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empires court his assistance. He rules the world, not by an invasion of the people of the earth, but the address of its princes; and, if that world should be again roused from the repose which his prevailing arms had given it, why should we not hope that there is an Almighty, by whose influence the terrible enemy that thinks himself prepared for battle may find he is but ripe for destruction?—and that there may be in the womb of time great incidents, which may make the catastrophe of a prosperous life as unfortunate as the particular scenes of it were successful?-for there does not want a skilful eye and resolute arm to observe and grasp the occasion. A prince, who from

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Virg. Æn. vi. 878.

Na 517.] Thursday, October 23, 1712. Heu pietas! heu prisca fides!Mirror of ancient faith! Undaunted worth! Inviolable truth!-Dryden. WE last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his own penning, which he succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a hig justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from the chaplain and captain Sentry, which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution.

HONOURED SIR,-Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county-sessions, where he would go see justice done to a poor widow woman, d her fatherless children, that had been

wronged by a neighbouring gentleman; for you know, sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a'sirloin, which was served up according to custom; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the widow lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life; but this only proved a lightning before death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother. He has bequeathed the fine white gelding that he used to ride a hunting upon to his chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him; and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning to every man in the parish, a great frieze-coat, and to every woman a black riding-hood. It was a moving sight to see him take leave of his poor whilst we were not able to speak a word servants, commending us all for our fidelity, for weeping. As we most of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity, and it is peremptorily said in the parish, that which is not yet come to my knowledge, he has left money to build a steeple to the church; for he was heard to say some time ago, that, if he lived two years longer, it. The chaplain tells every body that he Coverley church should have a steeple to made a very good end, and never speaks of him without tears. He was buried, according to his own directions, among the family of the Coverleys, on the left hand

of his father Sir Arthur. The coffin was

carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The whole hearts and in their mourning suits; the men parish followed the corpse with heavy in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. taken possession of the Hall-house, and the Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has whole estate. When my old master saw him, a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity, which he told him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shows great

kindness to the old house-dog, that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since; no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This being all from, honoured sir, your most sorrowful servant,


P. S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book which comes up to you by the carrier, should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name.

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew, opening the book, found it to be a collection of acts of parliament. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or three points which he had disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's writing burst into tears, and put the book in his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club.

No. 518.] Friday, October 24, 1712.

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-Miserum est alienæ incumbere famæ,
Ne collapsa ruant subductis recta columnis.
Juv. Sat. viii. 76.

'Tis poor relying on another's fame; For, take the pillars but away, and all The superstructure must in ruins fall.-Stepney. THIS being a day of business with me, I must make the present entertainment like a treat at a house-warming, out of such presents as have been sent me by my guests. The first dish which I serve up is a letter come fresh to my hand.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-It is with inexpressible sorrow that I hear of the death of good Sir Roger, and do heartily condole with you upon so melancholy an occasion. I think you ought to have blackened the edges of a paper which brought us so ill news, and to have had it stamped likewise in black. It is expected of you that you should write his epitaph, and, if possible, fill his place in the club with as worthy and diverting a member. I question not but you will receive many recommendations from the public of such as will appear candidates for that post.

an afternoon with great pleasure to yoursel and to the public. It belongs to the church of Steben-Heath, commonly called Step ney. Whether or no it be that the peopl of that parish have a particular genius fa an epitaph, or that there be some poe among them who undertakes that work b the great, I cannot tell; but there are mor remarkable inscriptions in that place tha in any other I have met with; and I ma say, without vanity, that there is not a ger tleman in England better read in tomb stones than myself, my studies having lai very much in church-yards. I shall be leave to send you a couple of epitaphs, for sample of those I have just now mentioned They are written in a different manner; th first being in the diffused and luxuriant, th second in the close contracted style. Th first has much of the simple and pathetic the second is something light, but nervous The first is thus:

'Here Thomas Sapper lies interr'd. Ah why!
Born in New England, did in London die;
Was the third son of eight, begot upon
His mother Martha, by his father John.
Much favour'd by his prince he 'gan to be,
But nipt by death at th' age of twenty-three.
Fatal to him was that we small-pox name,
By which his mother and two brethren came
Also to breathe their last, nine years before,
And now have left their father to deplore
The loss of all his children, with his wife,
Who was the joy and comfort of his life."
'The second is as follows:

"Here lies the body of Daniel Saul,
Spittlefields weaver, and that's all."

