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already acquitted ourselves, and established |nown upon any thing that was past. I shall
our characters in the sight of mankind. produce two fragments of his, to demon-
But when we thus put a value upon our-strate that it was his rule of life to support
selves for what we have already done, any himself rather by what he should perform,
farther than to explain ourselves in order to than what he had done already. In the ta-
assist our future conduct, that will give us blet which he wore about him, the same
an over-weening opinion of our merit, to the year in which he obtained the battle of
prejudice of our present industry. The Pharsalia, there were found these loose
great rule, methinks, should be, to manage notes of his own conduct. It is supposed by
the instant in which we stand, with forti- the circumstances they alluded to, that they
tude, equanimity and moderation, according might be set down the evening of the same
to men's respective circumstances. If our night.
past actions reproach us, they cannot be My part is now but begun, and my
atoned for by our own severe reflections so glory must be sustained by the use I make
effectually as by a contrary behaviour. If of this victory; otherwise my loss will be
they are praise-worthy, the memory of greater than that of Pompey. Our personal
them is of no use but to act suitably to them. reputation will rise or fall as we bear our re-
Thus a good present behaviour is an im- spective fortunes. All my private enemies
plicit repentance for any miscarriage in among the prisoners shall be spared. I will
what is past; but present slackness will not forget this, in order to obtain such another
make up for past activity. Time has swal- day. Trebutius is ashamed to see me: I
lowed up all that we contemporaries did will go to his tent, and be reconciled in
yesterday, as irrevocably as it has the ac- private. Give all the men of honour, who
Lions of the antediluvians. But we are again take part with me, the terms I offered be-
awake, and what shall we do to-day-to-fore the battle. Let them owe this to their
day, which passes while we are yet speak- friends who have been long in my interests.
ing? Shall we remember the folly of last Power is weakened by the full use of it,
night, or resolve upon the exercise of virtue but extended by moderation. Galbinius
to-morrow? Last night is certainly gone, is proud, and will be servile in his present
and to-morrow may never arrive. This in- fortune: let him wait. Send for Stertinius:
stant make use of. Can you oblige any man he is modest, and his virtue is worth gain-
of honour and virtue? Do it immediately. ing. I have cooled my heart with reflec-
Can you visit a sick friend? Will it revive tion, and am fit to rejoice with the army
im to see you enter, and suspend your own to-morrow. He is a popular general, who
ease and pleasure to comfort his weakness, can expose himself like a private man
and hear the impertinences of a wretch in during a battle; but he is more popular
pain? Do not stay to take coach, but be who can rejoice but like a private man after
one; your mistress will bring sorrow, and a victory.'
our bottle madness. Go to neither. Such What is particularly proper for the ex-
virtues and diversions as these are mention- ample of all who pretend to industry in the
ed because they occur to all men. But every pursuit of honour and virtue, is, that this
nan is sufficiently convinced that to sus-hero was more than ordinarily solicitous
pend the use of the present moment, and about his reputation, when a common mind
resolve better for the future only, is an un- would have thought itself in security, and
pardonable folly. What I attempted to given itself a loose to joy and triumph. But
consider, was the mischief of setting such a though this is a very great instance of his
alue upon what is past, as to think we have temper, I must confess I am more taken
lone enough. Let a man have filled all the with his reflections when he retired to his
ffices of life with the highest dignity till closet in some disturbance upon the repeat-
esterday, and begin to live only to himself ed ill omens of Calphurnia's dream, the
o-day, he must expect he will, in the ef- night before his death. The literal trans-
ects upon his reputation, be considered as lation of that fragment shall conclude this
he man who died yesterday. The man paper.
ho distinguishes himself from the rest,
tands in a press of people: those before
im intercept his progress; and those be-
ind him, if he does not urge on, will tread
im down. Cæsar, of whom it was said
hat he thought nothing done while there
as left any thing for him to do, went on in
erforming the greatest exploits, without
ssuming to himself a privilege of taking
est upon the foundation of the merit of his
ormer actions. It was the manner of that
lorious captain to write down what scenes
e had passed through, but it was rather to
eep his affairs in method, and capable of a
ear review, in case they should be ex-
mined by others, than that he built a re-

Be it so, then. If I am to die to-morrow, that is what I am to do to-morrow. It will not be then, because I am willing it should be then; nor shall I escape it because I am unwilling. It is in the gods when, but in myself how, I shall die. If Calphurnia's dreams are fumes of indigestion, how shall I behold the day after to-morrow? If they are from the gods, their admonition is not to prepare me to escape from their decree, but to meet it. I have lived to a fulness of days and of glory: what is there that Cæsar has not done with as much honour as ancient heroes? Cæsar has not yet died! Cæsar is prepared to die.'

