permitted to make an observation, that could in no wise detract from the merit of his "Now, since these authors have professed elders, and is absolutely necessary for the themselves for the modest man, even in the advancing of his own. I have often seen utmost confusions of speech and counte one of these not only molested in his utter-nance, why should an intrepid utterance ance of something very pertinent, but even and a resolute vociferation thunder so sucplundered of his question, and by a strong sergeant shouldered out of his rank, which he has recovered with much difficulty and confusion. Now, as great part of the busi ness of this profession might be despatched by one that perhaps

Abest virtute diserti,

Messale, nec scit quantum Causellius Aulus; Hor. Ars Poet. v. 370.

-wants Messala's powerful eloquence, And is less read than deep Causellius:


so I cannot conceive the injustice done to the public, if the men of reputation in this calling would introduce such of the young ones into business, whose application in this study will let them into the secrets of it, as much as their modesty will hinder them from the practice: I say, it would be laying an everlasting obligation upon a young man, to be introduced at first only as a mute, till by this countenance, and a resolution to support the good opinion conceived of him in his betters, his complexion shall be so well settled, that the litigious of this island may be secure of this obstreperous aid. If I might be indulged to speak in the style of a lawyer, I would say, that any one about thirty years of age might make a common motion to the court with as much elegance and propriety as the most aged advocates in the hall.

'I cannot advance the merit of modesty by any argument of my own so powerfully as by inquiring into the sentiments the greatest among the ancients of different ages entertained upon this virtue. If we go back to the days of Solomon, we shall find favour a necessary consequence to a shamefaced man. Pliny the greatest lawyer and most elegant writer of the age he lived in, in several of his epistles is very solicitous in recommending to the public some young men, of his own profession, and very often undertakes to become an advocate, upon condition that some one of these his favourites might be joined with him, in order to produce the merit of such, whose modesty otherwise would have suppressed it. It may seem very marvellous to a saucy modern, that multum sanguinis, multum verecundiæ, multum sollicitudinis in ore, "to have the face first full of blood, then the countenance dashed with modesty, and then the whole aspect as of one dying with fear, when a man begins to speak," should be esteemed by Pliny the necessary qualifications of a fine speaker. Shakspeare also has

cessfully in our courts of justice? And why should that confidence of speech and be haviour, which seems to acknowledge no superior, and to defy all contradiction, prevail over that deference and resignation with which the modest man implores that favourable opinion which the other seems to command?

'As the case at present stands, the best consolation that I can administer to those who cannot get into that stroke of business (as the phrase is) which they deserve, is to reckon every particular acquisition of knowledge in this study as a real increase of their fortune; and fully to believe, that one day this imaginary gain will certainly be made out by one more substantial wish you would talk to us a little on this head; you would oblige, sir, your humble servant.'

The author of this letter is certainly a man of good sense; but I am perhaps par ticular in my opinion on this occasion: for I have observed that, under the notion of modesty, men have indulged themselves in spiritless sheepishness, and been for ever lost to themselves, their families, their friends, and their country. When a man has taken care to pretend to nothing but what he may justly aim at, and can execute as well as any other, without injustice to any other, it is ever want of breeding or courage to be brow-beaten or elbowed out of his honest ambition. I have said often, modesty must be an act of the will, and yet it always implies self-denial; for, if a man has an ardent desire to do what is laudable for him to perform, and, from an unmanly bashfulness, shrinks away, and lets his merit languish in silence, he ought not to be angry at the world that a more unskilful actor succeeds in his part, because he has not confidence to come upon the stage himself. The generosity my correspondent mentions of Pliny cannot be enough ap plauded. To cherish the dawn of ment and hasten its maturity, was a work worthy a noble Roman and a liberal scholar. That concern which is described in the letter, is to all the world the greatest charm imagin able; but then the modest man must pro ceed, and show a latent resolution in him self; for the admiration of modesty arises from the manifestation of his merit. I must confess we live in an age wherein a few empty blusterers carry away the praise of speaking, while a crowd of fellows over