'I will not dismiss you whilst I am upo this subject, without sending a short epi taph which I once met with, though cannot possibly recollect the place. Th thought of it is serious, and in my opinio the finest that I ever met with upon thi occasion. You know, sir, it is usual, afte having told us the name of the person wh lies interred, to launch out into his praises This epitaph takes a quite contrary turn having been made by the person himsel some time before his death.

"Hic jacet R. C. in expectatione diei st premi. Qualis erat dies iste indicabit."

"Here lieth R. C. in expectation of th last day. What sort of a man he was, the day will discover."

'I am, sir, &c.' The following letter is dated from Cam bridge.

'SIR,-Having lately read among you speculations an essay upon physiognomy, cannot but think, that, if you made a vis to this ancient university, you might re ceive very considerable lights upon the subject, there being scarce a young fello in it who does not give certain indication of his particular humour and disposition 'Since I am talking of death, and have conformable to the rules of that art. I mentioned an epitaph, I inust tell you, sir, courts and cities every body lays a con that I have made a discovery of a church-straint upon his countenance, and endea yard in which I believe you might spend vours to look like the rest of the world


but the youth of this place, having not yet formed themselves by conversation, and the knowledge of the world, give their limbs and features their full play.

which I mean that system of bodies into which nature has so curiously wrought the mass of dead matter, with the several relations which those bodies bear to one another; there is still, methinks, something more wonderful and surprising in contemplations on the world of life, by which I mean all those animals with which every part of the universe is furnished. The material world is only the shell of the Universe, the world of life are its inhabitants. If we consider those parts of the material world which lie the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our observation and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the infinity of animals with which it is, stocked. Every part of matter is peopled; every green leaf swarms with inhabitants. There is scarce a single humour in the body of a man, or of any other animal, in which our glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures. The surface of animals is also covered with other animals, which are in the same manner the basis of other animals that live upon it; nay, we find in the most solid bodies, as in marble itself, innumerable cells and cavities that are crowded with such imperceptible inhabitants as are too little for the naked eye to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures. We find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, plentifully stocked with birds and beasts; and every part of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniencies for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it.

'As you have considered human nature in all its lights, you must be extremely well apprized, that there is a very close correspondence between the outward and the inward man; that scarce the least dawning, the least parturiency towards a thought can be stirring in the mind of man, without producing a suitable revolution in his exteriors, which will easily discover itself to an adept in the theory of the phiz. Hence it is that the intrinsic worth and merit of a son of Alma Mater is ordinarily calculated from the cast of his visage, the contour of his person, the mechanism of his dress, the disposition of his limbs, the manner of his gait and air, with a number of circumstances of equal consequence and information. The practitioners in this art often make use of a gentleman's eyes to give them light into the posture of his brains; take a handle from his nose to judge of the size of his intellects; and interpret the overmuch visibility and pertness of one ear as an infallible mark of reprobation, and a sign the owner of so saucy a member fears neither God nor man. In conformity to this scheme, a contracted brow, a lumpish downcast look, a sober sedate pace, with both hands dangling quiet and steady in limes exactly parallel to each lateral pocket of his galligaskins, is logic, metaphysics, and mathematics, in perfection. So likewise the belles-lettres, are typified by a saunter in the gait, a fall of one wing of the peruke backward, an insertion of one The author of the Plurality of Worlds hand in the fob, and a negligent swing of draws a very good argument from this conthe other, with a pinch of right fine Bar-sideration for the peopling of every planet; celona between finger and thumb, a due quantity of the same upon the upper lip, and a noddle case loaden with pulvil. Again, a grave solemn stalking pace is heroic poetry and politics; an unequal one, a genius for the ode, and the modern ballad; and an open breast, with an audacious display of the Holland shirt, is construed a fatal tendency to the art military.

I might be much larger upon these hints, but I know whom I write to. If you can graft any speculation upon them, or turn them to the advantage of the persons concerned in them, you will do a work very becoming the British Spectator, and oblige, your very humble servant,


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as indeed it seems very probable, from the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, which we are acquainted with, lies waste and useless, those great bodies which are at such a distance from us, should not be desert and unpeopled, but rather that they should be furnished with beings adapted to their respective situations.

Existence is a blessing to those beings only which are endowed with perception; and is in a manner thrown away upon dead matter, any farther than as it is subservient to beings which are conscious of their existence. Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our observation, that matter is only made as the basis and support of animals, and that there is no more of the one than what is necessary for the existence of the other.

