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'What means did the devil find out, or

tion might have upon his honour and for- | world, wishes to make a good figure with tune, by interposing their power over him his mistress, upon her upbraiding him with in matters wherein they cannot influence want of spirit, he alludes to enterprises him, but to his loss and disparagement. I which he cannot reveal but with the hazard do not know therefore a task so difficult of his life. When he is worked thus far, in human life, as to be proof against the with a little flattery of her opinion of his importunities of a woman a man loves. gallantry, and desire to know more of it out There is certainly no armour against tears, of her overflowing fondness to him, he brags sullen looks, or at best constrained fami- to her until his life is in her disposal. liarities, in her whom you usually meet When a man is thus liable to be vanwith transport and alacrity. Sir Walter quished by the charms of her he loves, the Raleigh was quoted in a letter (of a very safest way is to determine what is proper ingenious correspondent of mine) upon this to be done; but to avoid all expostulation subject. That author, who had lived in with her before he executes what he has courts, and camps, travelled through many resolved. Women are ever too hard for us countries, and seen many men under seve- upon a treaty; and one must consider how ral climates, and of as various complex- senseless a thing it is to argue with one ions, speaks of our impotence to resist the whose looks and gestures are more prevawiles of women in very severe terms. His lent with you, than your reasons and arguWords are as follows: ments can be with her. It is a most miserable slavery to submit to what you disapwhat instruments did his own subtility pre-prove and give up a truth for no other sent him as fittest and aptest to work his reason, but that you had not fortitude to mischief by? Even the unquiet vanity of support you in asserting it. A man has the woman; so as by Adam's hearkening to able wishes and desires; but he does that in enough to do to conquer his own unreasonthe voice of his wife, contrary to the ex- vain, if he has those of another to gratify. press commandment of the living God, man-Let his pride be in his wife and family, let kind by that her incantation became the him give them all the conveniences of life subject of labour, sorrow, and death; the in such a manner as if he were proud of woman being given to man for a comforter and companion, but not for a counsellor. It them; but let it be his own innocent pride, and not their exorbitant desires which are is also to be noted by whom the woman was indulged by him. In this case all the little tempted: even by the most ugly and unworthy of all beasts, into whom the devil arts imaginable are used to soften a man's entered and persuaded. Secondly, What heart, and raise his passion above his unwas the motive of her disobedience? Even derstanding. But in all concessions of this a desire to know what was most unfitting kind, a man should consider whether the her knowledge; an affection which has present he makes flows from his own love, ever since remained in all the posterity of the latter, he is her slave? if from the foror the importunity of his beloved. If from her sex. Thirdly, what was it that moved We laugh it off, and do the man to yield to her persuasions? Even mer, her friend. to the same cause which hath moved all not weigh this subjection to women with men since to the like consent, namely, an cumstance deserves. Why was courage that seriousness which so important a cirunwillingness to grieve her, or make her sad, given to a man, if his wife's fears are to lest she should pine, and be overcome with frustrate it? When this is once indulged, Sorrow. But if Adam, in the state of perfection, and Solomon the Son of David, you are no longer her guardian and proGod's chosen servant, and himself a man in compliance to her weaknesses, you have tector, as you were designed by nature; but, endued with the greatest wisdom, did both of them disobey their Creator by the per-tunes into which they will lead you both, disabled yourself from avoiding the misforsuasion, and for the love they bear to a wo- and you are to see the hour in which you man, it is not so wonderful as lamentable, are to be reproached by herself for that that other men in succeeding ages have been allured to so many inconvenient and very compliance to her. It is indeed the most difficult mastery over ourselves we wicked practices by the persuasion of their wives, or other beloved darlings, who cover who charms us; but let the heart ake, be can possibly attain, to resist the grief of her over and shadow many malicious purposes the anguish never so quick and painful, it with a counterfeit passion of dissimulating is what must be suffered and passed sorrow and unquietness.'

