their duty, and therefore greater obligations to I fhall therefore produce an inftance of this excellent frame of mind in a speech of Socrates, which is quoted by Erafmus. This great philofopher on the day of his execution, a little before the draught of poifon was brought to him, entertaining his friends with a discourfe on the immortality of the foul, has these words: “Whe"ther or no God will approve of my actions, I "know not; but this I am fure of, that I have "at all times made it my endeavour to pleafe "him, and I have a good hope that this my "endeavour will be accepted by him." We find in thefe words of that great man the habitual good intention which I would here inculcate, and with which that divine philofopher always acted. I thall only add, that Erafmus, who was an unbigotted Roman-catholic, was fo much transported with this paffage of Socrates, that he could fcarce forbear looking upon him as a faint, and defiring him to pray for him; or as that ingenious and learned writer has expreffed himself in a much more lively man.. ner :- "When reflect on such a speech pro"nounced by fuch a perfon, I can scarce forbear "crying out, fancte Socrates, ora pro nobis: O "holy Socrates, pray for us." DRYDEN. Did fome time ago lay before the world the I trading part man- and in There is nothing more ordinary, than that a man who is got into a confiderable station, shall immediately alter his manner of treating all his friends, and from that moment he is to deal with you as if he were your fate. You are no longer to be confulted, even in matters which concern yourfelf; but your patron is of a fpecies above you, and a free communication with you is not to be expected. This perhaps may be your condition all the while he bears office, and when that, is at an end, you are as intimate as ever you were, and he will take it very ill if you keep the diftance he prefcribed you towards him in his grandeur. One would think this fhould be a behaviour a man could fall into with the work grace imaginable; but they who know the world have feen it more than once. I have often, with fecret pity, heard the fame man who has profeffed his abhorrence againft all kind of paffive behaviour, ServitiiJuv. Sat. 3. ver 124. lofe minutes, hours, days, and years in a fruitlefs attendance on one who had no inclination to A long dependence in an hour is loft, befriend him. It is very much to be regretted, that the great have one particular privilege above the reft of the world, of being flow in receiving N° 214. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5. -Perierunt tempora longi warding his merit towards him, is as unjuft in his dealings as he who takes up goods of a tradefman without intention or ability to pay him. Of the few of the clafs which I think fit to confider, there are not two in ten who fucceed, infomuch that I know a man of good fense who put his fon to a blacksmith, though an offer was made him of his being received as a page to a man of quality. There are not more cripples come out of the wars than there are from thofe great fervices; fome through difcontent lofe their fpeech, fome their memories, others their fenfes or their lives; and I feldom fee a man thoroughly discontented, but I conclude he has had the favour of fome great man. I have known of fuch as have beenfor twenty years together within a month of a good employment, but never arrived at the happinefs of being poffeffed of any thing. kind, who fuffer by want of punctuality in the When I fpeak of dependents, I would not be understood to mean thofe who are worthlefs in themselves, or who, without any call, will prefs into the company of their betters. Nor, when I fpeak of patrons, do I mean thofe who either have it not in their power, or have no obligation to affift their friends; but I fpeak of fuch leagues where there is power and obligation on the one part, and merit and expectation on the other. The divifion of patron and client, may, I believe, include a third of our nation; the want of merit and real worth in the client, will ftrike out about ninety-nine in an hundred of thefe; and the want of ability in patrons, as many of that kind. But however, I muft beg leave to fay, that he who will take up another's time and fortune in his fervice, though he has no profpect of re fence. The elevation above the rest of mankind, except in very great minds, makes men fo giddy, that they do not fee after the fame manner they did before: thus they defpife their old friends, and ftrive to extend their interefts to new pretenders. By this means it often happens that when you come to know how you lost such an employment, you will find the man who got it never dreamed of it; but forfooth, he was to be furprifed into it, or perhaps folicited to receive it. Upon fuch occafions as these a man may perhaps grow out of humour; if you are fo, all mankind will fall in with the patron, and you are an humourift and untractable if you are capable of being four at a difappointment: but it is the fame thing, whether you do or do not refent ill ufage, you will be ufed after the fame manner; as fome good mothers will be fure to whip their children until they cry, and then whip them for crying. There are but two ways of doing any thing with great people, and those are by making yourfelf either confiderable or agreeable: the former is not to be attained but by finding a way to live without them, or concealing that you want them; the latter is only by falling into their tafte and pleasures: this is of all the employments in the world the moft fervile, except it happens to be of your