Infinite goodness is of so communicative a nature, that it seems to delight in the conferring of existence upon every degree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation which I have often pursued with great pleasure to myself, I shall enlarge farther

THOUGH there is a great deal of pleasure
in contemplating the material world, by obtained for the author great reputation.

*Fontenelle. This book was published in 1686, and

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upon it, by considering that part of the beings which are of a superior nature to
scale of beings which comes within our him; since there is an infinitely greater
space and room for different degrees of
There are some living creatures which perfection between the Supreme Being and
are raised just above dead matter. To man, than between man and the most des-
mention only that species of shell-fish, picable insect. This consequence of so
which are formed in the fashion of a cone, great a variety of beings which are superior
that grow to the surface of several rocks, to us, from that variety which is inferior
and immediately die upon their being se- to us, is made by Mr. Locke, in a passage
vered from the place where they grow. which I shall here set down, after having
There are many other creatures but one premised, that, notwithstanding there
remove from these, which have no other such infinite room between man and his
sense but that of feeling and taste. Others Maker for the creative power to exert it-
have still an additional one of hearing; self in, it is impossible that it should ever
others of smell, and others of sight. It is be filled up, since there will be still an in-
wonderful to observe by what a gradual finite gap or distance between the highest
progress the world of life advances through created being and the Power which pro-
a prodigious variety of species, before a duced him.
creature is formed that is complete in all its
senses; and even among these there is such
a different degree of perfection in the senses
which one animal enjoys beyond what ap-
pears in another, that, though the sense in
different animals be distinguished by the
same common denomination, it seems al-
most of a different nature. If after this we
look into the several inward perfections of
cunning and sagacity, or what we generally
call instinct, we find them rising after the
same manner imperceptibly one above an-
other, and receiving additional improve-
ments, according to the species in which
they are implanted. This progress in na-
ture is so very gradual, that the most per-
fect of an inferior species comes very near
to the most imperfect of that which is im-
mediately above it.

That there should be more species of intelligent creatures above us, than there are of sensible and material below us, is probable to me from hence: that in all the visible corporeal world we see no chasms, or no gaps. All quite down from us the descent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, that in each remove differ very little one from the other. There are fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region; and there are some birds that are inhabitants of the water, whose blood is as cold as fishes, and their flesh so like in taste, that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish days. There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts, that they are in the middle between both. Amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together. Seals live at The exuberant and overflowing goodness land and at sea, and porpoises have the of the Supreme Being, whose mercy ex- warm blood and the entrails of a hog; not tends to all his works, is plainly seen, as I to mention what is confidently reported have before hinted, from his having made of mermaids, or sea-men, there are some so very little matter, at least what falls brutes that seem to have as much knowwithin our knowledge, that does not swarm ledge and reason as some part that are with life. Nor is his goodness less seen in called men; and the animal and vegetable the diversity than in the multitude of living kingdoms are so nearly joined, that if you creatures. Had he only made one species will take the lowest of one, and the highest of animals, none of the rest would have en- of the other, there will scarce be perceived joyed the happiness of existence: he has, any great difference between them; and so therefore, specified in his creation every de- on until we come to the lowest and the gree of life, every capacity of being. The most inorganical parts of matter, we shall whole chasm in nature, from a plant to a man, find every where that the several species is filled up with diverse kinds of creatures, are linked together, and differ but in alrising one over another, by such a gentle and most insensible degrees. And, when we easy ascent, that the little transitions and de- consider the infinite power and wisdom of viations from one species to another are al- the Maker, we have reason to think that i most insensible. This intermediate space is suitable to the magnificent harmony of is so well husbanded and managed, that the universe, and the great design and inthere is scarce a degree of perception finite goodness of the architect, that the which does not appear in some one part of species of creatures should also by gentle the world of life. Is the goodness or the degrees ascend upward from us toward his wisdom of the Divine Being more mani-infinite perfection, as we see they gradually fested in this his proceeding?

