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"It is further our humble request, that you would substitute advertisements in the place of such epistles; and that in order hereunto Mr. Buckley may be authorized to take up of your zealous friend Mr. Charles Lillie, any quantity of words he shall from time to time have occasion for. 'The many useful parts of knowledge which may be communicated to the public this way, will, we hope, be a consideration in favour of your petitioners. And your petitioners, &c.'

your gentle readers, that at any time when | fore my house more than once this winter. you may have private reasons against let- My kinswoman likewise informs me that ting us know what you think yourself, you the girl has talked to her twice or thrice of would be pleased to pardon us such letters a gentleman in a fair wig, and that she of your correspondents as seem to be of no loves to go to church more than ever she use but to the printer. did in her life. She gave me the slip about a week ago, upon which my whole house was in alarm. I immediately despatched a hue and cry after her to the 'Change, to her mantua-maker, and to the young ladies that visit her; but after above an hour's search she returned of herself, having been taking a walk, as she told me, by Rosamond's pond. I have hereupon turned off her woman, doubled her guards, and given new instructions to my relation, who, to give her her due, keeps a watchful eye over all her motions. This, sir, keeps me often watch when my daughter sleeps, as I in perpetual anxiety, and makes me very am afraid she is even with me in her turn. Now, sir, what I would desire of you is, to represent to this fluttering tribe of young fellows, who are for making their fortunes by these indirect means, that stealing a man's daughter for the sake of her portion, is but a kind of a tolerated robbery; and that they make but a poor amends to the father, whom they plunder after this manner, by going to bed with his child. Dear sir, be speedy in your thoughts on this sub ject, that, if possible, they may appear be fore the disbanding of the army. I am, sir, your most humble servant,

Note.-That particular regard be had to this petition; and the papers marked letter R may be carefully examined for the fu

ture.

T.

No. 311.] Tuesday, February 26, 1711-12.
Nec Veneris pharetris macer est, aut lampade fervet:

Inde faces ardent, veniunt a dote sagittæ.

Juv. Sat, vi. 137.

He sighs, adores, and courts her ev'ry hour:
Who would not do as much for such a dower?

Dryden.

"TIM WATCHWELL.'

Themistocles, the great Athenian general, being asked whether he would rather choose to marry his daughter to an indigent man of merit, or to a worthless man of an estate, replied, that he should prefer a man without an estate to an estate without a man. The worst of it is, our modern fortune-hunters are those who turn their heads that way, because they are good for nothing else. If a young fellow finds he can make nothing of Coke and Littleton he provides himself with a ladder of ropes, and by that means very often enters upon the pre

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am amazed that, among all the variety of characters with which you have enriched your speculations, you have never given us a picture of those audacious young fellows among us who commonly go by the name of the fortunestealers. You must know, sir, I am one who live in a continual apprehension of this sort of people, that lie in wait, day and night for our children, and may be considered as a kind of kidnappers within the law. I am the father of a young heiress, whom I begin to look upon as marriageable, and who has looked upon herself as such for above these six years. She is now in the eighteenth year of her age. The fortune-hunters have already cast their eyes upon her, and take care to plant themselves in her view when-mises. ever she appears in any public assembly. I have myself caught a young jackanapes, with a pair of silver-fringed gloves, in the very fact. You must know, Sir, I have kept her as a prisoner of state, ever since she was in her teens. Her chamber windows are cross-barred; she is not permitted to go out of the house but with her keeper, who is a staid relation of my own; I have likewise forbid her the use of pen and ink, for this twelvemonth last past, and do not suffer a band-box to be carried into her room before it has been searched. Notwithstanding these precautions, I am at my wit's end, for fear of any sudden surprise. There were, two or three nights ago, some fiddles heard in the street, which I am afraid portend me no good: not to mention a tall Irishman, that has been seen walking be

The same art of scaling has likewise been practised with good success by many military engineers. Stratagems of this nature make parts and industry superfluous, and cut short the way to riches.