T.

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I HAVE more than once had occasion to mention a noble saying of Seneca the philosopher, that a virtuous person struggling with misfortunes, and rising above them, is an object on which the gods themselves may look down with delight. I shall therefore set before my reader a scene of this kind of distress in private life, for the speculation of this day.

An eminent citizen, who had lived in good fashion and credit, was, by a train of accidents, and by an unavoidable perplexity in his affairs, reduced to a low condition. There is a modesty usually attending faultless poverty, which made him rather choose to reduce his manner of living to his present circumstances, than solicit his friends in order to support the show of an estate when the substance was gone. His wife, who was a woman of sense and virtue,

behaved herself on this occasion with un

virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private. The innocent creature, who never suspected his intentions, was pleased with his person; and, having observed his growing passion for her, hoped by so advantageous a match she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting her impoverished relations. One day, as he called to see her, he found her in tears over a letter she had just received from a friend, which gave an account that her father had lately been stripped of every thing by an execution. The lover, who with some difficulty found out the cause of her grief, took this occasion to make her a proposal. It is impossible to express Amanda's confusion when she found his pretensions were not honourable. She was now deserted of all her hopes, and had no power to speak, but, rushing from him in the utmost disturbance, locked herself up in her chamber. He immediately des patched a messenger to her father with the following letter:

and have offered your daughter, if she will 'SIR,-I have heard of your misfortunes, live with me, to settle on her four hundred pounds a year, and to lay down the sum for which you are now distressed. I will be so ingenuous as to tell you that I do not intend marriage; but if you are wise, you will use your authority with her not to be too nice, when she has an opportunity of saving you and your family, and of making herself happy. I am, &c.'

da's mother. She opened and read it with This letter came to the hands of Aman

great surprise and concern. She did not think it proper to explain herself to the messenger, but, desiring him to call again the next morning, she wrote to her daugh

ter as follows:

common decency, and never appeared so
amiable in his eyes as now. Instead of up-
braiding him with the ample fortune she
had brought, or the many great offers she
had refused for his sake, she redoubled all
the instances of her affection, while her DEAREST CHILD,-Your father and I
husband was continually pouring out his have just received a letter from a gentle
heart to her in complaints that he had ruin- man who pretends love to you, with a pro
ed the best woman in the world. He some-posal that insults our misfortunes, and
times came home at a time when she did would throw us to a lower degree of misery
not expect him, and surprised her in tears, than any thing which is come upon us
which she endeavoured to conceal, and al- How could this barbarous man think that
ways put on an air of cheerfulness to re- the tenderest of parents would be tempted
ceive him. To lessen their expense, their to supply their wants by giving up the best
eldest daughter, (whom I shall call Aman- of children to infamy and ruin? It is a mean
da) was sent into the country, to the house
of an honest farmer, who had married a
servant of the family. This young woman
was apprehensive of the ruin which was
approaching, and had privately engaged a
friend in the neighbourhood to give her an
account of what passed from time to time
in her father's affairs. Amanda was in the
bloom of her youth and beauty, when the
lord of the manor, who often called in at ter news.
the farmer's house as he followed his coun- 'I have been interrupted: I know not
try sports, fell passionately in love with how I was moved to say things would mend
her. He was a man of great generosity, As I was going on, I was startled by the
but from a loose education, had contracted noise of one that knocked at the door, and
a hearty aversion to marriage. He there- hath brought us an unexpected supply of a
fore entertained a design upon Amanda's debt which has long been owing. Oh!I

and cruel artifice to make this proposal at a time when he thinks our necessities must compel us to any thing; but we will not eat the bread of shame; and therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid the snare which is laid for thy virtue. Be ware of pitying us: it is not so bad as you perhaps have been told. All things will yet be well, and I shall write my child bet

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will now tell thee all. It is some days I have Lived almost without support, having coneyed what little money I could raise to your poor father. Thou wilt weep to think where he is, yet be assured he will soon be at liberty. That cruel letter would have proke his heart, but I have concealed it From him. I have no companion at present Desides little Fanny, who stands watching my looks as I write, and is crying for her ister. She says she is sure you are not well, having discovered that my present

soon after went up to town himself to com-
plete the generous act he had now resolved
on. By his friendship and assistance Aman-
da's father was quickly in a condition of
retrieving his perplexed affairs. To con
clude, he married Amanda, and enjoyed the
double satisfaction of having restored a wor-
thy family to their former prosperity, and
of making himself happy by an alliance to
their virtues.