hem: I say, over-stocked, because they certainly are so, as to their service of manind, if from their very store they raise to hemselves ideas of respect, and greatness of the occasion, and I know not what, to isable themselves from explaining their houghts. I must confess, when I have seen Charles Frankair rise up with a command-I ng mien, and torrent of handsome words, alk a mile off the purpose, and drive down wenty bashful boobies of ten times his sense, who at the same time were envying his impudence, and despising his understanding, it has been matter of great mirth Co me; but it soon ended in a secret lamenta ion, that the fountains of every thing praiseworthy in these realms, the universities, should be so muddled with a false sense of his virtue, as to produce men capable of Deing so abused. I will be bold to say, that t is a ridiculous education which does not qualify a man to make his best appearance before the greatest man, and the finest wonan, to whom he can address himself. Were this judiciously corrected in the urseries of learning, pert coxcombs would now their distance: but we must bear with his false modesty in our young nobility and entry, till they cease at Oxford and Camridge to grow dumb in the study of elo

stocked with knowledge are run down by | bestirs himself to distress his enemy by methods probable and reducible to reason, so the same reason will fortify his enemy to elude these his regular efforts; but your fool projects, acts, and concludes, with such notable inconsistency, that no regular course of thought can evade or counterplot his prodigious machinations. My frontispiece, believe, may be extended to imply, that several of our misfortunes arise from things, as well as persons, that seem of very little consequence. Into what tragical extravagances does Shakspeare hurry Othello, upon the loss of a handkerchief only! And what barbarities does Desdemona suffer, from a slight inadvertency in regard to this fatal trifle! If the schemes of all enterprising spirits were to be carefully examined, some intervening accident, not considerable enough to occasion any debate upon, or give them any apprehension of ill consequence from it, will be found to be the occasion of their ill success, rather than any error in points of moment and difficulty, which naturally engaged their maturest deliberations. If you go to the levee of any great man, you will observe him exceeding gracious to several very insignificant fellows; and upon this maxim, that the neglect of any person must arise from the mean opinion you have of his capacity to do you any service or prejudice; and that this calling his sufficiency in question must give him inclination, and where this is there never wants strength, or opportunity to annoy you. There is nobody so weak of invention that cannot aggravate, or make some little stories to vilify his enemy; there are very few but have good inclinations to hear them; and it is infinite pleasure to the majority of mankind to level a person superior to his neighbours. Besides, in all matter of controversy, that party which has the greatest abilities labours under this prejudice, that he will certainly be supposed, upon account of his abilities, to have done an injury, when perhaps he has received one. It would be tedious to enumerate the strokes that nations and particular friends have suffered from persons very contemptible.



No. 485.] Tuesday, September 16, 1712.
Nihil tam firmum est, cui periculum non sit, etiam

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b invalido.

Quint. Curt. 1. vii. c. 8.

The strongest things are not so well established as to e out of danger from the weakest.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-My Lord Clarendon as observed, that few men have done more arm than those who have been thought to De able to do least; and there cannot be a greater error, than to believe a man, whom we see qualified with too mean parts to do good, to be therefore incapable of doing urt. There is a supply of malice, of ride, of industry, and even of folly, in the weakest, when he sets his heart upon it, hat makes a strange progress in mischief. "I think Henry IV. of France, so formidaWhat may seem to the reader the greatest ble to his neighbours, could no more be aradox in the reflection of the historian is, secured against the resolute villany of suppose, that folly which is generally Ravillac, than Villiers duke of Buckinghought incapable of contriving or execut-ham could be against that of Felton. And ng any design, should be so formidable to there is no incensed person so destitute, but hose whom it exerts itself to molest. But can provide himself with a knife or a pistol, his will appear very plain, if we remem- if he finds stomach to apply them. That er that Solomon says, "It is a sport to a things and persons of no moment should ool to do mischief;" and that he might the give such powerful revolutions to the proore emphatically express the calamitous gress of those of the greatest, seems a prorcumstances of him who falls under the vidential disposition to baffle and abate the ispleasure of this wanton person, the same pride of human sufficiency; as also to enuthor adds farther, that "A stone is heavy, gage the humanity and benevolence of nd the sand weighty, but a fool's wrath is superiors to all below them, by letting them eavier than them both." It is impossible into this secret, that the stronger depends suppress my own illustration upon this upon the weaker. I am, sir, your very matter, which is that as the man of sagacity humble servant.'