own natural humour. For to be agreeable to another, efpecially if he be above you, is not to be poffeffed of fuch qualities and accom plishments plifhments as fhould render you agreeable in yourfelf, but fuch as make you agreeable in refpect to him. An imitation of his faults or a compliance, if not fubfervience, to his vices, must be the measures of your conduct. When it comes to that, the unnatural state a man lives in, when his patron pleases, is ended; and his guilt and complaifance are objected to him, though the man who rejects him for his vices was not only his partner but feducer. Thus the client, like a young woman who has given up the innocence which made her charming, has not only loft his time, but also the virtue which could render him capable of refenting the injury which is done him. * It would be endlefs to recount the tricks of turning you off from themselves to perfons who have lefs power to ferve you, the art of being forry for fuch an unaccountable accident in your behavicur, that fuch a one, who, perhaps, has never heard of you, opposes your advancement; and if you have any thing more than ordinary in you, you are flattered with a whifper, that it is no wonder people are fo flow in doing for a man of your talents and the like. After all this treatment, I muft ftill add the pleasanteft infolence of all, which I have once or twice feen; to wit, that when a filly rogue has thrown away one part in three of his life in unprofitable attendance, it is taken wonderfully ill that he withdraws, and is refolved to employ the reft for himself. When we confider these things, and reflect upon fo many honeft natures, which one, who makes obfervation of what paffes, may have feen, that have mifcarried by fuch fort of applications, it is too melancholy a fcene to dwell upon; therefore I fhall take another opportunity to difcourfe of good patrons, and distinguish such as have done their duty to thofe who have depended upon them, and were not able to act without their favour. Worthy patrons are like Plato's guardian angels, who are always doing good to their wards; but negligent patrons are like Epicurus's gods, that lie lolling on the clouds, and inftead of bleff ings pour down ftorms and tempefts on the heads of those that are offering incense to them. T No 215. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6. Ovid. Ep. 9. 1. 2. de Ponto, v, 47. Ingenuous arts, where they an entrance find, Soften the manners, and fubdue the mind. the art of the ftatuary only clears away the fu-* perfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in the ftone, the fculptor only finds it. What fculpture is to a block of marble, education is to an human foul. The philofopher, the faint, or the hero, the wife, the good, or the great man, very often lie hid and concealed in a ple beian, which a proper education might have difinterred, and have brought to light. I am therefore much delighted with reading the accounts of favage nations, and with contemplating those virtues which are wild and uncultivated; to fee courage exerting itself in fiercenefs, refolution in obftinacy, wifdom in cunning, patience in fullennefs and despair. I Confider an human foul without education like marble in the quarry, which fhews none of its inherent beauties, until the fkill of the polifher fetches out the colours, makes the furface fhine, and difcovers every crnamental cloud, fpot, and vein that runs through the body of it. Education, after the fame manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which without fuch helps are never able to make their appearance. If my reader will give me leave to change the allufion fo foon upon him, I fhall make ufe of the fame inftance to illuftrate the force of education, which Ariftotle has brought to explain his doctrine of fubftantial forms, when he tells us that a statue lies hid in a block of marble; and that Men's paffions operate variously, and appear in different kinds of actions, according as they are more or lefs rectified and swayed by reason. When one hears of negroes, who upon the death of their mafters, or upon changing their fervice, hang themfelves upon the next tree, as it frequently happens in our American plantations, who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it expreffes itself in so dreadful a manner? What might not that favage greatnefs of foul which appears in these poor wretches on many occafions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivated? And what colour of excufe can there be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our fpecies? That we should not put them upon the common foot of humanity, that we should only fet an infignificant fine upon the man who murders them; nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, cut them off from the profpects of happiness in another world as well as in this, and deny them that which we look upon as the proper means for attaining it? Since I am engaged on this fubject, I cannot forbear mentioning a ftory which I have lately heard, and which is fo well attefted, that I have no manner of reason to fufpect the truth of it. I may call it a kind of wild tragedy that paffed about twelve years ago at St. Chriftopher's, one of our British leeward iflands. The negroes who were the perfons concerned in it, were all of them the flaves of a gentleman who is now in England. This gentleman among his negroes had a young woman, who was looked upon as a moft extraordinary beauty by thofe of her own complexion. He had at the fame time two young fellows who were likewife negroes, and flaves, remarkable