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present. I dropped him a courtesy, and gave him to understand that was his audience of leave.

'I am reckoned pretty, and have had very many advances besides these; but have been very averse to hear any of them, from my observation on those above-mentioned, until I hoped some good from the

or keeping it offending against Him whom they cannot deceive. Your assistance and labours of this sort would be of great benefit, and your speedy thoughts on this subject would be very seasonable to, sir, your most humble servant,

'CHASTITY LOVEWORTH.'

character of my present admirer, a clergy- No. 299.] Tuesday, February 12, 1711-12.

Malo Venusinam, quam te, Cornelia, mater
Gracchorum, si cum magnis virtutibus affers
Grande supercilium, et numeras in dote triumphos.
Tolle tuum precor Annibalem, victumque Syphacem
In castris; et cum tota Carthagine migra.

Juv. Sat. vi. 166.

man. But I find even among them there are indirect practices in relation to love, and our treaty is at present a little in suspense, until some circumstances are cleared. There is a charge against him among the women, and the case is this: It is alSome country girl, scarce to a courtesy bred, leged, that a certain endowed female would Would I much rather than Cornelia wed; have appropriated herself to, and consoIf supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain, lidated herself with a church which my She brought her father's triumphs in her train. divine now enjoys (or, which is the same Away with all your Carthaginian state; Let vanquish'd Hannibal without doors wait, thing, did prostitute herself to her friend's Too burly and too big to pass my narrow gate. doing this for her:) that my ecclesiastic, to Dryden: obtain the one, did engage himself to take Ir is observed, that a man improves off the other that lay on hand; but that on more by reading the story of a person emihis success in the spiritual, he again re-nent for prudence and virtue, than by the

nounced the carnal.

finest rules and precepts of morality. In I put this closely to him, and taxed him the same manner a representation of those with disingenuity. He to clear himself calamities and misfortunes which a weak made the subsequent defence, and that in man suffers from wrong measures, and illthe most solemn manner possible:-that he concerted schemes of life, is apt to make a was applied to, and instigated to accept of deeper impression upon our minds, than a benefice: that a conditional offer there- the wisest maxims and instructions that of was indeed made him at first, but with can be given us, for avoiding the like follies disdain by him rejected:-that when no- and indiscretions in our own private conthing (as they easily perceived) of this duct. It is for this reason that I lay before nature could bring him to their purpose, my reader the following letter, and leave it assurance of his being entirely unengaged with him to make his own use of it, withbeforehand, and safe from all their after-out adding any reflections of my own upon expectations, (the only stratagem left to the subject-matter. draw him in,) was given him:-that pursuant to this the donation itself was, without 'MR. SPECTATOR, Having carefully delay, before several reputable witnesses, perused a letter sent you by Josiah Fribble, tendered to him gratis, with the open profes- Esq. with your subsequent discourse upon sion of not the least reserve, or most minute pin-money, I do presume to trouble you with condition; but that yet, immediately after an account of my own case, which I look induction, his insidious introducer (or her upon to be no less deplorable than that of crafty procurer, which you will) indus- 'squire Fribble. I am a person of no extriously spread the report which had reach-traction, having begun the world with a ed my ears, not only in the neighbourhood small parcel of rusty iron, and was for some of that said church, but in London, in the years commonly known by the name of Jack university, in mine and his own country, Anvil. I have naturally a very happy and wherever else it might probably ob- genius for getting money, insomuch that by viate his application of five and twenty, I had scraped other woman, and so confine him to this alone: and in a together four thousand two hundred pounds, word, that as he never did make any pre-launched out into considerable business, and five shillings, and a few odd pence. I then vious offer of his service, or the least step to her affection; so on his discovery of these designs thus laid to trick him, he could not but afterwards, in justice to himself, vindicate both his innocence and freedom, by keeping his proper distance.

to

any

This is his apology, and I think I shall be satisfied with it. But I cannot conclude my tedious epistle without recommending to you not only to resume your former chastisement, but to add to your criminals the simoniacal ladies, who seduce the sacred order into the difficulty of either breaking a mercenary troth made to them, whom they ought not to deceive, or by breaking

the

age

became a bold trader both by sea and land, which in a few years raised me a very great fortune. For these my good services I was knighted in the thirty-fifth year of my age, and lived with great dignity among my city neighbours by the name of Sir John Anvil. Being in my temper very ambitious, I was now bent upon making a family, and ac