'Temple, Paper-buildings. 'DEAR SIR,-I received a letter from you some time ago, which I should have answered sooner, had you informed me in yours to what part of this island I might have directed my impertinence; but having been let into the knowledge of that matter, this handsome excuse is no longer serviceable. My neighbour Prettyman shall be the subject of this letter; who, falling in with the Spectator's doctrine concerning the month of May, began from that season to dedicate himself to the service of the fair, in the following manner. I observed at the beginning of the month he bought him a new night-gown, either side to be worn outwards, both equally gorgeous and attractive; but till the end of the month I did not enter so fully into the knowledge of his contrivance as the use of that garment has since suggested to me. Now you must know, that all new clothes raise and warm the wearer's imagination into a conceit of his being a much finer gentleman than he was before, banishing all sobriety and reflection, and giving him up to gallantry and amour. Inflamed, therefore, with this way of thinking, and full of the spirit of the month of May, did this merciless youth resolve upon the business of captivating. At first he confined himself to his room, only now and then appearing at his window, in his night-gown, and practising that easy posture which expresses the very top and dignity of languishment. It was pleasant to see him diversify his loveliness, sometimes obliging the passengers only with a sideface, with a book in his hand; sometimes being so generous as to expose the whole in the fulness of its beauty; at other times, by

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London, September 15. Whereas a young woman on horseback, in an equestrian habit, on the 13th instant in the evening, met the Spectator within a mile and a half of this town, and flying in the face of justice, pulled off her hat, in which there was a feather, with the mien and air of a young officer, saying at the same time, "Your servant, Mr. Spec,' to that purpose: this is to give notice, that if any person can discover the name and place of abode of the said offender, so as she can be brought to justice, the inform ant shall have all fitting encouragement.



Audire est operæ pretium, procedere recte
Qui machis non vultis-

or words

Hor. Sat. ii. Lib. 1. 39.


a judicious throwing back his periwig, he No. 486.] Wednesday, September 17, 1712 would throw in his ears. You know he is that sort of person which the mob call a handsome jolly man; which appearance cannot miss of captives in this part of the town. Being emboldened by daily success, he leaves his room with a resolution to extend his conquests; and I have apprehended him in his night-gown smiting in all parts of this neighbourhood.


All you who think the city ne'er can thrive
Till ev'ry cuckold-maker's flead alive,


'MR. SPECTATOR,-There are very many of my acquaintance followers of SoThis I, being of an amorous complexion, crates, with more particular regard to that saw with indignation, and had thoughts of part of his philosophy which we among purchasing a wig in these parts; into which, ourselves call his domestics; under which being at a greater distance from the earth, denomination, or title, we include all the I might have thrown a very liberal mix-conjugal joys and sufferings. We have in ture of white horse-hair, which would deed, with very great pleasure, observed make a fairer, and consequently a hand- the honour you do the whole fraternity of somer, appearance, while my situation the hen-pecked in placing that illustrious would secure me against any discoveries. man at our head, and it does in a very But the passion of the handsome gentle- great measure baffle the raillery of pert man seems to be so fixed to that part of the rogues, who have no advantage above us building, that it must be extremely dif- but in that they are single. But, when you ficult to divert it to mine; so that I am re- look about into the crowd of mankind, you solved to stand boldly to the complexion of will find the fair-sex reigns with greater my own eyebrow, and prepare me an im- tyranny over lovers than husbands. You ture with that of my rival. Now, though wholly exempt from their dominion, and by this I shall not, perhaps, lessen the those that are so are capable of no taste of number of the admirers of his complexion, life, and breathe and walk about the earth