for the comeliness of their perfons, and for the friendfhip which they bore to one anothe". It unfortunately happened that both of them fell in love with the female negroe above-mentioned, who would have been very glad to have taken either of them for her husband, provided they could agree between themfelves which fhould be the man. But they were both so paffionately in love with her, that neither of them could think of giving her up to his rival; and at the fame time were fo true to one another, that neither of them would think of gaining her without his friend's confent. The torments of thefe two lovers were the difcourfe of the family to which they belonged, who could not forbear obferving the ftrange complication of paffions which perplexed the hearts of the poor negroes, that often dropped expreffions of the uneafinefs they underwent, and how impoffible it was for either of them ever to be happy. After a long ftruggle between love and friendfhip, truth and jealoufy, they one day took a 1 walk together into a wood, carrying their miftrefs along with them: where, after abundance of lamentations, they stabbed her to the heart, of which the immediately died. A flave who was at his work not far from the place where this astonishing piece of cruelty was committed, hearing the fhrieks of the dying perfon, ran to fee what was the occafion of them. He there difcovered the woman lying dead upon the ground, with the two negroes on each side of her, kiffing the dead corps, weeping over it, and beating their breafts in the utmoft agonies of grief and defpair. He immediately ran to the English family with the news of what he had feen; who upon coming to the place faw the woman dead, and the two negroes expiring by her with wounds they had given themselves. We fee in this amazing instance of barbarity, what ftrange diforders are bred in the minds of those men whofe paffions are not regulated by virtue, and difciplined by reafon. Though the action which I have recited is in itfelf full of guilt and horror, it proceeded from a temper of mind which might have produced very noble fruits, had it been informed and guided by a fuitable education. It is therefore an unfpeakable bleffing to be born in thofe parts of the world where wifdom and knowledge flourish; though it must he confeffed, there are, even in thefe parts, feveral poor uninftructed perfons, who are but little above the inhabitants of thofe nations of which I have been here fpeaking; as those who have had the advantage of a more liberal education, rife above one another by feveral different degrees of perfection. For to return to our ftatue in the block of marble, we fee it fometimes only begun to be chipped, fometimes rough-hewn, and but just fketched into an human figure; fometimes we fee the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and features, fometimes we find the figure wrought up to a great elegancy, but feldom meet with any to which the hand of a Phidias or Praxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings. Difcourfes of morality, and reflexions upon human nature, are the best means we can make ufe of to improve our minds, and gain a true knowledge of ourselves, and confequently to recover fouls out of the vice, ignorance, and prejudice, which naturally cleave to them. I have all along profest myself in this paper a promoter of thefe great ends; and I flatter myself that I do from day to day contribute fomething to the polifhing of men's minds: at leaft my design is laudable, whatever the execution may be. I must confefs I am not a little encouraged in it by many letters which I receive from unknown hands, in approbation of my endeavours; and must take this opportunity of returning my thanks to thofe who write them, and excufing myself for not inferting several of them in my papers, which I am fenfible would be a very great ornament to them. Should I publifh the praifes which are fo well penned, they would do honour to the perfons who write them, but my publishing of them would I fear be a fufficient inftance to the world that I did not deserve them. с 6 Your's, A. NOEWILL.' Mr, Spectator, T HE uproar was fo great as foon as I had read the Spectator concerning Mrs. Freeman, that after many revolutions in her temper, of raging, fwooning, railing, fainting, pitying herself, and reviling her husband, upon an accidental coming-in of a neighbouring lad,, who fays the has writ to you alfo, fhe had nothing left for it but to fall in a fit. I had the 'honour to read the paper to her, and have a 'pretty good command of my countenance and temper on fuch occafions; and foon found my 'hiftorical name to be Tom Meggot in your writings, but concealed myself until I faw how it affected Mrs. Freeman. She looked frequently at her husband, as often at me; and fhe did not tremble as fhe filled tea, until the came to the circumftance of Armstrong's writing out a piece of Tully for an opera tune; then the burft out, She was expofed, fhe was deceived, she was wronged and abused. The tea-cup was thrown in the fire; and without taking vengeance on her spouse, she said of me, that I was a pretending coxcomb, a medler that knew not what it was to interpofe in fo nice an affair as between a man and his wife. Το which Mr. Freeman, Madam, were I lefs fond of you than I am, I fhould not have taken this 6 " C way of writing to the Spectator, to inform a woman whom God and nature has placed under my direction, with what I requeft of her; but 'fince you are fo indifcreet as not to take the 'hint which I gave you in that paper, I must tell you, madam, in