wise, when by custom a fabric, infinitely more grand and finished-that of the universe, stands unobserved by the inhabitants, and the everlasting lamps of heaven are lighted up in vain, for any notice that mortals take of them! Thanks to indulgent nature, which not only placed her children originally upon a level, but still, by the strength of this principle, in a great measure preserves it, in spite of all the care of man to introduce artificial distinctions. To add no more- -is not this fondness for novelty, which makes us out of conceit with all we already have, a convincing proof of a future state? Either man was made in vain, or this is not the only world he was made for: for there cannot be a greater instance of vanity than that to which man is liable, to be deluded from the cradle to the grave with fleeting shadows of happiness. His pleasures, and those not considerable neither, die in the possession, and fresh enjoyments do not rise fast enough to fill up half his life with satisfaction. When I see persons sick of themselves any longer than they are called away by something that is of force to chain down the present thought; when I see them hurry from country to town, and then from town back again into the country, continually shifting postures, and placing life in all the different lights they can think of; " surely," say I to myself," life is vain, and the man beyond expression stupid or prejudiced, who from the vanity of life cannot gather that he is designed for immortality*" [GROVE.] * Dr. Johnson thought this essay one of the finest pieces in the English language.-Boswell's life of Johnson, vol. iii. p. 32. 3d edit. No. 627. WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1714. Tantum inter densas umbrosa cacumina fagos Montibus et sylvis studio jactabat inani. VIRG. Ecl. 2. ver. 3. He, underneath the beechen shade alone, DRYDEN. T HE following account, which came to my hands some time ago, may be no disagreeable entertainment to such of my readers as have tender hearts, and nothing to do. Mr. SPECTATOR, 'A FRIEND of mine died of a fever last week, which he caught by walking too late in a dewy evening amongst his reapers. I must inform you that his greatest pleasure was in husbandry and gardening. He had some humours which seemed inconsistent with that good sense he was otherwise master of. His uneasiness in the company of women was very remarkable in a man of such perfect good breeding; and his avoiding one particular walk in his garden, where he had used to pass the greatest part of his time, raised abundance of idle conjectures in the village where he lived. Upon looking over his papers we found out the reason, which he never intimated to his nearest friends. He was, it seems, a passionate lover in his youth, of which a large parcel of letters he left behind him are a witness. I send you a copy of the last he ever wrote upon that subject, by which you will find that he concealed the true name of his mistress under that of Zelinda. "A LONG month's absence would be insupportable to me, if the business I am employed in were not for the service of my Zelinda, and of such a nature as to place her every moment in my mind. I have furnished the house exactly according to your fancy, or, if you please, my own; for I have long since learned to like nothing but what you do. The apartment designed for your use is so exact a copy of that which you live in, that I often think myself in your house when I step into it, but sigh when I find it without its proper inhabitant. You will have the most delicious prospect from your closet window that England affords; I am sure I should think it so, if the landscape that shews such variety did not at the same time suggest to me the greatness of the space that lies between us. "The gardens are laid out very beautifully; I have dressed up every hedge in woodbines, sprinkled bowers and arbours in every corner, and made a little paradise round me'; yet I am still like the first man in his solitude, but half blest without a partner in my happiness. I have directed one walk to be made for two persons, where I promise ten thousand satisfactions to myself in your conversation. I already take my evening's turn in it, and have worn a path upon the edge of this little alley, while I soothed myself with the thought of your walking by my side. I have held many imaginary discourses with you in this retirement; and when I have been weary, have sat down with you in the midst of a row of jessamines. The many expressions of joy and rapture I use in these silent conversations, have made me for some time the talk of the parish; but a neighbouring young fellow, who makes love to the farmer's daughter, hath found me out, and made my case known to the whole neighbourhood. "In planting of the fruit-trees, I have not forgot the peach you are so fond of. I have made a walk of elms along the river side, and intend to sow all the place about with cowslips, which I hope you will like as well as that I have heard you talk of by your father's house in the country, "Oh! Zelinda, what a scheme of delight have I drawn up in my imagination! What day-dreams do I indulge myself in! When will the six weeks be at an end, that lie between me and my promised happiness! "How could you break off so abruptly in your last, and tell me you must go and dress for the play? If you loved as I do, you would find no more company in a crowd than I have in my solitude. "I am, &c." On the back of this letter is written in the hand of the deceased, the following piece of history: "Mem. Having waited a whole week for an answer to this letter, I hurried to town, where I found the perfidious creature married to my rival. I will bear it as becomes a man, and endeavour to find out happiness for myself in that retirement which I had prepared in vain for a false ungrateful woman.” I am, &c.' No. 628. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1714. Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis ævum. HOR. Ep. ii. 1. 1. ver. 43. It rolls, and rolls, and will for ever roll. Mr. SPECTATOR, THERE are none of your speculations which please me more than those upon infinitude and eternity *. You have already considered that part of eternity which is past, and I wish you would give us your thoughts upon that which is to come. Your readers will perhaps receive greater pleasure from this view of eternity than the former, since we have every one of us a concern in that which is to come: whereas a speculation on that which is past is rather curious than useful. Besides, we can easily conceive it possible for successive duration never to have an end; though, as you have justly observed, that eternity which never had a beginning is altogether incomprehensible; that is, we can conceive an eternal duration which may be, though we cannot an eternal duration which hath been; or, if I may ase the philosophical terms, we may apprehend a potential, though not an actual eternity. This notion of a future eternity, which is natural to the mind of man, is an unanswerable argument that he is *See Nos. 565, 571, 580, and 590. a being designed for it; especially if we consider that he is capable of being virtuous or vicious here: that he hath faculties improveable to all eternity; and, by a proper or wrong employment of them, may be happy or miserable throughout that infinite duration. Our idea indeed of this eternity is not of an adequate or fixed nature, but is perpetually growing and enlarging itself toward the object, which is too big for human comprehension. As we are now in the beginnings of existence, so shall we always appear to ourselves as if we were for ever entering upon it. After a million or two of centuries, some considerable things already past, may slip out of our memory; which, if it be not strengthened in a wonderful manner, may possibly forget that ever there was a sun or planets; and yet, notwithstanding the long race that we shall then have run, we shall still imagine ourselves just starting from the goal, and find no proportion between that space which we know had a beginning, and what we are sure will never have an end. 6 But I shall leave this subject entirely to your own management, and question not but you will throw it into such lights as shall at once improve and entertain your reader. 'I have, inclosed, sent you a translation* of the speech of Cato on this occasion, which hath accidentally fallen into my hands, and which, for conciseness, purity, and elegance of phrase, cannot be sufficiently admired. ACT V. SCENE I. CATO solus, &c. Sic, sic se habere rem necesse prorsus est, *This was done by Mr. (afterwards Dr.) Bland, formerly head master of Eton-school, then provost of the college there, and dean of Durham. 'Cato (says Dr. Johnson) was translated by Salvini into Italian, and acted at Florence; and by the Jesuits of St. Omer's into Latin, and played by their pupils. Of this version a copy was sent to Mr. Addison: it is to be wished that it could be found, for the sake of comparing their version of the soliloquy with that of Bland.' Dr. Johnson's Lives of English Poets, vol. ii. p. 341, 8vo. edit. 1794. |