'It may be objected to this method, that con - N° 313. THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 28. verfation is not the only thing neceffary, but · that unless it be a converfation with fuch as ( are in fome measure their equals in parts and years, there can be no room for emulation, contention, and feveral of the most lively paffions of the mind; which, without being fometimes moved, by thefe means, may poffibly contract a dulness and infenfibility. < C " One of the greatest writers our nation ever produced obferves, that a boy who forms par¿ ties, and makes himself popular in a fchool 6' or a college, would act the fame part with equal eafe in a fenate or a privy-council; and Mr. Ofburn, fpeaking like a man versed in the ways of the world, affirms, that the well laying and carrying on of a defign to rob an orchard, trains up a youth infenfibly to caution, fecrecy, and circumfpection, and fits him for matters of greater importance. Exigite ut mores teneros ceu pollice ducat, Juv. Sat. 7. ver. 237.. Bid him befides his daily pains employ, CH. DRYDEN I Shall give the following letter no other recommendation, than by telling my readers that it comes from the fame hand with that of laft Thursday. SIR, " Send you, according to my promife, fome farther thoughts on the education of youth, in which I intend to difcufs that famous · In short, a private education feems the most natural method for the forming of a virtuous question," Whether the education at a pub-man; a public education for making a man "lic fchool. or under a private tutor, is to be "preferred ?" of bufinefs. The first would furnish out a good fubject for Plato's republic, the latter a member for a community over run with artifice and corruption. As fome of the greatest men in most ages have been of very different opinions in this matter, I fhall give a fhort account of what I *think may be beft urged on both fides, and afterwards leave every person to determine for himself. C It must however be confeffea, that a perfon at the head of a public fchool has fometimes fo many boys under his direction, that it is impoffible 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 fee twenty parents, who, though each expects his fon fhould be made a scholar, are not contented alltogether to make it worth while for any man of a liberal educati · C It is certain from Suetonius, that the Romans thought the education of their children a bufinefs properly belonging to the parents themfelves; and Plutarch, in the life of Marcus Cato, tells us, that as foon as his fon was ⚫ capable of learning, Cato would fuffer no body to teach him but himself, though he had a fer-on to take upon him the care of their in • ftruction. vant named Chilo, who was an excellent grammarian, and who taught a great many other • youths. On the contrary, the Greeks feemed more inclined to public schools and feminaries. A private education promises in the first place virtue and good-breding; a public fchool manly affurance, and an early knowledge in the ways of the world. 6 Mr. Locke, in his celebrated treatise of Edu cation, confeffes that there are inconveniencies to be feared on both fides; "If," fays he, I keep my fon at home, he is in danger of becoming my young mafter; if I fend him abroad, it is fcarce poffible to keep him from "the reigning contagion of rudeness and vice. "He will perhaps be more innocent at home, but more ignorant of the world, and more fheepish when he comes abroad." However, as this learned author afferts, that virtue is much more difficult to be attained than knowledge of the world, and that vice is a more ftubborn, as well as a more dangerous fault than fheepishness he is altogether for a private education; and the more fo, because he does not fee why a youth, with right management, might not attain the fame affurance in his father's houfe, as at a public fchool. To this end he advifes parents to accuftom their fons to whatever strange faces come to the house; to take them with them when they vifit their neighbours, and to engage them in converfation with men of parts and breeding. 6 In our great fchools indeed this fault has been of late years rectified, fo that we have at prefent not only ingenious men for the chief mafters, but fuch as have proper ushers and affiftants under them. I must nevertheless own, that for want of the fame encourage* ment in the country,, we have many a promifing genius fpoiled and abused in thofe little feminaries. C I am the more inclined to this opinion, having myself experienced the ufage of two rural masters, each of them very unfit for the truft they took upon them to discharge. The firft impofed much more upon me than my parts, though none of the weakeft, could endure; and ufed me barbaroufly for not per forming impoffibilities. The latter was of quite another temper, and a boy, who would run upon his errands, wash his coffee-pos, or ring the bell, might have as little converfation with any of the claffics as he thought fit. I have known a lad of this place excufed his exercife for affifting the cook-maid; and re⚫ member a neighbouring gentleman's fon was among us five years, most of which time he employed in airing and watering our master's gray pad. I fcorned to compound for my faults, by doing any of thefe elegant offices, and was accordingly the beft fcholar, and the worst used of any boy in the school.. 