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body after different manners, so the same aspiring principle within us sometimes breaks forth upon one object, sometimes upon another.

and irregular practices, as sallying out into nocturnal exploits, breaking of windows, singing of catches, beating the watch, getting drunk twice a day, killing a great number of horses; with many other enterprises of the like fiery nature: for certainly many a man is more rakish and extravagant than he would willingly be, were there not others to look on and give their approbation.

It cannot be doubted, but that there is as great a desire of glory in a ring of wrestlers or cudgel-players, as in any other more refined competition for superiority. No man that could avoid it, would ever suffer his head to be broken but out of a principle of honour. This is the secret spring that pushes them forward; and the superiority which they gain above the undistinguished many, does more than repair those wounds they have received in the combat. It is Mr. Waller's opinion, that Julius Cæsar, had he not been master of the Roman empire, would, in all probability, have made an ex-orderly ferments of youthful blood: I mean cellent wrestler:

'Great Julius on the mountains bred,
A flock perhaps or herd had led;

He that the world subdu'd, had been
But the best wrestler on the green.'
That he subdued the world, was owing to
the accidents of art and knowledge; had he
not met with those advantages, the same
sparks of emulation would have kindled
within him, and prompted him to distin-
guish himself in some enterprise of a lower
nature. Since therefore no man's lot is so
unalterably fixed in this life, but that a
thousand accidents may either forward or
disappoint his advancement, it is, methinks,
a pleasant and inoffensive speculation, to
consider a great man as divested of all the
adventitious circumstances of fortune, and
to bring him down in one's imagination to
that low station of life, the nature of which
bears some distant resemblance to that high
one he is at present possessed of. Thus
one may view him, exercising in miniature
those talents of nature, which being drawn
out by education to their full length, enable
him for the discharge of some important
employment. On the other hand, one may
raise uneducated merit to such a pitch of
greatness as may seem equal to the possible
extent of his improved capacity..

One very common, and at the same time the most absurd ambition that ever showed itself in human nature, is that which comes upon a man with experience and old age, the season when it might be expected he should be wisest; and therefore it cannot receive any of those lessening circumstances which do, in some measure, excuse the dis

the passion for getting money, exclusive of the character of the provident father, the affectionate husband, or the generous friend. It may be remarked, for the comfort of honest poverty, that this desire reigns most in those who have but few good qualities to recommend them. This is a weed that will grow in a barren soil. Humanity, goodnature, and the advantages of a liberal education, are incompatible with avarice. It is strange to see how suddenly this abject passion kills all the noble sentiments and generous ambitions that adorn human nature; it renders the man who is overrun with it a peevish and cruel master, a severe parent, an unsociable husband, a distant and mistrustful friend. But it is more to the present purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of the heart, rather than as a vicious affection of the mind. As there are frequent instances to be met with of a proud humility, so this passion, contrary to most others, affects applause, by avoiding all show and appearance; for this reason it will not sometimes endure even the common decencies of apparel. A covetous man will call himself poor, that you may soothe his vanity by contradicting him. Love and the desire of glory, as they are the most natural, so they are capable of being refined into the most Thus nature furnishes man with a gene- delicate and rational passions. It is true, ral appetite of glory, education determines the wise man who strikes out of the secret it to this or that particular object. The paths of a private life, for honour and digdesire of distinction is not, I think, in any nity, allured by the splendour of a court, instance more observable than in the variety and the unfelt weight of public employof outsides and new appearances, which the ment, whether he succeeds in his attempts modish part of the world are obliged to or no, usually comes near enough to this provide, in order to make themselves re-painted greatness to discern the daubing; markable; for any thing glaring or particu- he is then desirous of extricating himself lar, either in behaviour or apparel, is known out of the hurry of life, that he may pass to have this good effect, that it catches the away the remainder of his days in tranquileye, and will not suffer you to pass over the lity and retirement. person so adorned without due notice and It may be thought then but common pruobservation. It has likewise, upon this ac-dence in a man not to change a better state count, been frequently resented as a very for a worse, nor ever to quit that which he great slight, to leave any gentleman out of knows he shall take up again with pleasure; a lampoon or satire, who has as much right and yet if human life be not a little moved to be there as his neighbour, because it sup- with the gentle gales of hopes and fears, poses the person not eminent enough to be there may be some danger of its stagnating taken notice of. To this passionate fondness in an unmanly indolence and security. It is for distinction are owing various frolick some a known story of Domitian, that after he

had possessed himself of the Roman empire, his desires turned upon catching flies. Active and masculine spirits in the vigour of youth neither can nor ought to remain at rest. If they debar themselves from aiming at a noble object, their desires will move downwards, and they will feel themselves actuated by some low and abject passion. Thus, if you cut off the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer it to grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The man indeed who goes into the world only with the narrow views of self-interest, who catches at the applause of an idle multitude, as he can find no solid contentment at the end of his journey, so he deserves to meet with disappointments in his way: but he who is actuated by a nobler principle; whose mind is so far enlarged as to take in the prospect of his country's good; who is enamoured with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, and values not those acclamations which are not seconded by the impartial testimony of his own mind; who repines not at the low station which Providence has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly advance himself by justifiable means to a more rising and advantageous ground; such a man is warmed with a generous emulation; it is a virtuous movement in him to wish and to endeavour that his power of doing good may be equal to his will.