fo many words, that you have for a long and tedious fpace of time acted a part unfuitable to the fenfe you ought to have of the fubordination in which you are placed. And I must acquaint you once for all that the fellow without, ah Tom! (here the ⚫ footman entered and answered, madam) firrah, do I ," " C · do not you know my voice; look upon me when I speak to you: I fay, madam, this fellow here is to know of me myfelf, whether am at leifure to fee company or not. I am from this hour mafter of this houfe; and my business in it, aud every where elfe, is to behave myself in fuch a manner, as it fhall be hereafter an honour to you to bear my name; and your pride, that you are the delight, the darling and ornament of a man of honour, ufeful and efteemed by his friends; and I no longer one that has buried fome merit in the orld, in compliance to a froward humour which has grown upon an agreeable woman by his indulgence. Mr. Freeman ended this with a tenderness in his afpect and a down-caft eye, which thewed he was extremely moved at the ⚫ anguish he saw her in; for the fat fwelling with paffion, and her eyes fixed on the fire; when I, fearing he would lofe all again, took upon · me to provoke her out of that amiable forrow fhe was in, to fall upon me; upon which I ⚫ faid very seasonably for my friend, that indeed Mr. Freeman was become the common talk of the town; and that nothing was fo much a jest, as when it was faid in company Mr. • Freeman has to come to fuch a Upon which the good lady turned her foftness into downright rage, and threw the fealding 'tea-kettle upon your humble fervant; flew into the middle of the room, and cried out the was the unfortunateft of all women: others ⚫ kept family diffatisfactions for hours of privacy and retirement: no apology was to be made to her, no expedient to be found, no previous · manner of breaking what was amifs in her; but all the world was to be acquainted with her errors, without the least admonition. Mr. Freeman was going to make a foftening fpeech, but I interpofed; look you, madam, I have nothing to fay to this matter, but you ought to confider you are now past a chicken; this humour, which was well enough in a girl, is infufferable in one of your motherly character. With that the loft all patience, and flew di" rectly at her husband's periwig. I got her in my arms, and defended my friend: he making figns at the fame time that it was too much; I beckoning, nodding, and frowning over her 'fhoulder, that he was lost if he did not perfist. In this manner the flew round and round the room in a moment, until the lady I fpoke of above and fervants entered; upon which the fell on a couch as breathlefs. I ftill kept up my friend; but he, with a very filly air, bid them bring the coach to the door, and we went off, I being forced to bid the coachman < drive on. We were no fooner come to my lodgings, but all his wife's relations came to enquire after him; and Mrs. Freeman's mother writ a note, wherein fhe thought never to have feen this day, and so forth. · " In a word, Sir, I am afraid we are upon a thing we have not talents for; and I can ob⚫ ferve already, my friend looks upon me rather as a man who knows a weakness of him that he is afhamed of, than one who has rescued him from flavery. Mr. Spectator, I am but a C young fellow, and if Mr. Freeman fubmits, I fhall be looked upon as an incendiary, and 6. never get a wife as long as I breathe. He has indeed fent word home he fhall lie at Hampstead to-night; but I believe fear of the first C 'onfet after this rupture has too great a place in this refolution. Mrs. Freeman has a very I pretty fifter; fuppofe I delivered him up, and articled with the mother for her bringing him 'home. If he has not courage to ftand it, you · are as great a cafuift, is it such an ill thing to 'bring myself off, as well as I can? What makes me doubt my man, is, that I find he thinks it reasonable to expoftulate at leaft with her; and Capt. Sentry will tell you, if you let your orders be difputed, you are no longer a com'mander. I with you could advise me how to get clear of this bufinefs handfomely. < Your's, 6 • Tom Meggot." C feveral clubs and nocturnal affemblies; but I am a member of a fociety which has wholly efcaped your notice, I mean a club of Sheromps. We take each a hackney-coach, and meet once a week in a large upper chamber, which we hire by the year for that purpofe; our landlord and his family, who are quiet 'people, conftantly contriving to be abroad on < < < our club-night. We are no fooner come together, than we throw off all that modefty and ' refervedness with which our fex are obliged to difguife themfelves in public places. I am not able to exprefs the pleasure we enjoy from 'ten at night until four in the morning, in being as rude as you men can be for your lives. As cur play runs high, the room is immediately filled with broken fans, torn petticoats, lappets, or head-dreffes, flounces, furbelows, garters, and working aprons. I had forgot to tell you at firft, that befides the coaches we come in ourselves, there is one which stands always empty to carry of our dead men, for fo we call all thofe fragments and tatters with 'which the room is ftrewed, and which we pack 6 • Mr. Spectator, N fome of your papers you were pleased to 6 up together in bundles and put into the aforefaid coach: it is no mall diverfion for us to 'meet the next night at fome member's chamber, where every one is to pick out what belonged to her from this confufed bundle of filks, ftufts, laces, and ribbons. I have hitherto given you an account of