6 I fhall conclude this difcourfe with an advantage mentioned by Quintilian, as accompa nying a public way of education, which I ‹ have have not yet taken notice of; namely, that we very often contract fuch friendships at school, 6 as are a fervice to us all the following parts of ⚫ our lives. I fhall give you under this head, a story · very well known to feveral perfons, and which f you may depend upon as real truth. < Every one, who is acquainted with Westminfter-school, knows that there is a curtain which used to be drawn across the room, to fe" parate the upper fchool from the lower. A youth happened, by fome mifchance, to tear the above-mentioned curtain: the feverity of‹ the mafter was too well known for the crimi nal to expect any pardon for fuch a fault; fo that the boy, who was of a meek temper, was terrified to death at the thoughts of his appearance, when his friend who fat next to him, bade him be of good cheer, for that he would take the fault on himfelf. He kept his word accordingly. As foon as they were grown up to be men, the civil war broke out, in which our two friends took the oppofite fides, 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 raife himself on the civil lift, and the other, 'who had borne the blame of it, on the military: the first fucceeded fo well, that he was in a fhort time made a judge under the Protector. The other was engaged in the unhappy enterprife of Penruddock and Grove in the weft. I fuppofe, Sir, I need not acquaint you with the event of that undertaking. Eve'6 ry 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 the western circuit: the trial of the rebels, as they were then called, was very 'fhort, and nothing now remained but to pass fentence on them; when the judge hearing the name of his old friend, and obferving his face more attentively, which he had not feen for many years, asked him, if he was not formerly a Westminster-scholar? By the anfwer, he was foon convinced that it was his former " N° 314 generous friend; and, without faying any thing more at that time, made the beft of his way to Londen, where employing all his power and intereft with the Protector, he faved his friend from the fate of his unhappy affociates. The gentleman, whofe life was thus preferved by the gratitude of his fchool-fellow, was afterwards the father of a fon, whom he lived to fee promoted in the church, and who • ftill deservedly fills one of the highest stations in it.' X FRIDAY, FEB. 29. Tandem define matrem Mr. Spectator, Feb. 7, 1711-12. Am a young man about eighteen years of age, and have been in love with a young woman of the fame age about this half year. 'I go to fee her fix days in the week, but never could have the happiness of being with ler alene. If any of her friends are at home fhe will fee me in their company; but if they be not in the way, the flies to her chamber. I can difcover no figns of her averfion; but either a fear of falling into the toils of matrimony, or C a childish timidity, deprives us of an interview 6 6 < I Hor. Od. 23. 1. 1. ver. 11. Attend thy mother's heels no more, apart, and drives us upon the difficulty of languishing out our lives in fruitless expectation. Now, Mr. Spectator, if you think us ripe for acconomy, perfuade the dear creature, that to 'pine away into barrennefs and deformity under a mother's fhade, is not fo honourable, nor does the appear fo amiable, as he would in 'full bloom. [There is a great deal left out before he con cludes.] • Mr. Spectator, Your humble fervant, Bob Harmless." to this gentleman he really no more than eighthe 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 further account of himself, the young lady is hereby directed to keep close to her mother. The Spectator. I cannot comply with the request of Mr. Trott's letter; but let it go juft as it came to my hands, for being fo familiar with the old gentleman, as rough as he is to him. Since Mr. Trott has an ambition to make him his fatherin-law, he ought to treat him with more refpect; befides, his ftile to me might have been more diftant than he has thought fit to afford me moreover, his mistress fhall continue in her confinement, until he has found out which word in his letter is not rightly spelt. crofs my amorous inclinations. The lady is confined to her chamber, and for my part I " am ready to hang myfelf with the thoughts that I have danced myself out of favour with her father, I hope you will pardon the trouble I give; but fhall take it for a mighty favour, if you will give me