"for to tell you truly," says she, "I was the ladies wore coloured hoods, and ordered afraid he would have made us ashamed to me to get her one of the finest blue. I am show our heads." Now, sir, you must know forced to comply with her demands whilst since this unlucky accident happened to she is in her present condition, being very me in a company of ladies, among whom willing to have more of the same breed. Í I passed for à mest ingenious man, I have do not know what she may produce me, consulted one who is well versed in the but provided it be a show I shall be very Greek language, and he assures me upon well satisfied. Such novelties should not, his word, that your late quotation means I think, be concealed from the British Specno more than that "manners, not dress, tator; for which reason I hope you will exare the ornaments of a woman. "If this cuse the presumption in your most dutiful, comes to the knowledge of my female ad- most obedient, and most humble servant, L. 'S. T.' mirers, I shall be very hard put to it to bring myself off handsomely. In the mean while, I give you this account, that you -Longa est injuria, longæ may take care hereafter not to betray any No. 272.] Friday, January 11, 1711-12. of your well-wishers into the like inconveniences. It is in the number of these that I beg leave to subscribe myself, 'TOM TRIPPIT,' 'MR. SPECTATOR,-Your readers are so well pleased with the character of Sir Roger de Coverley, that there appeared a sensible joy in every coffee-house, upon hearing the old knight was come to town. I am now with a knot of his admirers, who make it their joint request to you, that you would give us public notice of the window or balcony where the knight intends to make his appearance. He has already, given great satisfaction to several who have seen him at Squires's coffee-house. If you think fit to place your short face at Sir Roger's left elbow, we shall take the hint and gratefully acknowledge so great a favour. I am, sir, your most devoted humble servant, C. D.' 'SIR,-Knowing that you are very inquisitive after every thing that is curious in nature, I will wait on you if you please in the dusk of the evening, with my show upon my back, which I carry about with me in a box, as only consisting of a man, woman, and horse.* The two first are married, in which state the little cavalier has so well acquitted himself, that his lady is with child. The big-bellied woman and her husband, with their whimsical palfrey, are so very light, that when they are put together in a scale, an ordinary man may weigh down the whole family. The little man is a bully in his nature; but when he grows choleric I confine him to his box until his wrath is over, by which means I have hitherto prevented him from doing mischief. His horse is likewise very vicious, for which reason I am forced to tie him close to his manger with a packthread. The woman is a coquette. She struts as much as it is possible for a lady of two feet high, and would ruin me in silks, were not the quantity that goes to a large pincushion sufficient to make her a gown and petticoat. She told me the other day, that she heard *About the time this paper was published, there were exhibited in London, two dwarfs (a man and his wife) and a horse of a very diminutive size. Ambages Virg. Æn. i. 345. Great is the injury, and long the tale. "That 'MR. SPECTATOR,-The occasion of this letter is of so great importance, and the circumstances of it such, that I know you will but think it just to insert it, in preference to all other matters that can present themselves to your consideration. I need not, after I have said this, tell you that I am in love. The circumstances of my passion I shall let you understand as well as a disordered mind will admit. cursed pick-thank, Mrs. Jane!" Alas, I am railing at one to you by her name, as familiarly as if you were acquainted with her as well as myself: but I will tell you all, as fast as the alternate interruptions of love and anger will give me leave. There is the most agreeable young woman in the world whom I am passionately in love with, and from whom I have for some space of time received as great marks of favour as were fit for her to give, or me to desire. The successful progress of the affair, of all others the most essential towards a man's happiness, gave a new life and spirit not only to my behaviour and discourse, but also a certain grace to all my actions in the commerce of life, in all things however remote from love. You know the predominant passion spreads itself through all a man's transactions, and exalts or depresses him according to the nature of such a passion. But, alas! I have not yet begun my story, and what is making sentences and observations when a man is pleading for his life? To begin, then. This lady has corresponded with me under the names of love; she my Belinda, I her Cleanthes. Though I am thus well got into the account of my affair, I cannot keep in the thread of it so much as to give you the character of Mrs. Jane, whom I will not hide under a borrowed name; but let you know, that this creature has been since I knew her, very handsome (though I will not allow her even "she has been " for the future,) and during the time of her bloom and beauty, was so great a tyrant to her lovers, so overvalued herself and underrated all her pretenders, that they have deserted "CLEANTHES.' 