*It is said by some, that the author of this letter alluded to Gore, of Tring, and Lady Mary Compton: but others, with more probability, that it referred to Sir Ambrose Crowley and his lady. See Tat. ed. 1786, ci. 8vo. The latter changed his name from Crowley to Crawley, the folly of which seems to be ridiculed above, by the change of Anvil into Envil.

with a frown, that I did not seem to know who she was. I was surprised to be treated thus, after such familiarities as had passed between us. But she has since given me to know, that whatever freedoms she may sometimes indulge me in, she expects in general to be treated with the respect that is due to her birth and quality. Our children have been trained up from their infancy with so many accounts of their mother's family, that they know the stories of all the great men and women it has produced. Their mother tells them, that such an one commanded in such a sea-engagement, that their great-grandfather had a horse shot under him at Edge-hill, that their uncle was at the siege of Buda, and that her mother danced in a ball at court with the Duke of Monmouth; with abundance of fiddle-faddle of the same nature. I was the other day a little out of countenance at a question of my little daughter Harriot, who asked me, with a great deal of innocence, why I never told them of the generals and admirals that had been in my family? As for my eldest son, Oddly, he has been so spirited up by his mother, that if he does not mend his manners I shall go near to disinherit him. He drew his sword upon me before he was nine years old, and told me that he expected to be used like a gentleman: upon my offering to correct him for his insolence, my Lady Mary stepped in between us, and told me that I ought to consider there was some difference between his mother and mine. She is perpetually finding out the features of her own relations in every one of my children, though by the way, I have a little chubfaced boy as like me as he can stare, if I durst say so: but what most angers me, when she sees me playing with any of them upon my knee, she has begged me more than once to converse with the children as little as possible, that they may not learn any of my awkward tricks.

cordingly resolved that my descendants | John Anvil, but as her husband; and added, should have a dash of good blood in their veins. In order to this, I made love to the Lady Mary Oddly, an indigent young woman of quality. To cut short the marriage-treaty, I threw her a carte blanche, as our newspapers call it, desiring her to write upon it her own terms. She was very concise in her demands, insisting only that the disposal of my fortune, and the regulation of my family, should be entirely in her hands. Her father and brothers appeared exceedingly averse to this match, and would not see me for some time; but at present are so well reconciled, that they dine with me almost every day, and have borrowed considerable sums of me; which my Lady Mary very often twits me with, when she would show me how kind her relations are to me. She had no portion, as I told you before; but what she wanted in fortune she makes up in spirit. She at first changed my name to Sir John Envil, and at present writes herself Mary Enville. I have had some children by her, whom she has christened with the surnames of her family, in order, as she tells me, to wear out the homeliness of their parentage by the father's side. Our eldest son is the Honourable Oddly Enville, Esq. and our eldest daughter Harriot Enville. Upon her first coming into my family, she turned off a parcel of very careful servants, who had been long with me, and introduced in their stead a couple of black-a-moors, and three or four very genteel fellows in laced liveries, besides her French woman, who is perpetually making a noise in the house, in a language which nobody understands, except my Lady Mary. She next set herself to reform every room of my house, having glazed all my chimney-pieces with looking-glasses, and planted every corner with such heaps of china, that I am obliged to move about my own house with the greatest caution and circumspection, for fear of hurting some of our brittle furniture. She makes an illumination once a week with wax candles in one of the largest rooms, in order, as she phrases it, to see company: at which time she always desires me to be abroad, or to confine myself to the cockloft, that I may not disgrace her among her visitants of quality. Her footmen, as I told you before, are such beaus that I do not much care for asking them questions; when I do, they answer me with a saucy frown, and say that every thing which I find fault with, was done by my Lady Mary's order. She tells me, that she intends they shall wear swords with their next liveries, having lately observed the footmen of two or three persons of quality hanging behind the coach with swords by their sides. As soon as the first honeymoon was over, I represented to her the unreasonableness of those daily innovations which she made in my family; but she told me, I was no longer to consider myself as Sir

You must further know, since I am opening my heart to you, that she thinks herself my superior in sense, as much as she is in quality, and therefore treats me like a plain well-meaning man, who does not know the world. She dictates to me in my own business, sets me right in points of trade, and if I disagree with her about any of my ships at sea, wonders that I will dispute with her, when I know very well that her great-grandfather was a flagofficer.