a little more of your advice to put me in a right way to cheat the old dragon and obtain my miftrefs. I am once more, • • Sir, Your obliged humble fervant, 1711-12. • Let me defire you to make what alterations you pleafe, and infert this as foon as poffible. • Pardon mistakes by haste.' I T Never do pardon mistakes by haste. SIR, Feb. 27, 1711-12. RAY be fo kind as to let me know what you eftcem to be the chief qualification of a good poet, efpecially of one who writes · plays; and you will very much oblige, Sir, The Spectator. O be a very well bred man. Your very humble fervant, N. B.' of this claim in the audience, and let us know when we may cry "Altra Volto," Anglice, "again, again," for the future. I am an Englishman, and expect fome reafon or other to be given me, and perhaps an ordinary one may ferve;but I exped your anfwer. C that I did not understand a word of what Mr. ⚫ Nicolini faid to this cruel creature; befides I have no ear for mufic; so that during the long I difpute between them, the whole entertain" ment I had was from my eyes; why then have not I as much right to have graceful action repeated as another has a pleafing found, fince he only hears as I only fee, and we neither of us know that there is any reasonable thing a doing? Pray, Sir, fettle the bufinefs The Spectator. Mr. Spectator, Y WOU are to know that I am naturally brave, and love fighting as well as any man in England. This gallant temper of mine makes me extremely delighted with battles on the stage. give you this trouble to complain to you, that Nicolini refufed to ⚫ gratify me in that part of the opera for which I have most taste. I obferve it is become a cuftom, that whenever any gentlemen are particularly pleased with a fong, at their crying ⚫out Encore, or Altro Volto, the performer is fo obliging as to fing it over again. I was at the · opera the last time Hydafpes was performed. At that part of it where the hero engages with the lion, the graceful manner with which he · put that terrible monster to death, gave me fo great a pleasure, and at the fame time fo juft a fenfe of that gentleman's intrepidity and conduct, that I could not forbear defiring a repetition of it, by crying out Altro Volto, in a very audible voice; and my friends flatter me that I pronounced thofe words with a tolerable good accent, confidering that was but the third opera I had ever feen in my life. Yet, ⚫ notwithstanding all this, there was fo little regard had to me, that the lion was carried " off, and went to bed, without being killed any C more that night. Now, Sir, pray confider · · • Mr. Sperator, Nov. 29 Y OV must give me leave, amongst the rest of your temale correfpondents, to addrefs you about an affair which has already 'given you many a fpeculation; and which, I know, I need not tell you have had a very happy influence over the adult part of our fex: but as many of us are either too old to learn, or too obftinate in the purfuit of the vanities, wh ch have been bred up with us from our infancy, and all of us qutting the ftage whilft you are prompting us to act our part well; you ought, methinks, rather to turn your intructions for the benefit of that part of our fex who are yet in their native innocence, and ignorant of the vices and that variety of unhappineffes that reign amongst us. 'I am, Sir, Your most humb le fervant, " I must tell you, Mr. Spectator, that it is as much a part of your office to overfee the education of the female part of the nation, as well as of the male; and to convince the world you are not partial, may proceed to detect the mal administration of governeffes as fuccefsfully as you have expofed that of pedagogues; and f rescue our fex from the prejudice and tyranny of education as well as that of your own, who without your seasonable interpofition are like to improve upon the vices that are now in vogue, +38 " I who know the dignity of your poft, as Spectator, and the authority a fkilful eye ought to bear in the female world, could not forbear 'confulting you, and beg your advice in fo cri < 6 6 tical a point, as is that of the education of young gentlewomen, Having already provid⚫ed myself with a very convenient houfe in a good air, I am not without hope but that you will promote this generous defign. I muft 'farther tell you, Sir, that all who fhall be com'mitted to my conduct, befides the ufual ac'complishments of the needle, dancing, and the French tongue, fhall not fail to be your con'ftant readers. It is therefore my humble peti tion, that you will entertain the town on this important fubject, and so far oblige a stranger, as to raise a curiofity and inquiry in my behalf, by publishing the following advertise ment. 