The motions of the minds of lovers are no where so well described as in the words of skilful writers for the stage. The scene etween Fulvia and Curius, in the second ct of Johnson's Catiline, is an excellent picture of the power of a lady over her llant. The wench plays with his affecons; and as a man, of all places of the VOL. II. 35

through, if you think to live like a gentleman, or be conscious to yourself that you are a man of honesty. The old argument, that you do not love me if you deny me this,' which first was used to obtain a trifle, by habitual success will oblige the unhap py man who gives way to it to resign the cause even of his country and his honour.

T.

No. 511.] Thursday, October 16, 1712.

Quis non invenit turba quod amaret in illa?
Ovid, Ars Am. Lib. i. 175.
-Who could fail to find,
In such a crowd a mistress to his mind?

did in Persia, we should find that some o our greatest men would choose out the por tions, and rival one another for the riches piece of deformity; and that, on the con trary, the toasts and belles would be bough up by extravagant heirs, gamesters, an spendthrifts. Thou couldst make ver pretty reflections upon this occasion in ho nour of the Persian politicians, who too care, by such marriages, to beautify th upper part of the species, and to make th greatest persons in the government th most graceful. But this I shall leave to th judicious pen.

DEAR SPEC,-Finding that my last letter took, I do intend to continue my epistolary correspondence with thee, on those dear confounded creatures, women. Thou knowest, all the little learning I am master of is upon that subject: I never looked in a book but for their sakes. I have lately met with two pure stories for a Spectator, which I am sure will please mightily, if they pass I have another story to tell thee, whic through thy hands. The first of them II likewise met with in a book. It seems th found by chance in an English book, called general of the Tartars, after having lai Herodotus, that lay in my friend Dapper-siege to a strong town in China, and take wit's window, as I visited him one morning. it by storm, would set to sale all the wome It luckily opened in the place where I met that were found in it. Accordingly he pu with the following account. He tells us that each of them into a sack, and, after havin it was the manner among the Persians to thoroughly considered the value of the wo have several fairs in the kingdom, at which man who was enclosed, marked the pric all the young unmarried women were an- that was demanded for her upon the sack nually exposed to sale. The men who There was a great confluence of chapmen wanted wives came hither to provide them- that resorted from every part, with a de selves. Every woman was given to the sign to purchase, which they were to d highest bidder, and the money which she unsight unseen. The book mentions fetched laid aside for the public use, to be merchant in particular, who observing on employed as thou shalt hear by and by. of the sacks to be marked pretty high, bar By this means the richest people had the gained for it, and carried it off with him t choice of the market, and culled out all the his house. As he was resting with it upo most extraordinary beauties. As soon as a halfway bridge, he was resolved to tak the fair was thus picked, the refuse was to a survey of his purchase: upon opening th be distributed among the poor, and among sack, a little old woman popped her hea those who could not go to the price of a out of it; at which the adventurer was in s beauty. Several of these married the agree-great a rage, that he was going to shoot he ables, without paying a farthing for them, unless somebody chanced to think it worth his while to bid for them, in which case the best bidder was always the purchaser. But now you must know, Spec, it happened in Persia, as it does in our own country, that there was' as many ugly women as beauties or agreeables; so that by consequence, after the magistrates had put off a great many, there were still a great many that stuck upon their hands. In order therefore to clear the market, the money which the beauties had sold for was disposed of among the ugly; so that a poor man, who could not afford to have a beauty for his wife, was forced to take up with a fortune; the greatest portion being always given to the most deformed. To this the author adds, that every poor man was forced to live kindly with his wife, or, in case he repented of his bargain, to return her portion with her to the next public sale.

What I would recommend to thee on this occasion is, to establish such an imaginary fair in Great Britain: thou couldst make it very pleasant, by matching women of quality with cobblers and carmen, or describing titles and garters leading off in great ceremony shopkeepers' and farmers' daughters. Though, to tell thee the truth, I am confoundedly afraid, that as the love of money prevails in our island more than it

out into the river. The old lady, however begged him first of all to hear her story, b which he learned that she was sister to great mandarin, who would infallibly mak the fortune of his brother-in-law as soon a he should know to whose lot she fell. Up which the merchant again tied her up i his sack, and carried her to his house where she proved an excellent wife; an procured him all the riches from her br ther that she had promised him.