The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent into the world with great abilities, is capable of doing great good or mischief in it. It ought therefore to be the care of education to infuse into the untainted youth early notices of justice and honour, that so the possible advantages of good parts may not take an evil turn, nor be perverted to base and unworthy purposes. It is the business of religion and philosophy not so much to extinguish our passions as to regulate and direct them to valuable wellchosen objects. When these have pointed out to us which course we may lawfully steer, it is no harm to set out all our sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the haven where we would be, it will however prove no small consolation to us in these circumstances, that we have neither mistaken our course, nor fallen into calamities of our own procuring.

Religion therefore (were we to consider it no farther than as it interposes in the affairs of this life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great veneration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part, and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their effects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, correct love, and elegant desire. Z

No. 225.] Saturday, November 17, 1711.
Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia-

Jur. Sat. 1. 365.
Prudence supplies the want of every good.
I HAVE often thought if the minds of men
were laid open, we should see but little
difference between that of the wise man
and that of the fool. There are infinite
reveries, numberless extravagances, and a
perpetual train of vanities which pass
through both. The great difference is that
the first knows how to pick and cull his
thoughts for conversation, by suppressing
some and communicating others; whereas
the other lets them all indifferently fly out
in words. This sort of discretion, how-
ever, has no place in private conversation
between intimate friends. On such occa-
sions the wisest men very often talk like
the weakest: for indeed the talking with a
friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.

Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept delivered by some ancient writers, that a man should live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend; and with his friend in such a manner, that if he became his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, which regards our behaviour towards an enemy is indeed very reasonable, as well as very prudential; but the latter part of it, which regards our behaviour towards a friend, savours more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of conversation with a bosom friend. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, and, as the son of Sirach calls him, ‘a bewraver of secrets," the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him.

Discretion does not only show itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action, and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice.

Nor does discretion only make a man the master of his own parts, but of other men's The discreet man finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe, that it is

Eccles. vi. 9. xxvii. 17.

the discreet man, not the witty, nor the his thoughts to the end of every action, and learned, nor the brave, who guides the con- considers the most distant as well as the versation, and gives measures to the so- most immediate effects of it. He superciety. A man with great talents, but void sedes every little prospect of gain and adof discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fa- vantage which offers itself here, if he does ble, strong and blind, endued with an irre-not find it consistent with his views of an sistible force, which for want of sight is of no use to him.

hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of immortality, his schemes are large and glorious, and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods.

Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular station of life. At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds, Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them. Cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended views, and like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning is a kind of shortsightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who possesses it. Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of instinct, that only looks out after our immediate interest and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understandings: cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same mannner as viva- No. 226.] Monday, November 19, 1711. city is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for wisdom.

I have in this essay upon discretion, considered it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have therefore described it in its full extent; not only as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our whole existence; not only as it is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a reasonable being. It is in this light that discretion is represented by the wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the name of discretion, and sometimes under that of wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter part of this paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time in the power of every one to attain. Its advantages are infinite, but its acquisition easy; or to speak of her in the words of the apocryphal writer, whom I quoted in my last Saturday's paper,* 'Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that love her, and found of such as seek her. She preventeth them that desire her, in making herself first known unto them. He that seeketh her early, shall have no great travel: for he shall find her sitting at his doors. To think therefore upon her is the perfection of wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be without care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, showeth herself favourably unto them in the ways, and meeteth them in every thought.'

-Mutum est pictura poema.

A picture is a poem without words.