Nor is vanity a less motive than idleness to this kind of mercenary pursuit. A fop, who admires his person in a glass, soon enters into a resolution of making his fortune by it, not questioning but every woman that falls in his way will do him as much justice as he does himself. When an heiress sees a man throwing particular graces into his ogle, or talking loud within her hearing, she ought to look to herself; but if withal she observes a pair of red heels, a patch, or any other particularity in his dress, she cannot take too much care of her person. These are baits not to be

Tully.

trifled with, charms that have done a world | No. 312.] Wednesday, Feb. 27, 1711-12. of execution, and made their way into hearts Quod huic officium, quæ laus, quod decus erit tanti, which have been thought impregnable.quod adipisci cum dolore corporis velit, qui dolorem The force of a man with these qualifica- summum malum sibi persuaserit? Quam porro quis tions is so well known, that I am credibly ignominium, quam turpitudinem non pertulerit, ut effuinformed there are several female under-giat dolorem, si id summum malum esse decreverit. takers about the 'Change, who, upon the arrival of a likely man out of a neighbouring kingdom, will furnish him with a proper dress from head to foot, to be paid for at a double price on the day of marriage.

We must, however, distinguish between fortune-hunters and fortune-stealers. The first are those assiduous gentlemen who employ their whole lives in the chase, without ever coming to the quarry. Suffenus has combed and powdered at the ladies for thirty years together; and taken his stand in a side-box, until he has grown wrinkled under their eyes. He is now laying the same snares for the present generation of beauties, which he practised on their mothers. Cottilus, after having made his application to more than you meet with in Mr. Cowley's ballad of mistresses, was at last smitten with a city lady of 20,000. sterling; but died of old age before he could bring matters to bear. Nor must I here omit my worthy friend Mr. Honeycomb, who has often told us in the club, that for twenty years successively upon the death of a childless rich man, he immediately drew on his boots, called for his horse, and made up to the widow. When he is rallied upon his ill success, Will, with his usual gaiety, tells us, that he always found her pre-engaged.

Widows are indeed the great game of your fortune-hunters. There is scarce a young fellow in the town of six foot high that has not passed in review before one or other of these wealthy relicts. Hudibras's Cupid, who

-Took his stand

Upon a widow's* jointure land,'

is daily employed in throwing darts and kindling flames. But as for widows, they are such a subtle generation of people, that they may be left to their own conduct; or if they make a false step in it, they are answerable for it to nobody but themselves. The young innocent creatures who have no knowledge and experience of the world, are those whose safety I would principally consult in this speculation. The stealing of such an one should, in my opinion, be as punishable as a rape. Where there is no judgment there is no choice; and why the inveigling a woman before she comes to years of discretion should not be as criminal as the seducing of her before she is ten years old, I am at a loss to comprehend.

L.

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What duty, what praise, or what honour will he think worth enduring bodily pain for, who has persuaded himself that pain is the chief evil? Nay, to avoid pain, if he has determined it to be the chief evil? what ignominy, to what baseness, will he not stoop, to

It is a very melancholy reflection, that men are usually so weak, that it is absolutely necessary for them to know sorrow and pain, to be in their right senses. Prosperous people (for happy there are none) are hurried away with a fond sense of their present condition, and thoughtless of the mutability of fortune. Fortune is a term which we must use, in such discourses as these, for what is wrought by the unseen hand of the Disposer of all things. But methinks the disposition of a mind which is truly great, is that which makes misfortunes and sorrows little when they befal ourselves, great and lamentable when they befal other men. The most unpardonable malefactor in the world going to his death, and bearing it with composure, would win the pity of those who should behold him; and this not because his calamity is deplorable, but because he seems himself not to deplore it. We suffer for him who is less sensible of his own misery, and are inclined to despise him who sinks under the weight of his distresses. On the other hand, without any touch of envy, a temperate and well-governed mind looks down on such as are exalted with success, with a certain shame for the imbecility of human nature, that can so far forget how liable it is to calamity, as to grow giddy with only the suspense of sorrow, which is the portion of all men. He therefore who turns his face from the unhappy man, who will not look again when his eye is cast upon modest sorrow, who shuns affliction like a contagion, does but pamper himself up for a sacrifice, and contract in himself a greater aptitude to misery by attempting to escape it. A gentleman, where I happened to be last night, fell into a discourse which I thought showed a good discerning in him. He took notice, that whenever men have looked into their