'Will's Coffee-house, Jan. 10. 'SIR,-The other day entering a room ter the usual manner, to each of them a kiss; but one, more scornful than the rest, turned her cheek. I did not think it proper to take any notice of it until I had asked your advice. Your humble servant, 'E. S.' The correspondent is desired to say which cheek the offender turned to him. ADVERTISEMENT. From the Parish-vestry, Jan. 9. 'All ladies who come to church in the new-fashioned hoods, are desired to be there before divine service begins, lest they divert the attention of the congregation. her to a man; and she knows no comfort | hearing, the young lady will support what but that common one to all in her condition, we say by her testimony, that I never saw the pleasure of interrupting the amours her but that once in my whole life. Dear of others. It is impossible but you must sir, do not omit this true relation, nor think it have seen several of these volunteers in too particular; for there are crowds of formalice, who pass their whole time in the lorn coquettes who intermingle themselves most laborious way of life in getting intelli- with our ladies, and contract familiarities gence, running from place to place with out of malice, and with no other design new whispers, without reaping any other but to blast the hopes of lovers, the expecbenefit but the hopes of making others as tation of parents, and the benevolence of unhappy as themselves. Mrs. Jane hap- kindred. I doubt not but I shall be, sir, pened to be at a place where I, with many your most obliged humble servant, others well acquainted with my passion for Belinda, passed a Christmas evening. There was among the rest, a young lady, so free in mirth, so amiable in a just re-adorned with the fair sex, I offered, afserve that accompanied it; I wrong her to call it a reserve, but there appeared in her a mirth or cheerfulness which was not a forbearance of more immoderate joy, but the natural appearance of all which could flow from a mind possessed of a habit of innocence and purity. I must have utterly forgot Belinda to have taken no notice of one who was growing up to the same womanly virtues which shine to perfection in her, had I not distinguished one who seemed to promise to the world the same life and conduct with my faithful and lovely Belinda. When the company broke up, the fine young thing permitted me to take care of her home. Mrs. Jane saw my particular regard to her, and was informed of my attending her to her father's house. She came early to Belinda the next morning, and asked her, "If Mr. Such-a-one had No. 273.] Saturday, January 12, 1711-12. been with her?" "No." "If Mr. Such-aone's lady?" "No." "Nor your cousin Such-a-one?" "No."-"Lord," says Mrs. Jane, "what is the friendship of women?Nay, they may well laugh at it.-And did no one tell you any thing of the behaviour of your lover, Mr. What-d'ye-call, last night? But perhaps it is nothing to you that he is to be married to young Mrs. on Tuesday next?” Belinda was here ready to die with rage and jealousy. Then Mrs. that ever wrote in the multitude and variety Jane goes on: "I have a young kinsman of his characters. Every god that is adwho is a clerk to a great conveyancer, who mitted into his poem, acts a part which shall show you the rough draught of the would have been suitable to no other deity. marriage settlement. The world says, her His princes are as much distinguished by father gives him two thousand pounds more their manners, as by their dominions; and than he could have with you." "I went in- even those among them, whose characters nocently to wait on Belinda as usual, but seem wholly made up of courage, differ was not admitted; I writ to her, but my from one another as to the particular kinds letter was sent back unopened. Poor Betty, of courage in which they exccl. In short her maid, who is on my side, has been there is scarce a speech or action in the here just now blubbering, and told me the Iliad, which the reader may not ascribe to whole matter. She says she did not think the person who speaks or acts, without seeI could be so base; and that she is now ing his name at the head of it. mention me more. T. -Notandi sunt tibi mores. 'RALPH.' Hor. Ars Poet, v. 156 Note well the manners. Lost, let us in the next place consider the Homer has excelled all the heroic poets so odious to her mistress for having so Homer does not only outshine all other often spoke well of me, that she dare not poets in the variety, but also in the novelty All our hopes are of his characters. He has introduced among placed in having these circumstances fairly his Grecian Princes a person who had lived represented in the Spectator, which Betty thrice the age of man, and conversed with is brought in; and has promised when you first race of heroes. ys she dare not but bring up as soon as it Theseus, Hercules, Polyphemus, and the have broke the ice to own this was laid the son of a goddess, not to mention the offbetween us, and when I can come to a spring of other deities, who have likewise a His principal actor is place in his poems, and the venerable Tro- Virgil has indeed admitted Fame as an jan prince, who was the father of so many actress in