as insignificants. But I am going to desire cent. This and the like circumstances, your farther favour of our harmless bro- which carry with them the most valuable herhood, and hope you will show in a true regards of human life, may be mentioned Light the unmarried hen-pecked, as well as for our long-suffering; but in the case of You have done justice to us, who submit gallants, they swallow ill usage from one to to the conduct of our wives. I am very par- whom they have no obligation, but from icularly acquainted with one who is under a base passion, which it is mean to indulge, Entire submission to a kind girl, as he calls and which it would be glorious to overer; and though he knows I have been come. witness both to the ill usage he has receiv- These sort of fellows are very numeed from her, and his inability to resist her rous, and some have been conspicuously yranny, he still pretends to make a jest such, without shame; nay, they have car of me for a little more than ordinary obse- ried on the jest in the very article of death, quiousness to my spouse. No longer than and, to the diminution of the wealth and hapTuesday last he took me with him to visit piness of their families, in bar of those hohis mistress; and having, it seems, been a nourably near to them, have left immense ittle in disgrace before, thought by bring-wealth to their paramours. What is this ng me with him she would constrain her- but being a cully in the grave! Sure this self, and insensibly fall into general dis- is being hen-pecked with a vengeance! Course with him; and so he might break But, without dwelling upon these less frethe ice, and save himself all the ordinary quent instances of eminent cullyism, what compunctions and mortifications she used is there so common as to hear a fellow Co make him suffer before she would be re- curse his fate that he cannot get rid of a conciled, after any act of rebellion on his passion to a jilt, and quote a half line out part. When we came into the room, we of a miscellany poem to prove his weakwere received with the utmost coldness; ness is natural? If they will go on thus, I and when he presented me as Mr. Such-a-have nothing to say to it; but then let them one, his very good friend, she just had pa- not pretend to be free all this while, and ience to suffer my salutation; but when he laugh at us poor married patients. imself, with a very gay air, offered to ollow me, she gave him a thundering box on the ear, called him a pitiful poor-spirited retch-how durst he see her face? His ig and hat fell on different parts of the oor. She seized the wig too soon for him o recover it, and, kicking it down stairs, hrew herself into an opposite room, pullng the door after her by force, that you would have thought the hinges would have iven way. We went down you must think, with no very good countenances; and, as we were driving home together, he conessed to me, that her anger was thus highly raised, because he did not think fit o fight a gentleman who had said she was what she was: "but," says he, "a kind etter or two, or fifty pieces, will put her in umour again. " I asked him why he did ot part with her: he answered, he loved er with all the tenderness imaginable, and he had too many charms to be abandoned To be short, Mr. Spectator, we husor a little quickness of spirit. Thus does bands shall never make the figure we ought his illegitimate hen-pecked overlook the in the imaginations of young men growing ussy's having no regard to his very life up in the world, except you can bring it nd fame, in putting him upon an infamous about that a man of the town shall be as inispute about her reputation: yet has he famous a character as a woman of the town. he confidence to laugh at me, because I But, of all that I have met with in my bey my poor dear in keeping out of harm's time, commend me to Betty Duall: she is ay, and not staying too late from my own the wife of a sailor, and the kept mistress amily, to pass through the hazards of a of a man of quality; she dwells with the own full of ranters and debauchees. You latter during the seafaring of the former. philosopher, should urge in our The husband asks no questions, sees his ehalf, that, when we bear with a froward apartments furnished with riches not his, patience is preserved, in con- when he comes into port, and the lover is deration that a breach with her might be as joyful as a man arrived at his haven, dishonour to children who are descended when the other puts to sea. Betty is the om us, and whose concern makes us tole- most eminently victorious of any of her te a thousand frailties, for fear they sex, and ought to stand recorded the only hould redound dishonour upon the inno-woman of the age in which she lives, who VOL. II.

hat are a

oman, our


I have known one wench in this town carry a haughty dominion over her lovers so well, that she has at the same time been kept by a sea-captain in the Straits, a merchant in the city, a country gentleman in Hampshire, and had all her correspondences managed by one whom she kept for her own uses. This happy man (as the phrase is) used to write very punctually, every post, letters for the mistress to transcribe. He would sit in his night-gown and slippers, and be as grave giving an account, only changing names, that there was nothing in those idle reports they had heard of such a scoundrel as one of the other lovers was; and how could he think she could condescend so low, after such a fine gentleman as each of them? For the same epistle said the same thing to, and of, every one of them. And so Mr. Secretary and his lady went to bed with great order.


has possessed at the same time two abused, genious author gives an account of himself and two contented-' in his dreaming and his waking thoughts. 'We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps, and the slumber of the body

No. 487.] Thursday, September 18, 1712. seems to be but the waking of the soul. It

-Cum prostrata sopore

Urget membra quies, et mens sine pondere ludit.