Pavone ex Pythagoreo.

From the Pythagorean peacock.

Pers. Sat. vi. 11.

rouble is about you. But do not think I No. 376.] Monday, May 12, 1712.
would thus repeat my sorrows to grieve
hee. No; it is to entreat thee not to make
hem insupportable, by adding what would
De worse than all. Let us bear cheerfully
n affliction which we have not brought on
urselves, and remember there is a power
who can better deliver us out of it than by
The loss of thy innocence. Heaven preserve
my dear child! thy affectionate mother,

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I have observed that
the officer you some time ago appointed, as
inspector of signs, has not done his duty so
well as to give you an account of very many
strange occurrences in the public streets,
which are worthy of, but have escaped,
The messenger, notwithstanding he pro-I have ever met with, that which I am now
your notice. Among all the oddnesses which
nised to deliver this letter to Amanda, telling you gave me most delight.
You
carried it first to his master, who he ima- must have observed that all the criers in
ined would be glad to have an oppor- the street attract the attention of the pas-
unity of giving it into her hands himself. sengers, and of the inhabitants in the seve-
His master was impatient to know the suc-ral parts, by something very particular in
ess of his proposal, and therefore broke their tone itself, in the dwelling upon a note,
pen the letter privately to see the contents.
He was not a little moved at so true a pic-ligible by a scream.
or else making themselves wholly unintel-
The person I am so
ure of virtue in distress; but at the same delighted with has nothing to sell, but very
ime was infinitely surprised to find his
ffers rejected. However, he resolved not for no other merit but the homage they pay
gravely receives the bounty of the people,
o suppress the letter, but carefully sealed
up again, and carried it to Amanda. All wants a subsidy. You must sure have heard
to his manner of signifying to them that he
is endeavours to see her were in vain till
he was assured he brought a letter from speak of an old man who walks about the
er mother. He would not part with it lies beyond the Tower, performing the
city, and that part of the suburbs which
ut upon condition that she would read it office of a day-watchman, followed by a
ithout leaving the room. While she was
erusing it, he fixed his eyes on her face goose, which bears the bob of his ditty,
and confirms what he says with a Quack,
ith the deepest attention. Her concern quack. I gave little heed to the mention
ave a new softness to her beauty, and, of this known circumstance, till, being the
hen she burst into tears, he could no other day in those quarters, I passed by a
nger refrain from bearing a part in her
Orrow, and telling her, that he too had decrepit old fellow with a pole in his hand,
ead the letter, and was resolved to make hour after one o'clock!' and immediately
who just then was bawling out, Half an
paration for having been the occasion of
- My reader will not be displeased to see
a dirty goose behind made her response,
e second epistle which he now wrote to
Quack, quack.' I could not forbear at-
manda's mother.
tending this grave procession for the length
of half a street, with no small amazement
to find the whole place so familiarly ac-
quainted with a melancholy mid-night voice
at noon-day, giving them the hour, and ex-
horting them of the departure of time, with
a bounce at their doors. While I was full
of this novelty, I went into a friend's house,
and told him how I was diverted with their
whimsical monitor and his equipage. My
friend gave me the history; and interrupted
my commendation of the man, by telling me
the livelihood of these two animals is pur-
chased rather by the good parts of the goose
than of the leader; for it seems the peripa-
tetic who walked before her was a watch-
This letter he sent by his steward, and man in that neighbourhood; and the goose, of

om my

'MADAM,-I am full of shame, and will ever forgive myself if I have not your ardon for what I lately wrote. It was far intention to add trouble to the afcted; nor could any thing but my being a ranger to you have betrayed me into a ult, for which, if I live, I shall endeavour make you amends, as a son. You cant be unhappy while Amanda is your ughter; nor shall be, if any thing can event it which is in the power of, mam, your most obedient humble servant,