the Æneid, but the part she acts kings and heroes. There is in these seve-is very short, and none of the most admired ral characters of Homer, a certain dignity circumstances in that divine work. We as well as novelty, which adapts them in a find in mock-heroic poems, particularly in more peculiar manner to the nature of an the Dispensary, and the Lutrin, several heroic poem. Though, at the same time, allegorical persons of this nature, which are to give them the greater variety, he has very beautiful in those compositions, and described a Vulcan, that is a buffoon, among may perhaps be used as an argument, that his gods, and a Thersites among his the authors of them were of opinion such mortals. characters might have a place in an epic work. For my own part I should be glad the reader would think so, for the sake of the poem I am now examining: and must further add, that if such empty unsubstantial beings may be ever made use of on this occasion, never were any more nicely imagined, and employed in more proper actions, than those of which I am speaking. Virgil falls infinitely short of Homer in the characters of his poem, both as to their variety and novelty. Æneas is indeed a perfect character; but as for Achates, though he is styled the hero's friend, he does nothing in the whole poem which may deserve that title. Gyas, Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus, are all of them men of the same stamp and character: -Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum. There are, indeed, several natural incidents in the part of Ascanius; and that of Dido cannot be sufficiently admired. I do not see any thing new or particular in Turnus. Pallas and Evander are remote copies of Hector and Priam, as Lausus and Mezentius are almost parallels to Pallas and Evander. The characters of Nisus and Eury alus are beautiful, but common. We must not forget the parts of Sinon, Camilla, and some few others, which are fine improvements on the Greek poet. In short, there is neither that variety nor novelty in the persons of the Eneid, which we meet with in those of the Iliad. If we look into the characters of Milton, we shall find that he has introduced all the variety his fable was capable of receiving. The whole species of mankind was in two persons at the time to which the subject of his poem is confined. We have, however, four distinct characters in these two per sons. We see man and woman in the highest innocence and perfection, and in the most abject state of guilt and infirmity. The two last characters are, indeed, very common and obvious, but the two first are not only more magnificent, but more new than any characters either in Virgil or Homer, or indeed in the whole circle of nature. now Another principal actor in this poem is the great enemy of mankind. The part of Ulysses in Homer's Odyssey is very much admired by Aristotle, as perplexing that fable with very agreeable plots and intricacies, not only by the many adventures im his voyage, and the subtilty of his behaviour, but by the various concealments and discoveries of his person in several parts of that poem. But the crafty being I have now mentioned makes a much longer voyage than Ulysses, puts in practice many more wiles and stratagems, and hides himself under a greater variety of shapes and appearances, all of which are severally detected to the great delight and surprise of Nor must we omit the person of Raphael, who amidst his tenderness and friendship for man, shows such a dignity and condescension in all his speech and behaviour as are suitable to a superior nature. gels are indeed as much diversified in Milton, and distinguished by their proper parts, as the gods are in Homer or Virgil. The reader will find nothing ascribed to Uriel, Gabriel, Michael, or Raphael, which is not in a particular manner suitable to their respective characters.* Milton was so sensible of this defect in the subject of his poem, and of the few characters it would afford him, that he has brought into it two actors of a shadowy and fictitious nature, in the persons of Sin and There is another circumstance in the Death, by which means he has wrought principal actors of the Iliad and Æneid, into the body of his fable a very beautiful which gives a peculiar beauty to those two and well-invented allegory. But notwith-poems, and was therefore contrived with standing the fineness of this allegory may atone for it in some measure, I cannot think that persons of such a chimerical existence are proper actors in an epic poem; because there is not that measure of probability annexed to them, which is requisite in writings of this kind as I shall show more at large hereafter. very great judgment. I mean the authors having chosen for their heroes, persons who were so nearly related to the people for whom they wrote. Achilles was a Greek, and Eneas the remote founder of Rome. The two last sentences are not in the original folio paper. By this means their countrymen (whom | parts of Milton's poem; and hope that they principally propose to themselves for what I shall there advance, as well as what their readers) were particularly attentive I have already written, will not only serve to all the parts of their story, and sympa- as a comment upon Milton, but upon Aristhized with their