hair in his face; if the figure of a ship, there hair upon his forehead, discovered him to Whether it were because the thread of my dream was at an end I cannot tell, but upon my taking a survey of this imaginary old man, my sleep left me. C. The five foregoing artists were the most considerable on this side the gallery; there were indeed several others whom I had not time to look into. One of them, however, I could not forbear observing, who was very busy in retouching the finest pieces, though he produced no originals of his own. His pencil aggravated every feature that was before overcharged, loaded every defect, and poisoned every colour it touched. Though this workman did so much mischief on the side of the living, he never turned his eye towards that of the dead. His name was Envy. -Quis talia fando Myrmidonum, Dolopumve, aut duri miles Ulyssei, Who can such woes relate without a tear, As stern Ulysses must have wept to hear? LOOKING Over the old manuscript wherein the private actions of Pharamond are set down by way of table-book, I found many things which gave me great delight, and as human life turns upon the same principles and passions in all ages, I thought it very proper to take minutes of what passed in that age for the instruction of this. The antiquary who lent me these papers, gave Having taken a cursory view of one side me a character of Eucrate the favourite of of the gallery, I turned myself to that which Pharamond, extracted from an author who was filled by the works of those great mas-lived in that court. The account he gives ters that. were dead; when immediately I both of the prince and this his faithful fancied myself standing before a multitude friend, will not be improper to insert here, of spectators, and thousands of eyes looking because I may have occasion to mention upon me at once: for all before me appeared many of their conversations, into which so like men and women, that I almost for- these memorials of them may give light. got they were pictures. Raphael's figures stood in one row, Titian's in another, Guido Rheni's in a third. One part of the wall was peopled by Hannibal Carrache, another by Corregio, and another by Rubens. To be short, there was not a great master among the dead who had not contributed to the embellishment of this side of the gallery. The persons that owed their being to these several masters, appeared all of them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the variety of their shapes, complexions, and clothes; so that they looked like different nations of the same species. Observing an old man (who was the same person I before mentioned, as the only artist that was at work on this side of the gallery) creeping up and down from one picture to another, and retouching all the fine pieces that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his motions. I found his pencil was so very light, that it worked imperceptibly, and after a thousand touches, scarce produced any visible effect in the picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied himself incessantly, and repeated touch after touch without rest or intermission, he wore off insensibly every little disagreeable gloss that hung upon a figure. He also added such a beautiful brown to the shades, and mellowness to the colours, that he made every picture appear more perfect than when it came fresh from the master's pencil. I could not forbear looking upon the face of this ancient workman, and immediately, by the long lock of 'Pharamond, when he had a mind to retire for an hour or two from the hurry of business and fatigue of ceremony, made a signal to Eucrate, by putting his hand to his face, placing his arm negligently on a window, or some such action as appeared indifferent to all the rest of the company. Upon such notice, unobserved by others (for their entire intimacy was always a secret) Eucrate repaired to his own apartment to receive the king. There was a secret access to this part of the court, at which Eucrate used to admit many whose mean appearance in the eyes of the ordinary waiters and door-keepers, made them be repulsed from other parts of the palace. Such as these were let in here by order of Eucrate, and had audiences of Pharamond. This entrance Pharamond called "The gate of the unhappy," and the tears of the afflicted who came before him, he would say, were bribes received by Eucrate; for Eucrate had the most compassionate spirit of all men living, except his generous master, who was always kindled at the least affliction which was communicated to him. In regard for the miserable, Eucrate took particular care that the common forms of distress, and the idle pretenders to sorrow, about courts, who wanted only supplies to luxury, should never obtain favour by his means: but the distresses which arise from the many inexplicable occurrences that happen among men, the unaccountable alienation of parents from their children, cruelty of husbands to wives, poverty occasioned from shipwreck or fire, the falling out of friends, or such other terrible disas- | hearing the voice of it; I am sure Pharaters, to which the life of man is exposed; in cases of this nature, Eucrate was the patron; and enjoyed this part of the royal