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herself, by frequent hearing his tone, out yet a very extraordinary man in his way;
of her natural vigilance, not only observed, for, besides a very soft air he has in dancing,
but answered it very regularly from time to he gives them a particular behaviour at
time. The watchman was so affected with a tea-table, and in presenting their snuff-
it, that he bought her, and has taken her in box; teaches to twirl, slip, or flirt a fan,
partner, only altering their hours of duty and how to place patches to the best ad-
from night to day. The town has come vantage, either for fat or lean, long or oval
into it, and they live very comfortably. faces; for my lady says there is more in
This is the matter of fact. Now I desire these things than the world imagines. But
you, who are a profound philosopher, to I must confess, the major part of those I
consider this alliance of instinct and rea- am concerned with leave it to me. I desire,
son. Your speculation may turn very na- therefore, according to the enclosed direc-
turally upon the force the superior part of tion, you would send your correspondent,
mankind may have upon the spirits of such who has writ to you on that subject, to my
as, like this watchman, may be very near house. If proper application this way can
the standard of geese. And you may add give innocence new charms, and make vir
to this practical observation, how in all tue legible in the countenance, I shall spare
ages and times, the world has been carried no charge to make my scholars, in their
away by odd unaccountable things, which very features and limbs, bear witness how
one would think would pass upon no crea- careful I have been in the other parts of
ture which had reason; and, under the their education. I am, sir, your most hum-
symbol of this goose you may enter into the ble servant,
manner and method of leading creatures
"RACHEL WATCHFUL.'
with their eyes open through thick and
thin, for they know not what, they know
not why.

'All which is humbly submitted to your
spectatorial wisdom, by sir, your most hum-
ble servant,
MICHAEL GANDER.'

Creech.

These inward languishings of a mind infected with this softness have given birth to a phrase which is made use of by all the melting tribe, from the highest to the lowest -I mean that of dying for love.'

No. 377.] Tuesday, May 13, 1712. Quid quisque vitei, nunquam homini satis Cautum est in horas. Hor. Lib. 2. Od. xiii. 13. What each should fly, is seldom known; 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I have for several We, unprovided, are undone. years had under my care the government LOVE was the mother of poetry, and still and education of young ladies, which trust produces, among the most ignorant and bar I have endeavoured to discharge with due barous, a thousand imaginary distresses and regard to their several capacities and for- poetical complaints. It makes a footman tunes. I have left nothing undone to im- talk like Oroondates, and converts a brutal print in every one of them an humble, rustic into a gentle swain. The most ordicourteous mind, accompanied with a grace-nary plebeian or mechanic in love, bleeds ful becoming mien, and have made them and pines away with a certain elegance and pretty much acquainted with the household tenderness of sentiments which this passion part of family affairs; but still I find there naturally inspires. is something very much wanting in the air of my ladies, different from what I have observed in those who are esteemed your fine-bred women. Now, sir, I must own to you, I never suffered my girls to learn to dance; but since I have read your discourse Romances, which owe their very being to of dancing, where you have described the this passion, are full of these metaphorical beauty and spirit there is in regular motion, deaths. Heroes and heroines, knights I own myself your convert, and resolve for squires, and damsels, are all of them in a the future to give my young ladies that ac- dying condition. There is the same kind complishment. But, upon imparting my of mortality in our modern tragedies, where design to their parents, I have been made every one gasps, faints, bleeds, and dies very uneasy for some time, because several Many of the poets, to describe the execu of them have declared, that if I did not tion which is done by this passion, repre make use of the master they recommended, sent the fair-sex as basilisks, that destroy they would take away their children. There with their eyes; but I think Mr. Cowley was colonel Jumper's lady, a colonel of the has, with great justness of thought, train-bands, that has a great interest in her pared a beautiful woman to a porcupine parish, she recommends Mr. Trott for the that sends an arrow from every part. prettiest master in town; that no man I have often thought that there is no way teaches a jig like him; that she has seen so effectual for the cure of this general in him rise six or seven capers together with firmity, as a man's reflecting upon the mo the greatest ease imaginable; and that his tives that produce it. When the passion scholars twist themselves more ways than proceeds from the sense of any virtue of the scholars of any master in town: besides, perfection in the person beloved, I would there is Madam Prim, an alderman's lady, by no means discourage it; but if a ma recommends a master of their own name, considers that all his heavy complaints but she declares he is not of their family; wounds and death arise from some litt

com

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ectations of coquetry, which are im- | she received it, and took away his life with
oved into charms by his own fond ima- a courtesy.
mation, the very laying before himself the
use of his distemper may be sufficient to
ect the cure of it.