I HAVE Very often lamented and hinted

The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, makes him look forward into futurity, and consider what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as my sorrow in several speculations, that the what it is at present. He knows that the art of painting is made so little use of to the When we misery or happiness which are reserved improvement of our manners. for him in another world, lose nothing of consider that it places the action of the their reality by being placed at so great a person represented in the most agreeable distance from him. The objects do not aspect imaginable, that it does not only exappear little to him because they are re-him who is drawn, but has under those feapress the passion or concern as it sits upon mote. He considers that those pleasures tures the height of the painter's imagiand pains which lie hid in eternity, apnation, what strong images of virtue and proach nearer to him every moment, and will be present with him in their full humanity might we not expect would be weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For this reason he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being. He carries


* Wisdom of Solomon, chap. vi. ver. 12-16. †This paper was written for the purpose of promoting subscription to Nicholas Dorigny's set of the Cartoons, which he had got the queen's permission to engrave. The king was so much pleased with the abilities of the artist, that he conferred the honour of knighthood on him.

aspect. The figures of the eleven apostles are all in the same passion of admiration, but discover it differently according to their character. Peter receives his master's

mixed with a more particular attention: the two next with a more open ecstasy, though still constrained by an awe of the divine presence. The beloved disciple, whom I take to be the right of the two first figures, has in his countenance wonder drowned in love; and the last personage, whose back is towards the spectators, and his side towards the presence, one would fancy to be St. Thomas as abashed by the conscience of his fermer diffidence; which perplexed concern it is possible Raphael thought too hard a task to draw, but by this acknowledgment of the diffi

The whole work is an exercise of the highest piety in the painter; and all the touches of a religious mind are expressed in a manner much more forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving eloquence. These invaluable pieces are very justly in the hands of the greatest and most pious sovereign in the world, and cannot be the frequent object of every one at their own leisure: but as an engraver is to the painter what a printer is to the author, it is worthy her majesty's name that she has encouraged that noble artist Monsieur Dorigny, to publish these works of Raphael. We have of this gentleman a piece of the Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a work second to none in the world.

instilled into the mind from the labours of the pencil? This is a poetry which would be understood with much less capacity, and less expense of time, than what is taught by writings; but the use of it is gene-orders on his knees, with an admiration rally perverted, and that admirable skill prostituted to the basest and most unworthy ends. Who is the better man for beholding the most beautiful Venus, the best wrought Bacchanal, the images of sleeping Cupids, languishing nymphs, or any of the representations of gods, goddesses, demigods, satyrs, Polyphemes, sphynxes, or fawns? But if the virtues and vices, which are sometimes pretended to be represented under such draughts, were given us by the painter in the characters of real life, and the persons of men and women whose actions have rendered them laudable or infamous, we should not see a good history-culty to describe it. piece without receiving an instructive lecture. There needs no other proof of this truth, than the testimony of every reasonable creature who has seen the cartoons in her majesty's gallery at Hampton-court. These are representations of no less actions than those of our Blessed Saviour and his apostles. As I now sit and recollect the warm images which the admirable Raphael has raised, it is impossible even from the faint traces in one's memory of what one has not seen these two years, to be unmoved at the horror and reverence which appear in the whole assembly when the mercenary man fell down dead; at the amazement of the man born blind, when he first receives sight; or at the graceless indignation of the sorcerer, when he is struck blind. The l lame when they first find strength in their feet, stand doubtful of their new vigour. The heavenly apostles appear acting these great things with a deep sense of the infirmities which they relieve, but no value of themselves who administer to their weakness. They know themselves to be but instruments; and the generous distress they are painted in when divine honours are offered to them, is a representation in It is certainly the greatest honour we can the most exquisite degree of the beauty of do our country, to distinguish strangers of holiness. When St. Paul is preaching to merit who apply to us with modesty and the Athenians, with what wonderful art diffidence which generally accompanies meare almost all the different tempers of man- rit. No opportunity of this kind ought to kind represented in that elegant audience? be neglected; and a modest behaviour should You see one credulous of all that is said; alarm us to examine whether we do not lose another wrapt up in deep suspense; another something excellent under that disadvantage saying, there is some reason in what he in the possessor of that quality. My skill says; another angry that the apostle de-in paintings, where one is not directed by stroys a favourite opinion which he is the passion of the pictures, is so inconsider unwilling to give up; another wholly con- able, that I am in very great perplexity vinced, and holding out his hands in rapture; when I offer to speak of any performances while the generality attend, and wait for of painters of landscapes, buildings, or sinthe opinion of those who are of leading gle figures. This makes me at a loss how characters in the assembly. I will not pre- to mention the pieces which Mr. Boul extend so much as to mention that chart on poses to sale by auction on Wednesday next which is drawn the appearance of our in Chandos Street: but having heard him blessed Lord after his resurrection. Pre- commended by those who have bought of sent authority, late sufferings, humility and him heretofore, for great integrity in his majesty, despotic command, and divine dealing, and overheard him himself (though love, are at once scated in his celestial | a laudable painter) say, nothing of his own

Methinks it would be ridiculous in our people of condition, after their large bounties to foreigners of no name or merit, should they overlook this occasion of having for a trifling subscription, a work which it is impossible for a man of sense to behold, without being warmed with the noblest sentiments that can be inspired by love, admiration, compassion, contempt of this world, and expectation of a better.

was fit to come into the room with those he had to sell, I feared I should lose an occasion of serving a man of worth, in omitting to speak of his auction. T.