There is a consequence, besides those I have already mentioned, which seems very naturally deducible from the foregoing considerations. If the scale of being rises by such a regular progress so high as man, we may, by a parity of reason, suppose that it still proceeds gradually through those

descend from us downward: which if it be probable, we have reason then to be per suaded that there are far more species of creatures above us than there are beneath; we being in degrees of perfection much more remote from the infinite being of God, than we are from the lowest state of being, and that which approaches nearest to no

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thing. And yet of all those distinct species | meekness, good nature, and complacency. we have no clear distinct ideas.' But, indeed, when in a serious and lonely In this system of being, there is no crea- hour I present my departed consort to my ture so wonderful in its nature, and which | imagination, with that air of persuasion in so much deserves our particular attention, her countenance when I have been in pasas man, who fills up the middle space be- sion, that sweet affability when I have been tween the animal and intellectual nature, in good humour, that tender compassion the visible and invisible world, and is when I have had any thing which gave me that link in the chain of beings which has uneasiness; I confess to you I am inconsolable, been often termed the nexus utriusque and my eyes gush with grief, as if I had mundi. So that he, who in one respect, seen her just then expire. In this condition being associated with angels and archan- I am broken in upon by a charming young gels, may look upon a Being of infinite woman, my daughter, who is the picture perfection, as his father, and the highest of what her mother was on her weddingorder of spirits as his brethren, may in an- day. The good girl strives to comfort me; other respect say to corruption, Thou art but how shall I let you know that all the my father; and to the worm, Thou art my comfort she gives me is to make my tears mother and my sister.' O, flow more easily? The child knows she quickens my sorrows, and rejoices my heart at the same time. Oh, ye learned! tell me by what word to speak a motion of the soul for which there is no name. When she kneels, and bids me be comforted, she is my child: when I take her in my arms, and bid her say no more, she is my very wife, and is the very comforter I lament the loss of. I banish her the room, and weep aloud that I have lost her mother, and that I have her.

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No. 520.] Monday, October 27, 1712.

Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam chari capitis? Hor. Od. xxiv. Lib. 1. 1.
And who can grieve too much? What time shall end
Our mourning for so dear a friend ?-Creech.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-The just value you have expressed for the matrimonial state is the reason that I now venture to write to you, without fear of being ridiculous, and confess to you that though it is three months since I lost a very agreeable woman who was my wife, my sorrow is still fresh; and I am often, in the midst of company, upon any circumstance that revives her memory, with a reflection what she would say or do on such an occasion: I say upon any occurrence of that nature, which I can give you a sense of, though I cannot express it wholly, I am all over softness, and am obliged to retire and give way to a few sighs and tears before I can be easy. I cannot but recommend the subject of male widowhood to you, and beg of you to touch upon it by the first opportunity. To those who had not lived like husbands during the lives of their spouses, this would be a tasteless jumble of words; but to such (of whom there are not a few) who have enjoyed that state with the sentiments proper for it, you will have every line, which hits the sorrow, attended with a tear of pity and consolation; for I know not by what goodness of Providence it is that every gush of passion is a step towards the relief of it; and there is a certain I curb myself, and will not tell comfort in the very act of sorrowing, which, this kindness cut my heart in twain, when I suppose, arises from a secret conscious- I expected an accusation for some passionness in the mind, that the affliction it is un-ate starts of mine, in some parts of our time der flows from a virtuous cause. My concern is not indeed so outrageous as at the first transport; for I think it has subsided rather into a soberer state of mind than any actual perturbation of spirit. There might be rules formed for men's behaviour on this great incident, to bring them from that misfortune into the condition I am at present; which is, I think, that my sorrow has converted all roughness of temper into

Mr. Spectator, I wish it were possible for you to have a sense of these pleasing perplexities; you might communicate to the guilty part of mankind that they are incapable of the happiness which is in the very sorrows of the virtuous.

'But pray spare me a little longer; give me leave to tell you the manner of her death. She took leave of all her family, and bore the vain application of medicines with the greatest patience imaginable. When the physician told her she must cer tainly die, she desired, as well as she could, that all who were present, except myself, might depart the room. She said she had nothing to say, for she was resigned, and I knew all she knew that concerned us in this world; but she desired to be alone, that in the presence of God only she might, without interruption, do her last duty to me, of thanking me for all my kindness to her: adding that she hoped in my last moments I should feel the same comfort for my goodness to her, as she did in that she had ac quitted herself with honour, truth, and virtue to me.

you that

together, to say nothing but thank me for the good, if there was any good suitable to her own excellence! All that I had ever said to her, all the circumstances of sorrow and joy between us, crowded upon my mind in the same instant: and when, immediately after, I saw the pangs of death come upon that dear body which I had often embraced with transport: when I saw those cherishing eyes begin to be ghastly, and

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