It is in this view that I have looked over
e several bundles of letters which I have
ceived from dying people, and composed
t of them the following bill of mortality,
hich I shall lay before my reader without
y farther preface, as hoping that it may
useful to him in discovering those several
aces where there is most danger, and those
tal arts which are made use of to destroy
e heedless and unwary.
Lysander, slain at a puppet-show on the
ird of September.

Thyrsis, shot from a casement in Picca

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John Gosselin, having received a slight hurt from a pair of blue eyes, as he was making his escape, was despatched by a smile.

Strephon, killed by Clarinda as she looked down into the pit.

Charles Careless, shot flying by a girl of fifteen, who unexpectedly popped her head upon him out of a coach.

Josiah Wither, aged three score and three, sent to his long home by Elizabeth Jetwell, spinster.

1

Jack Freelove murdered by Melissa in her hair.

William Wiseacre, gent. drowned in a flood of tears by Moll Common.

John Pleadwell, esq. of the Middle Tembarrister at law, assassinated in his chambers the 6th instant, by Kitty Sly, who pretended to come to him for his advice.

lv.
T. S. wounded by Zelinda's scarlet stock-ple,
as she was stepping out of a coach.
Will Simple, smitten at the opera by the
ance of an eye that was aimed at one who
ood by him.

Tho. Vainlove, lost his life at a ball.
Tim. Tattle, killed by the tap of a fan
his left shoulder, by Coquetilla, as he
as talking carelessly with her in a bow-
indow.

Sir Simon Softly, murdered at the play-
ouse in Drury-lane by a frown.
Philander, mortally wounded by Cleora,
s she was adjusting her tucker.
Ralph Gapley, esq. hit by a random-shot

the ring.

F. R. caught his death upon the water, pril the 1st.

W. W. killed by an unknown hand, that

ras

playing with the glove off upon the side f the front-box in Drury-lane.

Sir Christopher Crazy, bart. hurt by the
rush of a whale-bone petticoat.
Sylvius, shot through the sticks of a fan
St. James's church.

Damon, struck through the heart by
Siamond necklace.

a

Thomas Trusty, Francis Goosequill,
Villiam Meanwell, Edward Callow, esqrs.
anding in a row, fell all four at the same
me, by
an ogle of the widow Trapland.
Tom Rattle, chancing to tread upon a
dy's
e turned full upon him, and laid him dead
on the spot.
the

Dick Tastewell, slain by a blush from
een's box in the third act of the Trip to
e Jubilee.
Samuel Felt, haberdasher, wounded in
swalks to Islington, by Mrs. Susanna
as she was clambering over a

ross-stitch,

le.

R. F., T. W., S. I., M. P. &c. put to
ath in the last birth-day massacre.
Roger Blinko, cut off in the twenty-first
ar of his age by a white-wash.

No. 378.] Wednesday, May 14, 1712.

Aggredere, O magnos! aderit jam tempus honores.
Virg. Ecl. iv. 48.
Mature in years, to ready honours move.-Dryden.
I WILL make no apology for entertain-
ing the reader with the following poem,
which is written by a great genius, a friend

of mine* in the country, who is not asham-
ed to employ his wit in the praise of his

Maker.

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Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
Th' æthereal Spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.

Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,

And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!

From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.

:

And white-rob'd Innocence from heav'n descend.

xlv. 8

ix. 7.

The sick and weak the Lealing plant shall aid, xxv. 4.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
Returning justice lift aloft her scale:
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn!
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born! xxxv. 2.
See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance,

see spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise.
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers:

And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies!

Prepare the way! a God, a God appears;
A God! a God! the vocal hills reply,

Lo earth receives him from the bending skies!

Masidorus, slain by an arrow that flew The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.
Ned Courtly, presenting Flavia with her Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys rise!

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Pope. See No. 534

xi. 3,4.

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