'I fancy, if I was disposed to dream second time, I could make a tolerable visio upon this plan. I would suppose all th unmarried women in London and Wes minster brought to market in sacks, wit their respective prices on each sack. Th first sack that is sold is marked with fiv thousand pound. Upon the opening of it, find it filled with an admirable housewif of an agreeable countenance. The pu chaser, upon hearing her good qualities pays down her price very cheerfully. Th second I would open should be a five hu dred pound sack. The lady in it, to ou surprise, has the face and person of a toas As we are wondering how she came to b set at so low a price, we hear that sh would have been valued at ten thousand pound, but that the public had made thos abatements for her being a scold. I would afterwards find some beautiful, modest, and

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discreet woman, that should be the top of | wiser and better unawares. In short, by the market; and perhaps discover half a this method a man is so far over-reached dezen romps tied up together in the same as to think he is directing himself, while he sack, at one hundred pound a head. The is following the dictates of another, and prude and the coquette should be valued at consequently is not sensible of that which the same price, though the first should go is the most unpleasing circumstance in off the better of the two. I fancy thou advice. wouldst like such a vision, had I time to finish it; because, to talk in thy own way, there is a moral in it. Whatever thou mayest think of it, pr'ythee do not make any of thy queer apologies for this letter, as thou didst for my last. The women love agay lively fellow, and are never angry at the railleries of one who is their known admirer. I am always bitter upon them but well with them. Thine,

"HONEYCOMB."

No. 512.] Friday, October 17, 1712.

Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo.
Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 344.

Mixing together profit and delight. THERE is nothing which we receive with so much reluctance as advice. We look upon the man who gives it us as offering an affront to our understanding, and treating us like children or idiots. We consider the instruction as an implicit censure, and the zeal which any shows for our good on such an occasion, as a piece of presumption or impertinence. The truth of it is, the person who pretends to advise, does, in that particular, exercise a superiority over us, and can have no other reason for it, but that, in comparing us with himself, he thinks us defective either in our conduct or our understanding. For these reasons, there is nothing so difficult as the art of making advice agreeable; and indeed all the writers, both ancient and modern, have distinguished themselves among one another, according to the perfection at which they have arrived in this art. How many devices have been made use of, to render this bitter portion palatable! Some convey their instructions to us in the best chosen words, others in the most harmonious numbers; some in points of wit, and others in short proverbs.

But, among all the different ways of giving counsel, I think the finest, and that which pleases the most universally, is fable, in whatsoever shape it appears. If we consider this way of instructing or giving advice, it excels all others, because it is the least shocking, and the least subject to those exceptions which I have before mentioned. This will appear to us if we reflect in the first place, that upon the reading of a fable We are made to believe we advise ourselves. We peruse the author for the sake of the story, and consider the precepts rather as our own conclusions than his instructions. The moral insinuates itself imperceptibly; taught by surprise, and become

we are

In the next place, if we look into human nature, we shall find that the mind is never so much pleased as when she exerts herself in any action that gives her an idea of her own perfections and abilities. This natural pride and ambition of the soul is very much gratified in the reading of a fable; for, in writings of this kind, the reader comes in for half of the performance; every thing appears to him like a discovery of his own; he is busied all the while in applying characters and circumstances, and is in this respect both a reader and a composer. It is no wonder therefore that on such occasions, when the mind is thus pleased with itself, and amused with its own discoveries, that it is highly delighted with the writing which is the occasion of it. For this reason the Absalom and Achitophel was one of the most popular poems that appeared in English. The poetry is indeed very fine; but had it been much finer, it would not have so much pleased, without a plan which gave the reader an opportunity of exerting his own talents.

This oblique manner of giving advice is so inoffensive, that, if we look into ancient histories, we find the wise men of old very often chose to give counsel to their kings in fables. To omit many which will occur to every one's memory, there is a pretty instance of this nature in a Turkish tale, which I do not like the worse for that little oriental extravagance which is mixed with it.