heroes in all their ad- totle. ventures. A Roman could not but rejoice in the escapes, successes, and victories of Audire est operæ pretium, procedere recte Qui machis non vultis L. Eneas, and be grieved at any defeats, mis- No. 274.] Monday, January 14, 1711-12. fortunes, or disappointments that befel him; as a Greek must have had the same regard for Achilles. And it is plain, that each of those poems have lost this great advantage, among those readers to whom their heroes are as strangers, or indifferent persons. Milton's poem is admirable in this respect, since it is impossible for any of its readers, whatever nation, country, or people he may belong to, not to be related to the persons who are the principal actors in it; but what is still infinitely more to its advantage, the principal actors in this poem are not only our progenitors, but our representatives. We have an actual interest in every thing they do, and no less than our utmost happiness is concerned, and lies at stake in all their behaviour. I shall subjoin as a corollary to the foregoing remark, an admirable observation out of Aristotle, which has been very much misrepresented, in the quotations of some modern critics; If a man of perfect and consummate virtue falls into a misfortune, it raises our pity, but not our terror, because we do not fear that it may be our own case, who do not resemble the suffering person.' But, as that great philosopher adds, if we see a man of virtue mixed with infirmities, fall into any misfortune, it does not only raise our pity but our terror; because we are afraid that the like misfortunes may happen to ourselves, who resemble the character of the suffering person." I shall take another opportunity to observe that a person of an absolute and consummate virtue should never be introduced in tragedy, and shall only remark in this place, that the foregoing observation of Aristotle, though it may be true in other occasions, does not hold in this; because in the present case, though the persons who fall into misfortune are of the most perfect and consummate virtue, it is not to be considered as what may possibly be, but what actually is our own case; since we are embarked with them on the same bottom, and must be partakers of their happiness or misery. In this, and some other very few instances, Aristotle's rules for epic poetry (which he had drawn from his reflections upon Homer) cannot be supposed to quadrate exactly with the heroic poems which have been made since his time; since it is plain his rules would still have been more perfect, could he have perused the Æneid, which was made some hundred years after his death. In my next, I shall go through other Hor. Sat. ii. Lib. 1. 37. All you, who think the city ne'er can thrive Till every cuckold-maker's flay'd alive, Attend.. Pope. I HAVE Upon several occasions (that have occurred since I first took into my thoughts the present state of fornication) weighed with myself in behalf of guilty females, the impulses of flesh and blood, together with the arts and gallantries of crafty men; and reflect with some scorn that most part of what we in our youth think gay and polite, is nothing else but a habit of indulging a pruriency that way. It will cost some labour to bring people to so lively a sense of this, as to recover the manly modesty in the behaviour of my men readers, and the bashful grace in the faces of my women; but in all cases which come into debate, there are certain things previously to be done before we can have a true light into the subject matter: therefore it will, in the first place, be necessary to consider the impotent wenchers and industrious hags, who are supplied with, and are constantly supplying, new sacrifices to the devil of lust. You are to know, then, if you are so happy as not to know it already, that the great havock which is made in the habitations of beauty and innocence, is committed by such as can only lay waste and not enjoy the soil. When you observe the present state of vice and virtue, the offenders are such as one would think should have no impulse to what they are pursuing; as in business, you see sometimes fools pretend to be knaves, so in pleasure, you will find old men set up for wenchers. This latter sort of men are the great basis and fund of iniquity in the kind we are speaking of; you shall have an old rich man often receive scrawls from the several quarters of the town, with descriptions of the new wares in their hands, if he will please to send word when he will be waited on. This interview is contrived, and the innocent is brought to such indecencies as from time to time banish shame and raise desire. With these preparatives the hags break their wards by little and little, until they are brought to lose all apprehensions of what shall befal them in the possession of younger men. It is a common postscript of a hag to a young fellow whom she invites to a new woman, She has, I assure you, seen none but old Mr. Such-a-one. pleases the old fellow that the nymph is brought to him unadorned, and from his bounty she is accommodated with enough to It dress her for other lovers. This is the most 'MY LORD,-I having a great esteem for ordinary method of bringing beauty and your honour, and a better opinion of you poverty into the possession of