favour so much without being envied, that it was never inquired into, by whose means what no one else cared for doing, was brought about. mond is not. Know, then, that I have this morning unfortunately killed in a duel, the man whom of all men living I most loved. I command myself too much in your royal presence, to say, Pharamond gave me my friend! Pharamond has taken him from me! I will not say, Shall the merciful Pha'One evening when Pharamond came ramond destroy his own subjects? Will the into the apartment of Eucrate, he found father of his country murder his people? him extremely dejected; upon which he But the merciful Pharamond does destroy asked, (with a smile that was natural to his subjects, the father of his country does him,)What, is there any one too misera- murder his people. Fortune is so much the ble to be relieved by Pharamond, that Eu- pursuit of mankind, that all glory and hocrate is melancholy?" "I fear there is," nour is in the power of a prince, because he answered the favourite: "A person with-has the distribution of their fortunes. It is out, of a good air, well dressed, and though therefore the inadvertency, negligence, or a man in the strength of his life, seems to guilt of princes to let any thing grow into faint under some inconsolable calamity. All custom which is against their laws. A his features seem suffused with agony of court can make fashion and duty walk tomind; but I can observe in him, that it is gether; it can never without the guilt of a more inclined to break away in tears, than court, happen, that it shall not be unfashionrage. I asked him what he would have. able to do what is unlawful. But, alas! in He said he would speak to Pharamond. I the dominions of Pharamond, by the force desired his business. He could hardly say of a tyrant custom, which is misnamed a to me, Eucrate, carry me to the king, my point of honour, the duellist kills his friend story is not to be told twice; I fear I shall whom he loves; and the judge condemns not be able to speak it at all." Pharamond the duellist while he approves his behavicommanded Eucrate to let him enter; he our. Shame is the greatest of all evils; did so, and the gentleman approached the what avail laws, when death only attends king with an air which spoke him under the breach of them, and shame obedience the greatest concern in what manner to de- to them? As for me, oh Pharamond, were mean himself. The king, who had a quick it possible to describe the nameless kinds discerning, relieved him from the oppres-of compunctions and tenderness I feel, when sion he was under: and with the most beau-I reflect upon the little accidents in our fortiful complacency, said to him, "Sir, do not add to that load of sorrow I see in your countenance the awe of my presence. Think you are speaking to your friend. If the circumstances of your distress will admit of it, you shall find me so." To whom the stranger: "Oh, excellent Pharamond, name not a friend to the unfortunate Spinamont.* I had one, but he is dead by my own hand; but, oh Pharamond, though it was by the hand of Spinamont, it was by the guilt of Pharamond. I come not, oh excellent prince, to implore your pardon; I come to relate my sorrow, a sorrow too great for human life to support; from henceforth No. 85.] Thursday, June 7, 1711. shall all occurrences appear dreams, or short intervals of amusement, for this one affliction which has seized my very being. Pardon me, oh Pharamond, if my griefs give me leave, that I lay before you in the anguish of a wounded mind, that you, good as you are, are guilty of the generous blood spilt this day by this unhappy hand. Oh that it had perished before that instant!" Here the stranger paused, and recollecting his mind, after some little meditation, he went on in a calmer tone and gesture as follows: "There is an authority due to distress, and as none of human race is above the reach of sorrow, none should be above the *Mr. Thornhill, the gentleman here alluded to, under the translated name of Spinamont, killed sir C. Deering of Kent, Bart. in a duel, May 9, 1711. mer familiarity, my mind swells into sorrow which cannot be resisted enough to be silent in the presence of Pharamond. (With that he fell into a flood of tears, and wept aloud.) Why should not Pharamond hear the anguish he only can relieve others from in time to come? Let him hear from me, what they feel who have given death by the false mercy of his administration, and form to himself the vengeance called for by those who have perished by his negligence. Interdum speciosa locis, morataque recte R. Hors. Ars Poet. ver. 319. -When the sentiments and manners please, Francis. IT is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see any printed or written paper upon the ground, to take it up and lay it aside carefully, as not knowing but it may contain some piece of their Alcoran. I must confess I have so much of the Mussulman in me, that I cannot forbear looking into every printed paper which comes in my whole narration has something in it very moving, notwithstanding the author of it (whoever he was) has delivered it in such an abject phrase and poorness of expression, that the quoting any part of it would look like a design