heart for the idea of true excellence in human nature, they have found it to consist in suffering after a right manner, and with a good grace. Heroes are always drawn bearing sorrows, struggling with adversities, undergoing all kinds of hardships, and having, in the service of mankind, a kind of appetite to difficulties and dangers. The gentleman went on to observe, that it is from this secret sense of the high merit which there is in patience under calamities, that the writers of romances when they attempt to furnish out characters of the highest excellence, ransack nature for

things terrible; they raise a new creation | ticularly performing the public service with of monsters, dragons, and giants; where a due zeal and devotion; I am the more enthe danger ends the hero ceases: when he couraged to lay before them by your means, has won an empire or gained his mistress, several expressions used by some of them the rest of his story is not worth relating. in their prayers before sermon, which I am My friend carried his discourse so far as to not well satisfied in. As their giving some say, that it was for higher beings than men titles and epithets to great men, which are to join happiness and greatness in the same indeed due to them in their several ranks idea; but that in our condition we have no and stations, but not properly used, I think, conception of superlative excellence, or he- in our prayers. Is it not contradiction to roism, but as it is surrounded with a shade say, illustrious, right reverend, and right of distress. honourable poor sinners? These distinctions are suited only to our state here, and have no place in heaven; we see they are omitted in the Liturgy: which, I think, the clergy should take for their pattern in their own forms of devotion.* There is another expression which I would not mention, but that I have heard it several times before a learned congregation, to bring in the last petition of the prayer in these words, "O let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak but this once;" as if there was no difference between Abraham's interceding for Sodom, for which he had no warrant, as we can find, and our asking those things which we are required to pray for; they would therefore have much more reason to fear his anger, if they did not make such petitions to him. There is another pretty fancy: when a young man has a mind to let us know who gave him his scarf, he speaks a parenthesis to the Almighty. "Bless, as I am in duty bound to pray, the right honourable the countess;" is not that as much as to say, "Bless her, for thou knowest I am her chaplain?" Your humble servant, T. 'J. O.'

It is certainly the proper education we should give ourselves to be prepared for the ill events and accidents we are to meet with in a life sentenced to be a scene of sorrow; but instead of this expectation, we soften ourselves with prospects of constant delight, and destroy in our minds the seeds of fortitude and virtue, which should support us in hours of anguish. The constant pursuit of pleasure has in it something insolent and improper for our being. There is a pretty sober liveliness in the ode of Horace to Delius, where he tells him, loud mirth, or immoderate sorrow, inequality of behaviour, either in prosperity or adversity, are alike ungraceful in man, that is born to die. Moderation in both circumstances is peculiar to generous minds. Men of that sort ever taste the gratifications of health, and all other advantages of life, as if they were liable to part with them, and when bereft of them, resign them with a greatness of mind which shows they know their value and duration. The contempt of pleasure is a certain preparatory for the contempt of pain. Without this the mind is, as it were, taken suddenly by an unforeseen event; but he that has always, during health and prosperity, been abstinent in his satisfactions, enjoys, in the worst of difficulties, the reflection, that his anguish is not aggravated with the comparison of past pleasures which upbraid his present condition. Tully tells us a story after Pompey, which gives us a good taste of the pleasant manner the men of wit and philosophy had in old times, of alleviating the distresses of life by the force of reason and philosophy. Pompey, when he came to Rhodes, had a curiosity to visit the famous philosopher Possidonius; but finding him in his sick bed, he bewailed the misfortune that he should not hear a discourse from him: But you may,' answered Possidonius; and immediately entered into the point of stoical philosophy, which says, pain is not an evil. During the discourse, upon every puncture he felt from his distemper, he smiled and cried out, Pain, pain, be as impertinent and troublesome as you please, I shall never own that thou art an evil.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,-Having seen in several of your papers a concern for the honour of the clergy, and their doing every thing as becomes their character, and par

No. 313.] Thursday, Feb. 28, 1711-12.

Exigite ut mores teneros seu pollice ducat
Ut si quis cera vultum facit-

Juv. Sat. vii. 237.

Bid him besides his daily pains employ,
To form the tender manners of the boy,
And work him, like a waxen babe, with art,
To perfect symmetry in ev'ry part.-Ch. Dryden.

I SHALL give the following letter no other recommendation than by telling my

* In the original folio edition of this paper, there was the following passage, after the above sentence.

takes in all from the beginning to the end of the world.