No. 227.] Tuesday, November 20, 1711.
Ο μοι εγω, τι παθώς τι ο δυσσούς; ουχ υπακουεις ή
Τον βασταν απόδος εις κύματα την αλευμαι
Ωπερ τως θύννως σκοπιάζεται Ολπις ο γριπους.
Κηπά μη ποίμνω, το γε μαν τεον αδυ τετυκται.

Theocr. Idyl. iii. 2.

Wretch that I am! ah, whither shall I go? Will you not hear me, nor regard my woe? I'll strip, and throw me from yon rock so high, Where Olpis sits to watch the scaly fry. Should I be drown'd, or 'scape with life away, If cur'd of love, you, tyrant, would be gay.-P. In my last Thursday's paper, I made mention of a place called the Lover's Leap, which I find has raised a great curiosity among several of my correspondents. I there told them that this leap was used to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. This Leucas was formerly a part of Acarnania, being joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which the sea has by length of time overflowed and washed away; so that at present Leucas is divided from the continent, and is a little island in the Ionian sea. The promontory of this island, from whence the lover took his leap, was formerly called Leucate. If the reader has a mind to know both the island and the promontory by their modern titles, he will find in his map the ancient island of Leucas under the name of St. Mauro, and the ancient promontory of Leucate under the name of the Cape of St. Mauro.

'MR. SPECTATOR,-The lover's leap, which you mention in your 223d paper, was generally, I believe,, a very effectual cure for love, and not only for love, but for all other evils. In short, sir, I am afraid it was such a leap as that which Hero took to get rid of her passion for Leander. A man is in no danger of breaking his heart, who breaks his neck to prevent it. I know very well the wonders which antient authors relate concerning this leap; and in particular, that very many persons who tried it, escaped not only with their lives, but their limbs. If by this means they got rid of their love, though it may in part be ascribed to the reasons you give for it; why may we not suppose that the cold bath, into which they plunged themselves, had also some share in their cure? A leap into the sea, or into any creek of salt waters, very often gives a new motion to the spirits, and a new turn to the blood: for which reason we prescribe it in distempers which no other medicine will reach. I could produce a quotation out of a very venerable author, in which the frenzy produced by love is compared to that which is produced by the biting of a mad dog. But as this comparison is a little too coarse for your paper, and might look as if it were cited to ridicule the author who has made use of it; I shall only hint at it, and desire you to consider whether, if the frenzy produced by these two different causes be of the same nature, it may not very properly be cured by the same means. I am, sir, your most humble servant, and well-wisher,


Since I am engaged thus far in antiquity, I must observe that Theocritus in the 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am a young womotto prefixed to my paper, describes one man crossed in love. My story is very long of his despairing shepherds addressing him- and melancholy. To give you the heads of self to his mistress after the following man- it, a young gentleman, after having made ner: Alas! what will become of me? his applications to me for three years toWretch that I am! Will you not hear me? gether, and filled my head with a thousand I'll throw off my clothes and take a leap dreams of happiness, some few days since into that part of the sea which is so much married another. Pray tell me in what part trequented by Olpis the fisherman. And of the world your promontory lies, which though I should escape with my life, I you call the Lover's Leap, and whether know you will be pleased with it." I shall one may go to it by land? But, alas! I am leave it with the critics to determine whe- afraid it has lost its virtue, and that a wother the place, which this shepherd so man of our times would find no more relief particularly points out, was not the above-in taking such a leap, than in singing a mentioned Leucate, or at least some other hymn to Venus. So that I must cry out with lover's leap, which was supposed to have Dido, in Dryden's Virgil: had the same effect. I cannot believe, as all the interpreters do, that the shepherd means nothing farther here than that he would drown himself, since he represents the issue of his leap as doubtful, by adding, that if he should escape with his life, he knows his mistress would be pleased with it: which is, according to our interpretation, that she would rejoice any way to get rid of a lover who was so troublesome to her. After this short preface, I shall present my reader with some letters which I have received upon this subject. The first is sent me by a physician.

Ah! cruel heav'n, that made no cure for love! "Your disconsolate servant, 'ATHENAIS.' 'MISTER SPICTATUR,-My heart is so full of lofes and passions for Mrs. Gwinifrid, and she is so pettish and overrun with cholers against me, that if I had the good happiness to have my dwelling (which is placed by my crete-cranfather upon the pottom of an hill) no farther distance but twenty mile from the Lofer's Leap, I would indeed endeafour to preak my neck upon it on purpose. Now, good Mr. Spictatur

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