To complete my sufferings, she has teased me for this quarter of a year last past to remove into one of the squares at the other end of the town, promising, for my encouragement, that I shall have as good a rock-loft as any gentleman in the square; to which the Honourable Oddly Enville, Esq. always adds, like a jack-anapes as he is, that he hopes it will be as near the court as possible.

In short, Mr. Spectator, I am so much | pleasantry; and hope you will show these out of my natural element, that, to recover people that at least they are not witty: in my old way of life, I would be content to which you will save from many a blush a begin the world again, and be plain Jack daily sufferer, who is very much your most Anvil; but, alas! I am in for life, and am humbie servant, bound to subscribe myself, with great sorrow of heart, your humble servant, L.

JOHN ENVILLE, KNT.'

'SUSANNA LOVEWORTH.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,-In yours of Wednesday the 30th past, you and your correspondents are very severe on a sort of men,

No. 300.] Wednesday, Feb. 13, 1711-12. whom you call male coquettes; but without

at.

-Diversum vitio vitium prope majus.
Hor. Ep. xviii. Lib. 1. 5.

Another failing of the mind,
Greater than this, of a quite different kind.-Pooley.

any other reason, in my apprehension, than that of paying a shallow compliment to the fair sex, by accusing some men of imaginary faults, that the women may not seem MR. SPECTATOR,-When you talk of to be the more faulty sex; though at the the subject of love, and the relations arising same time you suppose there are some so from it, methinks you should take care to weak as to be imposed upon by fine things leave no fault unobserved which concerns and false addresses. I cannot persuade the state of marriage. The great vexation myself that your design is to debar the sexes that I have observed in it is, that the wed-the benefit of each other's conversation ded couple seem to want opportunities of within the rules of honour; nor will you, being often enough alone together, and are I dare say, recommend to them, or enforced to quarrel and be fond before com- courage the common tea-table talk, much pany. Mr. Hotspur and his lady, in a less that of politics and matters of state: room full of their friends, are ever saying and if these are forbidden subjects of dissomething so smart to each other, and course, then, as long as there are any that but just within rules, that the whole women in the world who take a pleasure company stand in the utmost anxiety and in hearing themselves praised, and can suspense, for fear of their falling into ex-bear the sight of a man prostrate at their tremities which they could not be present feet, so long I shall make no wonder, that On the other side, Tom Faddle and there are those of the other sex who will his pretty spouse, wherever they come, pay them those impertinent humiliations. are billing at such a rate, as they think We should have few people such fools as must do our hearts good to behold them. to practise flattery, if all were so wise as Cannot you possibly propose a mean be- to despise it. I do not deny but you would tween being wasps and doves in public? do a meritorious act, if you could prevent I should think, if you advised to hate or all impositions on the simplicity of young love sincerely, it would be better: for if they women; but I must confess, I do not apprewould be so discreet as to hate from the hend you have laid the fault on the proper very bottom of their hearts, their aversion persons; and if I trouble you with my would be too strong for little gibes every thoughts upon it, I promise myself your moment; and if they loved with that calm pardon. Such of the sex as are raw and and noble valour which dwells in the heart, innocent, and most exposed to these atwith a warmth like that of life-blood, they tacks, have, or their parents are much to would not be so impatient of their pas- blame if they have not, one to advise and sions as to fall into observable fondness. guard them, and are obliged themselves This method, in each case, would save ap- to take care of them; but if these, who pearances: but as those who offend on the ought to hinder men from all opportunities fond side are by much the fewer, I would of this sort of conversation, instead of that have you begin with them, and go on to encourage and promote it, the suspicion is take notice of a most impertinent licence very just that there are some private reasons married women take, not only to be very for it; and I will leave it to you to determine loving to their spouses in public, but also on which side a part is then acted. Some make nauseous allusions to private fami- women there are who are arrived at years of liarities and the like. Lucina is a lady of discretion, I mean are got out of the hands the greatest discretion, you must know, in of their parents and governors, and are set the world; and withal very much a physi-up for themselves, who are yet liable to cian. Upon the strength of those two quali- these attempts; but if these are prevailed ties there is nothing she will not speak of upon, you must excuse me if I lay the fault before us virgins; and she every day talks upon them, that their wisdom is not grown with a very grave air in such a manner as is with their years. My client, Mr. Strephon, very improper so much as to be hinted whom you summoned to declare himself, at, but to obviate the greatest extremity.gives you thanks, however, for your warnThose whom they call good bodies, notable people, hearty neighbours, and the purest goodest company in the world, are the great offenders in this kind. Here I think I have laid before you an open field for

ing, and begs the favour only to enlarge his time for a week, or to the last day of the term, and then he will appear gratis, and pray no day over. Yours,