I

[Another expression which I take to be improper, is this, the whole race of mankind,' when they pray for all men; for race signifies lineage or descent; and if the race of mankind may be used for the present generation, (though, I think, not very fitly) the whole race do not remember to have met with that expression, in their sense, any where but in the old version of Psalm xiv, which those men, I suppose, have but little esteem for. And some, when they have prayed for all schools and nurseries of good learning and true religion, especially the two universities, add these words, Grant that from them, and all other places dedicated to thy worship and service, may come forth such persons,' &c. But what do they mean by all other places? It seems to me, that this is either a tautology, as being the same with all schools and nurseries before expressed, or else it the divine service, which cannot properly be intended here.]

runs too far; for there are several places dedicated to

readers that it comes from the same hand with that of last Thursday.

'SIR,-I send you according to my promise, some farther thoughts on the education of youth, in which I intend to discuss that famous question, "Whether the education at a public school, or under a private tutor, is to be preferred?"

'As some of the greatest men in most ages have been of very different opinions in this matter, I shall give a short account of what I think may be best urged on both sides, and afterwards leave every person to determine for himself.

'One of the greatest writers our nation ever produced, observes, that a boy who forms parties, and makes himself popular in a school or a college would act the same part with equal ease in a senate or a privy council; and Mr. Osborne, speaking like a man versed in the ways of the world, affirms, that the well laying and carrying on a design to rob an orchard, trains up a youth insensibly to caution, secrecy, and circumspection, and fits him for matters of greater importance.

latter a member of a community overrun with artifice and corruption.

In short, a private education seems the most natural method for the forming of a virtuous man; a public education for making 'It is certain from Suetonius, that the a man of business. The first would furnish Romans thought the education of their chil-out a good subject for Plato's republic, the dren a business properly belonging to the parents themselves; and Plutarch, in the life of Marcus Cato, tells us, that as soon as his son was capable of learning, Cato would suffer nobody to teach him but himself, though he had a servant named Chilo, who was an excellent grammarian, and who taught a great many other youths.

'On the contrary, the Greeks seemed more inclined to public schools and seminaries.

'A private education promises, in the first place, virtue and good breeding; and a public school, manly assurance, and an early knowledge in the ways of the world.

'It must, however, be confessed, that a person at the head of a public school has sometimes so many boys under his direction, that it is impossible he should extend a due proportion of his care to each of them. This is, however, in reality, the fault of the age, in which we often see twenty parents, who, though each expects his son should be made a scholar, are not contented altogether to make it worth while for any man of a liberal education to take upon him the care of their instruction.

"In our great schools, indeed, this fault 'Mr. Locke, in his celebrated treatise of has been of te years rectified, so that we education, confesses, that there are incon- have at present not only ingenious men for veniences to be feared on both sides: "If," the chief masters, but such as have proper says he, "I keep my son at home, he is in ushers and assistants under them. I must danger of becoming my young master; if I nevertheless own, that for want of the same send him abroad, it is scarce possible to encouragement in the country, we have keep him from the reigning contagion of many a promising genius spoiled and abused rudeness and vice. He will perhaps be in those little seminaries. more innocent at home, but more ignorant 'I am the more inclined to this opinion, of the world, and more sheepish when he having myself experienced the usage of comes abroad." However, as this learned two rural masters, each of them very unfit author asserts, that virtue is much more for the trust they took upon them to disdifficult to be obtained than knowledge of charge. The first imposed much more the world, and that vice is a more stubborn, upon me than my parts, though none of as well as a more dangerous fault than the weakest, could endure; and used me sheepishness, he is altogether for a private barbarously for not performing impossibilieducation; and the more so, because he ties. The latter was of quite another temdoes not see why a youth, with right man-per; and a boy who would run upon his agement, might not attain the same assur-errands, wash his coffee-pot, or ring the ance in his father's house as at a public school. To this end, he advises parents to accustom their sons to whatever strange faces come to the house: to take them with them when they visit their neighbours, and to engage them in conversation with men of parts and breeding.

bell, might have as little conversation with any of the classics as he thought fit. I have known a lad at this place excused his exercise for assisting the cook-maid; and remember a neighbouring gentleman's son was among us five years, most of which time he employed in airing and watering It may be objected to this method, that our master's gray pad. I scorned to comconversation is not the only thing neces-pound for my faults by doing any of these sary; but that unless it be a conversation elegant offices, and was accordingly the with such as are in some measure their best scholar, and the worst used of any boy equals in parts and years, there can be no room for emulation, contention, and several of the most lively passions of the mind; which, without being sometimes moved, by these means, many possibly contract a dulness and insensibility.

in the school.