While sleep oppresses the tir'd limbs, the mind Plays without weight, and wantons unconfin'd. THOUGH there are many authors who have written on dreams, they have generally considered them only as revelations of what has already happened in distant parts of the world, or as presages of what is to happen in future periods of time.

I shall consider this subject in another light, as dreams may give us some idea of the great excellency of a human soul, and some intimations of its independency on matter.

In the first place, our dreams are great instances of that activity which is natural to the human soul, and which is not in the power of sleep to deaden or abate. When the man appears to be tired and worn out with the labours of the day, this active part in his composition is still busied and unwearied. When the organs of sense want their due repose and necessary reparations, and the body is no longer able to keep pace with that spiritual substance to which it is united, the soul exerts herself in her several faculties, and continues in action until her partner is again qualified to bear her company. In this case dreams look like the relaxations and amusements of the soul, when she is disencumbered of her machine, her sports, and recreations, when she has laid her charge asleep.

is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of
reason; and our waking conceptions do not
match the fancies of our sleeps.
At my
nativity my ascendant was the watery sign
of Scorpius: I was born in the planetary
hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece
of that leaden planet in me.
I am no way
facetious, nor disposed for the mirth and
galliardise of company; yet in one dream I
can compose a whole comedy, behold the
action, apprehend the jests, and laugh my-
self awake at the conceits thereof. Were
my memory as faithful as my reason is then
fruitful, I would never study but in my
dreams; and this time also would I choose
for my devotions; but our grosser memories
have then so little hold of our abstracted
understandings, that they forget the story,
and can only relate to our awaked souls a
confused and broken tale of that that has
passed. Thus it is observed that men some-
times, upon the hour of their departure, do
speak and reason above themselves; for
then the soul, beginning to be freed from
the ligaments of the body, begins to reason
like herself, and to discourse in a strain
above mortality."

We may likewise observe, in the third
place, that the passions affect the mind
with greater strength when we are asleep
than when we are awake. Joy and sorrow
give us more vigorous sensations of pain or
pleasure at this time than any other. De-
votion likewise, as the excellent author
above mentioned has hinted, is in a very
particular manner heightened and inflam-
ed, when it rises in the soul at a time that
the body is thus laid at rest. Every man's
experience will inform him in this matter,
though it is very probable that this may
happen differently in different constitutions.
I shall conclude this head with the two fol-
lowing problems, which I shall leave to
the solution of my reader. Supposing a
man always happy in his dreams, and mi-
serable in his waking thoughts, and that
his life was equally divided between them;
whether would he be more happy or mise-
rable? Were a man a king in his dreams,
and a beggar awake, and dreamt as conse-
quentially, and in as continued unbroken
schemes, as he thinks when awake; whe-
ther would he be in reality a king or a
beggar; or, rather, whether he would not
be both?

In the second place, dreams are an instance of that agility and perfection which is natural to the faculties of the mind, when they are disengaged from the body. The soul is clogged and retarded in her operations, when she acts in conjunction with a companion that is so heavy and unwieldy in its motion. But in dreams it is wonderful to observe with what a sprightliness and alacrity she exerts herself. The slow of speech make unpremeditated harangues, or converse readily in languages that they are but little acquainted with. The grave abound in pleasantries, the dull in repartees and points of wit. There is not a more painful action of the mind than invention; yet in dreams it works with that ease and activity that we are not sensible of, when the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every one some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers, books, There is another circumstance, which or letters; in which case the invention methinks gives us a very high idea of the prompts so readily, that the mind is im-nature of the soul, in regard to what passes posed upon, and mistakes its own sugges- in dreams. I mean that innumerable mul tions for the compositions of another.


I shall, under this head, quote a passage out of the Religio Medici,* in which the inBy Sir T. Brown, M. D. author of the curious book un "Vulgar Errors," which appeared in folio, in 1646

titude and variety of ideas which then arise in her. Were that active and watchful being only conscious of her own existence at such a time, what a painful solitude would our hours of sleep be! Were the soul

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