'PHILANTHROPOS.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I was last night to visit a lady whom I much esteem, and always took for my friend; but met with so very different a reception from what I expected, that I cannot help applying myself to you on this occasion. In the room of that civility and familiarity I used to be treated with by her, an affected strangeness in her looks, and coldness in her behaviour, plainly told me I was not the welcome guest which the regard and tenderness she has often expressed for me gave me reason to flatter myself to think I was. Sir, this is certainly a great fault, and I assure you a very common one; therefore I hope you will think it a fit subject for some part of a Spectator. Be pleased to acquaint us how we must behave ourselves towards this valetudinary friendship, subject to so many heats and colds; and you will oblige, sir, your humble servant, MIRANDA,'

6

SIR,-I cannot forbear acknowledging the delight your late Spectators on Saturdays have given me; for they are written in the honest spirit of criticism, and called to my mind the following four lines I had read long since in a prologue to a play called Julius Cæsar,* which has deserved a better fate. The verses are addressed to the little critics:

Show your small talent, and let that suffice ye;
But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye.
For every fop can find out faults in plays;
You'll ne'er arrive at knowing when to praise.

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WE are generally so much pleased with any little accomplishments, either of body or mind, which have once made us remarkable in the world, that we endeavour to persuade ourselves it is not in the power of time to rob us of them. We are eternally pursuing the same methods which first procured us the applauses of mankind. It is from this notion that an author writes on, though he is come to dotage; without ever considering that his memory is impaired, and that he hath lost that life, and those spirits, which formerly raised his fancy, and fired his imagination. The same folly hinders a man from submitting his behaviour to his age, and makes Clodius, who was a celebrated dancer at five-andtwenty, still love to hobble in a minuet, though he is past threescore. It is this, *A tragedy, by William Alexander, Earl of Stirling,

printed in 1629.

in a word, which fills the town with elderly fops and superannuated coquettes.

Canidia, a lady of this latter species, passed by me yesterday in a coach. Canidia was a haughty beauty of the last age, and was followed by crowds of adorers, whose passions only pleased her, as they gave her opportunities of playing the tyrant. She then contracted that awful cast of the eye and forbidding frown, which she has not yet laid aside, and has still all the insolence of beauty without its charms. If she now attracts the eyes of any beholders, it is only by being remarkably ridiculous; even her own sex laugh at her affectation; and the men, who always enjoy an ill-natured pleasure in seeing an imperious beauty humbled and neglected, regard her with the same satisfaction that a free nation sees a tyrant in disgrace.

Will Honeycomb, who is a great admirer of the gallantries in King Charles the Seletter written by a wit of that age to his cond's reign, lately communicated to me a mistress, who it seems was a lady of Canidia's humour; and though I do not always this letter so well, that I took a copy of it, approve of my friend Will's taste, I liked with which I shall here present my reader:

• To Chloe.

'MADAM,-Since my waking thoughts have never been able to influence you in my favour, I am resolved to try whether my dreams can make any impression on you. To this end I shall give you an account of a very odd one which my fancy presented to me last night, within a few hours after I left you.

'Methought I was unaccountably conveyed into the most delicious place mine eyes ever beheld: it was a large valley divided by a river of the purest water I had ever seen. The ground on each side of it rose by an easy ascent, and was covered with flowers of an infinite variety, which, as they were reflected in the water, doubled the beauties of the place, or rather formed an imaginary scene more beautiful than the real. On each side of the river was a range of lofty trees, whose boughs were loaded with almost as many birds as leaves. Every tree was full of harmony.

'I had not gone far in this pleasant valley, when I perceived that it was terminated by a most magnificent temple. The structure was ancient and regular. On the top of it was figured the god Saturn, in the same shape and dress that the poets usually represent Time.