the town: but than of any of the quality, makes me acthe particular cases of kind keepers, skilful quaint you of an affair that I hope will pimps, and all others who drive a separate oblige you to know. I have a niece that trade, and are not in the general society or came to town about a fortnight ago. Her commerce of sin, will require distinct con- parents being lately dead, she came to me sideration. At the same time that we are expecting to have found me in so good a thus severe on the abandoned, we are to condition as to set her up in a milliner's represent the case of others with that shop. Her father gave fourscore pound mitigation as the circumstances demand. with her for five years: her time is out, Calling names does no good; to speak worse and she is not sixteen: as pretty a black of any thing than it deserves, does only gentlewoman as ever you saw; a little take off from the credit of the accuser, and woman, which I know your lordship likes; has implicitly the force of an apology in the well shaped, and as fine a complexion for behalf of the person accused. We shall, red and white as ever I saw; I doubt not but therefore, according as the circumstances your lordship will be of the same opinion. differ, vary our appellations of these crimi- She designs to go down about a month nals: those who offend only against them- hence, except I can provide for her, which selves, and are not scandals to society, but I cannot at present. Her father was one out of deference to the sober part of the with whom all he had died with him, so world, have so much good left in them as there is four children left destitute: so if to be ashamed, must not be huddled in the your lordship thinks proper to make an apcommon word due to the worst of women;pointment where I shall wait on you with but regard is to be had to their circum- my niece, by a line or two, I stay for your stances when they fell, to the uneasy per- answer; for I have no place fitted up since plexity under which they lived under sense-I left my house, fit to entertain your honour. less and severe parents; to the importunity I told her she should go with me to see a of poverty; to the violence of a passion in its gentleman, a very good friend of mine; so beginning well grounded, and all other al- I desire you to take notice of my letter, by leviations which make unhappy women reason she is ignorant of the ways of the resign the characteristic of their sex, mo- town. My lord, I desire if you meet us to desty. To do otherwise than this, would come alone; for upon my word and honour be to act like a pedantic Stoic, who thinks you are the first that I ever mentioned her all crimes alike, and not like an impartial to. So I remain your lordship's most humSpectator, who looks upon them with all ble servant to command. the circumstances that diminish or enhance the guilt. I am in hopes, if this subject be well pursued, women will hereafter from their infancy be treated with an eye to their future state in the world; and not have their No. 275.] Tuesday, January 15, 1711-12. tempers made too untractable from an improper sourness, or pride, or too complying from familiarity or forwardness contracted at their own houses. After these hints on this subject, I shall end this paper with the following genuine letter; and desire all who think they may be concerned in future speculations on this subject, to send in what they have to say for themselves for some incidents in their lives, in order to have proper allowances made for their conduct. Jan. 5, 1711-12. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-The subject of your yesterday's paper, is of so great importance, and the thorough handling of it may be so very useful to the preservation of many an innocent young creature, that I think every one is obliged to furnish you with what lights he can to expose the pernicious arts and practices of those unnatural women called bawds. In order to this, the enclosed is sent to you, which is verbatim the copy of a letter written by a bawd of figure in this town to a noble lord. I have concealed the names of both, my intention being not to expose the persons but the thing. I am, sir, your humble servant.' 'I beg of you to burn it when you've read it.' T. -tribus Anticyris caput insanabile A head, no hellebore can cure. Hor. Ars Poet. v. 300. I WAS yesterday engaged in an assembly of virtuosos, where one of them produced many curious observations which he had lately made in the anatomy of a human body. Another of the company communicated to us several wonderful discoveries which he had also made on the same subject, by the help of very fine glasses. This gave birth to a great variety of uncommon remarks, and furnished discourse for the remaining part of the day. The different opinions which were started on this occasion presented to my imagination so many new ideas, that by mixing with those which were already there, they employed my fancy all the last night, and composed a very wild extravagant dream. I was invited, methought, to the dissection of a beau's head, and a coquette's heart, which were both of them laid on a table before us. An imaginary operator opened the first with a great deal of nicety, which upon a cursory and superficial view, appeared like the head of another man; |