of turning it into ridicule. But though the language is mean, the thoughts, as I have before said, from one end to the other, are natural, and therefore cannot fail to please those who are not judges of language, or those who, notwithstanding they are judges of language, have a true and unprejudiced taste of nature. The condition, speech, and behaviour of the dying parents, with the age, innocence, and distress of the children, are set forth in such tender circumstances, that it is impossible for a reader of common humanity not to be affected with them. As for the circumstance of the robin-red-breast, it is indeed a little poetical ornament; and to show the genius of the author amidst all his simplicity, it is just the same kind of fiction which one of the greatest of the Latin poets has made use of upon a parallel occasion; I mean that passage in Horace, where he describes himself when he was a child, fallen asleep in a desert wood, and covered with leaves by the turtles that took pity on him, way, under whatsoever despicable circum- | compassion. The incidents grow out of the stances it may appear; for as no mortal subject, and are such as are the most proauthor, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude per to excite pity; for which reason the of things, knows to what use his works may some time or other be applied, a man may often meet with very celebrated names in a paper of tobacco. I have lighted my pipe more than once with the writings of a prelate; and know a friend of mine, who, for these several years, has converted the essays of a man of quality into a kind of fringe for his candlesticks. I remember, in particular, after having read over a poem of an eminent author on a victory, I met with several fragments of it upon the next rejoicing day, which had been employed in squibs and crackers, and by that means celebrated its subject in a double capacity. I once met with a page of Mr. Baxter, under a Christmas pie. Whether or no the pastry-cook had made use of it through chance or waggery, for the defence of that superstitious viande, I know not; but upon the perusal of it, I conceived so good an idea of the author's piety, that I bought the whole book. I have often profited by these accidental readings, and have sometimes found very curious pieces that are either out of print, or not to be met with in the shops of our London booksellers. For this reason, when my friends take a survey of my library, they are very much surprised to find upon the shelf of folios, two long band-boxes standing upright among my books; till I let them see that they are both of them lined with deep erudition and abstruse literature. I might likewise mention a paper-kite, from which I have received great improvement; and a hat case, which I would not exchange for all the beavers in Great Britain. This my inquisitive temper, or rather impertinent humour, of prying into all sorts of writing, with my natural aversion to loquacity, give me a good deal of employment when I enter any house in the country; for I cannot for my heart leave a room, before I have thoroughly studied the wails of it, and examined the several rinted papers which are usually pasted upon them. The last piece that I met with upon this occasion gave me most exquisite pleasure. My reader will think I am not serious, when I acquaint him that the piece I am going to speak of, was the old ballad of the Two Children in the Wood, which is one of the darling songs of the common people, and has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age. This song is a plain simple copy of nature, destitute of the helps and ornaments of art. The tale of it is a pretty tragical story, and pleases for no other reason but because it is a copy of nature. There is even a despicable simplicity in the verse; and yet because the sentiments appear genuine and unaffected, they are able to move the mind of the most polite reader with inward meltings of humanity and Me fabulosa Vulture in Appulo, Texere 'Me when a child, as cir'd with play, In careless glambers bound, The gentle doves protecting found, I have heard that the late Lord Dorset, who had the greatest wit tempered with the greatest candour, and was one of the finest critics as well as the best poets of his age, had a numerous collection of old English ballads, and took a particular pleasure in the reading of them. I can affirm the same of Mr. Dryden, and know several of the most refined writers of our present age who are of the same humour. I might likewise refer my readers to Moliere's thoughts on this subject, as he has expressed them in the character of the Misanthrope; but those only who are endowed with a true greatness of soul and genius, can divest themselves of the images of ridicule, and admire nature in her simAs for the little plicity and nakedness. conceited wits of the age, who can only show their judgment by finding fault, they cannot be supposed to admire these productions which have nothing to recommend them but the beauties of nature, when they do not know how to relish_even those compositions that with all the beauties of nature, have also the additional advantages of art. L. No. 86.] Friday, June 8, 1711. Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! How in the looks does conscious guilt appear. Addison. Thy beard and head are of a different dye: Short of one foot, distorted in an eye; With all these tokens of a knave complete, Should'st thou be honest, thou'rt a dev'lish cheat.' I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds his speculations THERE are several arts which all men on the supposition that as a man hath in are in some measure masters of, without the mould of his face a remote likeness to having been at the pains of learning them. that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, a hog, or any Every one that speaks or reasons is a other creature; he hath the same resemgrammarian and a logician, though he blance in the frame of his mind, and is submay be wholly unacquainted with the rules ject to those passions which are predomiof grammar or logic, as they are delivered nant in the creature that appears in his in books and systems. In the same man- countenance. Accordingly he gives the ner, every one is in some degree a master prints of several faces that are of a differof that art which is generally distinguished ent mould, and by a little overcharging the by the name of physiognomy; and naturally likeness discovers the figures of these seforms to himself the character or fortune veral kinds of brutal faces in human feaof a stranger, from the features and linea-tures.* I remember in the life of the faments of his face. We are no sooner pre-mous Prince of Conde, the writer observes, sented to any one we never saw before, but the face of that prince was like the face of we are immediately struck with the idea an eagle, and that the prince was very of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or a well pleased to be told so. In this case good-natured man; and upon our first go- therefore we may be sure, that he had in ing into a company of strangers, our bene- his mind some general implicit notion of volence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises this art of physiognomy which I have just naturally towards several particular per-now mentioned; and that when his coursons, before we have heard them speak a single word, or so much as know who they are. tiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he understood them in the same manner as if they had told him, there was Every passion gives a particular cast to something in his looks which showed him the countenance, and is apt to discover it- to be strong, active, piercing, and of a self in some feature or other. I have seen royal descent. Whether or no the differan eye curse for half an hour together, and ent motions of the animal spirits, in differan eyebrow call a man a scoundrel. No-ent passions, may have any effect on the thing is more common than for lovers to mould of the face when the lineaments are complain, resent, languish, despair, and pliable and tender, or whether the same die in dumb show. For my own part, I kind of souls require the same kind of haam so apt to frame a notion of every man's bitations, I shall leave to the considerahumour or circumstances by his looks, that tion of the curious. In the mean time I I have sometimes employed myself from think nothing can be more glorious than Charing-Cross to the Royal Exchange in for a man to give the lie to his face, and to drawing the characters of those who have be an honest, just, good-natured man, in passed by me. When I see a fan with a spite of all those marks and signatures Sour rivelled face, I cannot forbear pitying which nature seems to have set upon him his wife; and when I meet with an open in- for the contrary. This very often happens genuous countenance, think on the happamong those, who instead of being exaspeness of his friends, his family and his rela-rated by their own looks, or envying the tions. I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a person who stood silent in his company, Speak, that I may see thee.' But, with submission, I think we may be better known by our looks than by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily disguised than his countenance. In this case, however, I think the air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it. The truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward disposition of the mind made visible. Those who have established physiognomy into an art, and laid down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded the features much more than the air. Martial has a pretty epigram on this subject: Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine læsus: to the cultivating of their minds, and getlook of others, apply themselves entirely ting those beauties which are more lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece of deformity; and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a system of features as ever was clapped together, which hath appeared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice; in many such cases the soul and the body do not seem to be fellows. Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There chanced to be a *This refers to Baptista della Porta's celebrated Treatise De Humana Physiognomia: which has ran through many editions both in Latin and Italian. He died in 1615. great physiognomist in his time at Athens, not at all displeased with themselves upon who had made strange discoveries of men's considerations which they had no choice-in; tempers and inclinations by their outward so the discourse concerning Idols tended to appearances. Socrates's disciples, that lessen the value people put upon themthey might put this artist to the trial, car- selves from personal advantages and gifts ried him to their master, whom he had of nature. As to the latter species of mannever seen before, and did not know he kind, the beauties, whether male or female, was then in company with him. After a they are generally the most untractable short examination of his face, the physiog-people of all others. You are so excessively nomist pronounced him the most lewd, li- perplexed with the particularities in their bidinous, drunken old fellow that he had behaviour, that to be at ease, one would be ever met with in his whole life. Upon apt to wish there were no such creatures. which the disciples all burst out a-laugh- They expect so great allowances, and give ing, as thinking they had detected the so little to others, that they who have to do falsehood and vanity of his art. But So- with them find in the main, a man with a crates told them, that the principles of his better person than ordinary, and a beautiart might be very true, notwithstanding his ful woman, might be very happily changed present mistake; for that he himself was for such to whom nature has been less libenaturally inclined to those particular vices ral. The handsome fellow is usually so which the physiognomist had discovered much a gentleman, and the fine woman has in his countenance, but that he had con- something so becoming, that there is no quered the strong dispositions he was born enduring either of them. It has therefore with, by the dictates of philosophy.* been generally my choice to mix with cheerful ugly creatures, rather than gentlemen who are graceful enough to omit or do what they please; or beauties who have charms enough to do and say what would be disobliging in any but themselves. We are indeed told by an ancient author,† that Socrates very much resembled Silenus in his face; which we find to have been very rightly observed from the statues and busts of both, that are still extant; as well as on several antique seals and precious stones, which are frequently enough to be met with in the cabinets of the curious. But however observations of this nature may sometimes hold, a wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are guilty of towards one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we conceive hatred against a person of worth, or fancy a man to be proud or ill-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too much when we are acquainted with his real character? Dr. Moore, in his admirable System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination to take a prejudice against a man for his looks, among the smaller vices in morality, and, if I remember, gives it the name of a prosopolepsia.‡ IT has been the purpose of several of my speculations to bring people to an unconcerned behaviour with relation to their persons, whether beautiful or defective. As the secrets of the Ugly Club were exposed to the public, that men might see there were some noble spirits in the age, who are Cicer. Tusc. Qu. 5. et De Fato. † Plat. Conviv. 1 A Greek word, used in the New Testament, Rom. ii. 11, and Eph. vi. 9: where it is said that "God is no respecter of persons." Here it signifies a prejudice against a person formed from his countenance, &c. too hastily. Diffidence and presumption, upon account of our persons, are equally faults; and both arise from the want of knowing, or rather endeavouring to know ourselves, and for what we ought to be valued or neglected. But indeed I did not imagine these little considerations and coquetries could have the ill consequences as I find they have, by the following letters of my correspondents; where it seems beauty is thrown into the account, in matters of sale, to those who receive no favour from the charmers. June 4. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-After I have assured you I am in every respect one of the handsomest young girls about town, I need be particular in nothing but the make of my face, which has the misfortune to be exactly oval. This I take to proceed from a temper that naturally inclines me both to speak and hear. "With this account you may wonder how I can have the vanity to offer myself as a candidate, which I now do, to a society where the Spectator and Hecatissa have been admitted with so much applause. I don't want to be put in mind how very defective I am in every thing that is ugly: I am too sensible of my own unworthiness in this particular, and therefore I only propose myself as a foil to the club. 'You see how honest I have been to confess all my imperfections, which is a great deal to come from a woman, and what I hope you will encourage with the favour of your interest. "There can be no objection made on the side of the matchless Hecatissa, since it is certain I shall be in no danger of giving her the least occasion of jealousy: and then a |