'As I was advancing to satisfy my curiosity by a nearer view, I was stopped by an object far more beautiful than any I had before discovered in the whole place. I fancy, madam, you will easily guess that this could hardly be any thing but yourself; in reality it was so; you lay extended on the flowers by the side of the river, so that your hands, which were thrown in a negligent

posture, almost touched the water. Your eyes were closed; but if your sleep deprived me of the satisfaction of seeing them, it left me at leisure to contemplate several other charms which disappear when your eyes are open. I could not but admire the tran

which seems too extraordinary to be without a meaning. I am, madam, with the greatest passion, your most obedient, most humble servant, &c.' X.

quillity you slept in, especially when I con- No. 302.] Friday, February 15, 1711-12. sidered the uneasiness you produce in so many others.

'While I was wholly taken up in these reflections, the doors of the temple flew open with a very great noise, and lifting up my eyes, I saw two figures, in human shape, coming into the valley. Upon a nearer survey, I found them to be Youth and Love. The first was encircled with a kind of purple light, that spread a glory over all the place, the other held a flaming torch in his hand. I could observe, that all the way as they came towards us, the colours of the flowers appeared more lively, the trees shot out in blossoms, the birds threw themselves into pairs and serenaded them as they passed: the whole face of nature glowed with new beauties. They were no sooner arrived at the place where you lay, than they seated themselves on each side of you. On their approach methought I saw a new bloom arise in your face, and new charms diffuse themselves over your whole person. You appeared more than mortal; but, to my great surprise, continued fast asleep, though the two deities made several gentle efforts to awaken you.

ed

After a short time, Youth, (displaying a pair of wings, which I had not before taken notice of,) flew off. Love still remained, and holding the torch which he had in his hand before your face, you still appeared as beautiful as ever. The glaring of the light in your eyes at length awakenyou, when to my great surprise, instead of acknowledging the favour of the deity, you frowned upon him, and struck the torch out of his hand into the river. The god, after having regarded you with a look that spoke at once his pity and displeasure, flew away. Immediately a kind of gloom overspread the whole place. At the same time I saw a hideous spectre enter at one end of the valley. His eyes were sunk into his head, his face was pale and withered, and his skin puckered up in wrinkles. As he walked on the sides of the bank the river froze, the flowers faded, the trees shed their blossoms, the birds dropped from off the boughs, and fell dead at his feet. By these marks I knew him to be Old Age. You were seized with the utmost horror and amazement at his approach. You endeavoured to have fled, but the phantom caught you in his arms. You may easily guess at the change you suffered in this embrace. For my own part, though I am still too full of the dreadful idea, I will not shock you with a description of it. I was so startled at the sight, that my sleep immediately left me, and I found myself awake, at leisure to consider of a dream

-Lachrymæque decoræ,

Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus. Virg. Æn. v. 343. Becoming sorrows, and a virtuous mind More lovely, in a beauteous form enshrin'd. I READ what I give for the entertainment of this day with a great deal of pleasure, and publish it just as it came to my hands. I shall be very glad to find there are many guessed at for Emilia.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-If this paper has the good fortune to be honoured with a place in because the character of Emilia is not an your writings, I shall be the more pleased, I have indusimaginary but a real one. of one or two circumstances of no consetriously obscured the whole by the addition quence, that the person it is drawn from of it might not be in the least suspected, and might still be concealed; and that the writer for some other reasons, I chose not to give it in the form of a letter; but if, besides the faults of the composition, there be any thing in it more proper for a correspondent than the Spectator himself to write, I submit it other model you think fit. I am, sir, your to your better judgment, to receive any very humble servant.'

There is nothing which gives one so pleasing a prospect of human nature, as the contemplation of wisdom and beauty: the latter is the peculiar portion of that sex which is therefore called fair: but the happy concurrence of both these excellences in the same person, is a character too celestial to be frequently met with. Beauty is an over-weening self-sufficient thing, careless of providing itself any more substantial ornaments; nay, so little does it consult its own interests, that it too often defeats itself, by betraying that innocence which renders it lovely and desirable. therefore virtue makes a beautiful woman appear more beautiful, so beauty makes a virtuous woman really more virtuous. Whilst I am considering these two perfections gloriously united in one person, I cannot help representing to my mind the image of Emilia.

As

Who ever beheld the charming Emilia without feeling in his breast at once the glow of love, and the tenderness of virtuous friendship? The unstudied graces of her behaviour, and the pleasing accents of her tongue, insensibly draw you on to wish for a nearer enjoyment of them, but even her smiles carry in them a silent reproof of the impulses of licentious love. Thus, though the attractives of her beauty play almost irresistibly upon you, and create desire, you

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