We are told that the Sultan Mahmoud, by his perpetual wars abroad and his tyranny at home, had filled his dominions with ruin and desolation, and half unpeopled the Persian empire. The vizier to this great sultan (whether a humourist or an enthusiast, we are not informed) pretended to have learned of a certain dervise to understand the language of birds, so that there was not a bird that could open his mouth but the vizier knew what it was he said. As he was one evening with the emperor, in their return from hunting, they saw a couple of owls upon a tree that grew near an old wall out of a heap of rubbish. I would fain know," says the sultan, what those two owls are saying to one another; listen to their discourse, and give me an account of it.' The vizier approached the tree, pretending to be very attentive to the two owls. Upon his return to the sultan, Sir,' says he, '1 have heard part of their conversation, but dare not tell you what it is. The sultan would not be satisfied with such an answer, but forced him to repeat word for word every thing the owls had said, 'You must

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know then, said the vizier, 'that one of | When a man considers that, as soon as the
these owls has a son, and the other a daugh- vital union is dissolved, he shall see that
ter, between whom they are now upon a Supreme Being whom he now contemplate
treaty of marriage. The father of the son at a distance, and only in his works; or, t
said to the father of the daughter, in my speak more philosophically, when by som
hearing, "Brother, I consent to this mar- faculty in the soul, he shall apprehend the
riage, provided you will settle upon your Divine Being, and be more sensible of hi
daughter fifty ruined villages for her por- presence, than we are now of the presence
tion." To which the father of the daughter of any object which the eye beholds,
replied, "Instead of fifty, I will give her man must be lost in carelessness and stu
five hundred if you please. God grant a pidity, who is not alarmed at such a thought
long life to sultan Mahmoud! Whilst he Dr. Sherlock, in his excellent treatise upo
reigns over us, we shall never want ruined Death, has represented, in very strong and
villages.'
lively colours, the state of the soul in it
first separation from the body, with re
gard to that invisible world which ever
where surrounds us, though we are no
able to discover it through this grosse
world of matter, which is accommodated
to our senses in this life. His words are a
follow:

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The story says, the sultan was so touched with the fable, that he rebuilt the towns and villages which had been destroyed, and from that time forward consulted the good of his people.

To fill up my paper, I shall add a most ridiculous piece of natural magic, which was taught by no less a philosopher than Democritus, namely, that if the blood of certain birds, which he mentioned, were mixed together, it would produce a serpent of such a wonderful virtue, that whoever did eat it should be skilled in the language of birds, and understand every thing they said to one another. Whether the dervise above-mentioned might not have eaten such a serpent, I shall leave to the determina-heavens, where he displays his glory t tion of the learned.

O.

No. 513.] Saturday, October 18, 1712.

-Afflata est numine quando

Jam propriore Dei.-
Virg. En. iv. 50.
When all the god came rushing on her soul.
Dryden.

THE following letter comes to me from
that excellent man in holy orders, whom I
have mentioned more than once as one of
that society, who assists me in my specula-
tions. It is a thought in sickness, and of a
very serious nature, for which reason I
give it a place in the paper of this day.

"That death, which is our leaving thi world, is nothing else put putting off thes bodies, teaches us that it is only our unio to these bodies which intercepts the sigh of the other world. The other world is no at such a distance from us as we may ima gine; the throne of God indeed is at a grea remove from this earth, above the thir

those blessed spirits which encompass hi throne; but as soon as we step out of these bodies we step into the other world which is not so properly another world (fo there is the same heaven and earth still as a new state of life. To live in thes bodies is to live in this world; to live ou of them is to remove into the next: fo while our souls are confined to these bodies and can look only through these materia casements, nothing but what is materia can affect us; nay, nothing but what is s gross that it can reflect light, and conve those shapes and colours of things with to the eye: so that, though within this vis ble world there be a more glorious scen of things than what appears to us, we per ceive nothing at all of it; for this veil o flesh parts the visible and invisible world but when we put off these bodies, there a new and surprising wonders present them selves to our views; when these materi spectacles are taken off, the soul with i own naked eyes sees what was invisib before; and then we are in the other world when we can see it, and converse with i Thus St. Paul tells us, that when we a at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent from the body, we are present with the Lord 2 Cor. v. 6. 8. And methinks this is enoug to cure us of our fondness for these bodie Among all the reflections which usually unless we think it more desirable to be com rise in the mind of a sick man, who has fined to a prison, and to look through time and inclination to consider his ap- grate all our lives, which gives us but proaching end, there is none more natural very narrow prospect, and that none of th than that of his going to appear naked and best neither, than to be set at liberty t unbodied before Him who made him. I view all the glories of the world. Wha

'SIR,-The indisposition which has long hung upon me is at last grown to such a head, that it must quickly make an end of me or of itself. You may imagine, that whilst I am in this bad state of health, there are none of your works which I read with greater pleasure than your Saturday's papers. I should be very glad if I could furnish you with any hints for that day's entertainment. Were I able to dress up several thoughts of a serious nature, which have made great impressions on my mind during a long fit of sickness, they might not be an improper entertainment for that

ocoasion.