our diverfion on ordinary club-nights; but must acquaint you further, that once a month we demolish a • prude, prude, that is, we get some queer formal crea⚫ture in among us, and unrig her in an instant. Our last month's prude was fo arm'd and fortified in whalebone and buckram, that we had much ado to come at her; but you would ⚫ have died with laughing to have feen how the fober aukward thing looked when he was ⚫ forced out of her intrenchments. In fhort, Sir, it is impoffible to give you a true notion of our fport, unless you would come one night amongst us; and though it be directly against the rules of our society to admit a male visitant, we repose so much confidence in your fi⚫lence and taciturnity, that it was agreed by the whole club, at our laft meeting, to give you entrance for one night as a spectator. I am your humble fervant, The following letter comes from a gentleman, whofe tafte I find is much too delicate to endure the leaft advance towards romping. I may perhaps hereafter improve upon the hint he has given me, and make it the fubject of a whole Spectator; in the mean time take it as it follows in his own words. ' in all that medley of follies which our fex is 6 C apt to contract from their filly fondness of yours, I read your railleries on us without ' provocation. I can fay with Hamlet, "Man delights not me, "Nor woman neither" Therefore, dear Sir, as you never spare your ' own fex, do not be afraid of reproving what is ridiculous in ours, and you will oblige at leaft one woman, who is · P. S.We shall demolish a prude next Thurf- X day.' " Mr. Spectator, I Am happily arrived at a state of tranquility, which few people envy, I mean that of an ← old maid; therefore being wholly unconcerned Though I thank Kitty for her kind offer, I do not at prefent find in myself any inclination to venture my perfon with her and her romping companions. Ifhould regard myself as a fecond Clodius, intruding on the mysterious rites of the Bona Dea, and fhould apprehend being de- Of whom you talk, to whom, and what, and molished as much as the prude. Have a care where. POOLY. I 'racter of womankind you meant myself, there- Your humble fervant, · Mr. Spectator, I z T is my misfortune to be in love with a young creature who is daily committing faults, which though they give me the utmon uneafinefs, I know not how to reprove her for, or even acquaint her with. She is pretty, dreffes well, is rich, and good-humour'd; but ⚫ either wholly neglects, or has no notion of that which polite people have agreed to diftinguish by the name of Delicacy. After our return from a walk the other day, the threw herself into an elbow-chair, and profeffed before a large company, that "fhe was all over in a " fweat." She told me this afternoon" that her ftomach aked;" and was complaining yesterday at dinner of fomething that" ftuck "in her teeth." I treated her with a basket of fruit laft fummer, which the eat fo very greedi**ly, as almost made me refolve never to fee her more.. In short, Sir, I begin to tremble when⚫ ever I fee her about to speak or move, As the does not want fenfe, if she takes thefe hints I am happy; if not, I am more than afraid, that thefe things which fhock me even in the behaviour of a miftrefs, will appear infupportable in that of a wife. 'I am, Sir, your's, &c.' My next letter comes from a correfpondent whom I cannot but very much value upon the account which he gives of herfelf. • Mr. Spectator, Am wife to a clergyman, and cannot help No 218. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 9. I the ftroll into a little coffee houfe beyond Aldgate; and as I fat there, two or three very plain fenfible men were talking of the Spectator. One faid, that he had that morning drawn the great benefit-ticket; another wished he had; but a third haked his head and faid, it was pity that the writer of that paper was fuch a fort of man, that it was no great matter whether he had it or no. He is, it feems faid the good man, the mot extravagant creature in the world; has run through vaft fums, and yet been in continual want; a man, for all he talks fo well of œconomy, unfit for any of the offices of life by reafon of his profufenefs. It would be an unhappy thing to be his wife, his child, or his friend; and yet he talks as well of thofe duties of life as any one. Much reflexion has brought me to fo cafy a contempt for every thing which is falfe, that this heavy accufation gave me no manner of uneafinefs; but at the fame time it threw me into deep thought upon the fubject of fame in general; and I could not but pity fuch as were fo weak, as to value what the common people fay out of their own talkative temper to the advantage or diminution of those whom they mention, without being moved either by malice or goodwill. It will be too long to expatiate upon the fenfe all mankind have of fame, and the inexpreffible pleafure which there is in the approba tion of worthy men, to all who are capable of worthy actions; but methinks one may divide the general word fante into three different fpecies, as it regards the different orders of mankind who have any thing to do with it. Fame therefore may be divided into glory, which refpects the hero; reputation, which is preferved by every gentleman; and credit, which must be fupported by every tradefman. Thefe poffeffions in fame are dearer than life to thofe characters of men, or rather are the life of these chara&ers. Glory, while the hero purfues great and noble enter prizes, is impregnable; and all the affailarts of NA his |
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