'I shall conclude this discourse with an advantage mentioned by Quintilian, as accompanying a public way of education, which I have not yet taken notice of; namely, that we very often contract such

friendships at school, as are a service to us | No. 314.] Friday, February 29, 1711-12. all the following parts of our lives.

'I shall give you, under this head, a story very well known to several persons, and which you may depend upon as a real truth.

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Every one, who is acquainted with Westminster-school, knows that there is a curtain which used to be drawn across the room to separate the upper school from the lower. A youth happened, by some mischance, to tear the above-mentioned curtain. The severity of the master* was too well known for the criminal to expect any pardon for such a fault; so that the boy, who was of a meek temper, was terrified to death at the thoughts of his appearance, when his friend who sat next to him bade him be of good cheer, for that he would take the fault on himself. He kept his word accordingly. As soon as they were grown up to be men, the civil war broke out, in which our two friends took opposite sides; one of them followed the parliament, the other the royal party.

'As their tempers were different, the youth who had torn the curtain endeavoured to raise himself on the civil list, and the other who had borne the blame of it, on the military. The first succeeded so well that he was in a short time made a judge under the protector. The other was engaged in the unhappy enterprise of Penruddockt and Groves in the West. I suppose, sir, I need not acquaint you with the event of that undertaking. Every one knows that the royal party was routed, and all the heads of them, among whom was the curtain champion, imprisoned at Exeter. It happened to be his friend's lot at that time to go to the western circuit. The trial of the rebels, as they were then called, was very short, and nothing now remained but to pass sentence on them; when the judge hearing the name of his old friend, and observing his face more attentively, which he had not seen for many years, asked him, if he was not formerly a Westminster scholar? By the answer, he was soon convinced that it was his former generous friend; and without saying any thing more at that time, made the best of his way to London, where, employing all his power and interest with the Protector, he saved his friend from the fate of his unhappy associates.

"The gentleman whose life was thus preserved by the gratitude of his school-fellow, was afterwards the father of a son, whom he lived to see promoted in the church, and who still deservedly fills one of the highest stations in it.' X.

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Tandem desine matrem

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Feb. 7, 1711-12.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a young man about eighteen years of age, and have been in love with a young woman of the same age about this half year. I go to see her six days in the week, but never could have the happiness of being with her alone. If any of her friends are at home, she will see me in their company; but if they be not in the way, she flies to her chamber. I can discover no signs of her aversion; but either a fear of falling into the toils of matrimony, or a childish timidity, deprives us of an interview apart, and drives us upon the difficulty of languishing out our lives in fruitless expectation. Now, Mr. Spectator, if you think us ripe for economy, persuade the dear creature, that to pine away into barrenness and deformity under a mother's shade, is not so honourable, nor does she appear so amiable, as she would in full bloom.'

[There is a great deal left out before he concludes.]

'Mr. Spectator, your humble servant,
BOB HARMLESS."

If this gentleman be really no more than eighteen, I must do him the justice to say, he is the most knowing infant I have yet met with. He does not, I fear, yet understand, that all he thinks of is another woman; therefore, until he has given a farther account of himself, the young lady is hereby directed to keep close to her mother.

THE SPECTATOR.

I cannot comply with the request in Mr. Trot's letter; but let it go just as it came to my hands, for being so familiar with the old gentleman, as rough as he is to him. Since Mr. Trot has an ambition to make him his father-in-law, he ought to treat him with more respect; besides, his style to me might have been more distant than he has thought fit to afford me: moreover, his mistress shall continue in her confinement, until he has found out which word in his letter is not rightly spelt.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-I shall ever own myself your obliged humble servant, for the advice you gave me concerning my dancing; which, unluckily, came too late: for, as I said, I would not leave off capering until I had your opinion of the matter. I was at our famous assembly the day before I received your papers, and there was observed by an old gentleman, who was informed I had a respect for his daughter. He told me I was an insignificant little fellow, and said, that for the future he would take care of his child: so that he did not doubt but to

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