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would we give now for the least glimpse of that invisible world, which the first step we take out of these bodies will present us with? There are such things as eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.' Death opens our eyes, enlarges our prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious world, which we can never see while we are shut up in flesh; which should make us as willing to part with this veil, as to take the film off of our eyes which hinders our sight?"

VI.

"For never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure,

Who knows thine only Son has died
To make her pardon sure."

There is a noble hymn in French, which Monsieur Bayle has celebrated for a very fine one, and which the famous author of the Art of Speaking calls an admirable one, that turns upon a thought of the same nature. If I could have done it justice in English, I would have sent it to you translated; it was written by Monsieur des Barreux, who had been one of the greatest wits and libertines in France, but in his last years was as remarkable a penitent.

'As a thinking man cannot but be very much affected with the idea of his appearing in the presence of that Being "whom none can see and live," he must be much more affected when he considers that this Being whom he appears before will examine all the actions of his past life, and reward or punish him accordingly, I must confess that I think there is no scheme of religion, besides that of Christianity, which can possibly support the most virtuous person under this thought. Let a man's innocence be what it will, let his virtues rise to the highest pitch of perfection attainable in this life, there will be still in him so many secret sins, so many human frailties, so many offences of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, so many unguarded words and thoughts, and, in short, so many defects in No. 514.] Monday, October 20, 1712. his best actions, that, without the advantages of such an expiation and atonement as Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be able to stand in his sight." Our holy religion suggests to us the only means whereby our guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect obedience accepted.

"Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equite;
Toujours tu prends plaisir a nous etre propice,
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonte
Ne me pardonnera, sans choquer ta justice.
Oui, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impiete
Ne laisse ton a pouvoir que le choix du supplice:
Ton interet s'oppose a ma felicite:

Et ta clemence meme attend que ie perisse
Contente ton desir, puis qui'l t'est glorieux;
Offense toi des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux:
Tonne, frappe, il est tems, rens moi guerre pour guerre;
J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit.
Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnere,
Qui ne soit tout couvert du sang de Jesus Christ."
"If these thoughts may be serviceable to
you, I desire you would piace them in a
proper light, and am ever, with great sin-
cerity, sir, yours, &c.'

It is this series of thought that I have endeavoured to express in the following hymn, which I have composed during this my sickness.

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-Me Parnasi deserta per ardua dulcis Raptat amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorum, Castaliam molli divertitur orbita clivo.

Virg. Georg. iii. 291.

But the commanding Muse my chariot guides,
Which o'er the dubious cliff securely rides:
And pleas'd I am no heaten road to take,
But first the way to new discoveries make.-Dryden.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I came home a little later than usual the other night; and, not finding myself inclined to sleep, I took up Virgil to divert me until I should be more disposed to rest. He is the author whom I always choose on such occasions; no one writing in so divine, so harmonious, nor so equal a strain, which leaves the mind composed and softened into an agreeable melancholy; the temper in which, of all others, I choose to close the day. The passages I turned to were those beautiful raptures in his Georgics, where he professes himself entirely given up to the Muses, and smit with the love of poetry, passionately wishing to be transported to the cool shades and retirements of the mountain Hamus. I closed the book and went to bed. What I had just before been reading made so strong an impression on my mind, that fancy seemed almost to fulfil to me the wish of Virgil, in presenting to me the following vision.

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Methought I was on a sudden placed in the plains of Boeotia, where at the end of the horizon I saw the mountain Parnassus rising before me. The prospect was of so large an extent, that I long wandered about to find a path which should directly lead

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