'I am, Sir, Your conftant admirer, 'M. W.' ADVERTISEMENT. "The boarding-school for young gentlewo "men,.which was formerly kept on Mile-End"Green, being laid down, there is now one fet "up almost opposite to it at the two Golden"Balls, and much more convenient in every "refpect; where, befides the common inftruc"tions given to young gentlewomen, they will "be taught the whole art of paftry and pre"ferving, with whatever may render them ac"complished. Those who please to make trial "of <<of the vigilance and ability of the perfons con"cerned, may inquire at the two Golden-Balls, on Mile-End-Green, near Stepney, where they will receive further fatisfaction, <s "This is to give notice, that the Spectator has taken upon him to be vifitant of all boarding"schools where young women are educated; "and defigns to proceed in the faid office after the fame manner that vifitants of colleges do in the two famous universities of this land. "All lovers who write to the Spectator, are "defired to forbear one expreffion which is in "most of the letters to him, either out of lazi"nefs or want of invention, and is true of not "above two thoufand women in the whole "world; viz. She has in her all that is valuable in woman.' T No 315. SATURDAY, March. 1. Nec deus interfit, nifi dignus vindice nodus Now had th' Almighty Father from above High thron'd above all height, bent down his eye, Hor. Ars Poet, ver. 191. Stood thick as ftars, and from his fight receiv' Reaping immortal fruits of joy and loves Never prefume to make a God appear, fion, and in a clearer and ftronger light than I ever met with in any other writer. As thefe points are dry in themselves to the generality of readers, the concife and clear manner in which he has treated them, is very much to be admired, as is likewife that particular art which he has made ufe of in the interfperfing of all thofe graces of poetry, which the fubject was capable of receiving. The furvey of the whole creation, and of every thing that is tranfacted in it, is a profpect worthy of omniscience; and as much above that, in which Virgil has drawn his Jupiter, as the chriftian idea of the Supreme Being is more rational and fublime than that of the heathens. The particular objects on which he is defcribed to have caft his eye, are represented in the moft beautiful and lively manner, ROSCOMMON. ORACE a to confider Hthoroughly the nature and force of his genius. Milton feems to have known perfectly well, wherein his ftrength lay, and has therefore chofen a fubject intirely conformable to thofe talents of which he was mafter. As his genius was wonderfully turned to the fublime, his fubject is the nobleft that could have entered into the thoughts of man. Every thing that is truly great and aftonishing, has a place in it. The whole fyftem of the intellectual world; the chaos, and the creation: heaven, earth, and hell; enter into the conftitution of his poem. Having in the first and fecond books repre fented the infernal world with all its horrors, the thread of his fable naturally leads him into the oppofite regions of blifs and glory. if Milton's majefty forfakes him any where, it is in thofe parts of his poem, where the divine perfons are introduced as fpeakers. One may, I think, obferve, that the author proceeds with a kind of fear and trembling, whilft he defcribes the fentiments of the Almighty. He dares not give his imagination its full play, but chufes to confine himself to fuch thoughts as are drawn from the books of the most orthodox divines and to fuch expreffions as may be inet with in fcrip. ture. The beauties, therefore, which we are to look for in thefe fpeeches, are not of a poetical nature, nor fo proper to fill the mind with fentiments of grandeur, as with thoughts of devotion. The paffions, which they are defigned to raife, are a divine love and religious fear. The particular beauty of the fpeeches in the third book, confifts in that fhortnefs and perfpicuity of ftile, in which the poet has couched the greatest myfteries of christianity, and drawn together, in a regular fcheme, the whole difpenfation of Providence with refpect to man, He has reprefented all the abftrufe doctrines of predeftination, free-will and grace, as alfo the great points of incarnation and redemption, which naturally grow up in a poem that treats of the fall of man, with great energy of expref. No fooner had th' Almighty ceafed, but all (Loud as from numbers without number, fweet As from bleft voices) utt'ring joy, heav'n rung With jubilee, and loud hofannas fill'd Satan's walk upon the outfide of the univerfe, which at a distance appeared to him of a globujar form, but, upon his nearer approach, looked like an unbounded plain, is natural and noble as his roaming upon the frontiers of the creation between that mafs of matter, which was wrought into a world, and that shapeless unformed heap of materials, which ftill lay in chaos and confufion, ftrikes the imagination with fomething aftonishingly great and wild. I have before fpoken of the limbo of vanity, which the poet places upon this outermoft fur face of the univerfe, and fhall here explain myfelf more at large on that, and other parts of the poem, which are of the fame fhadowy na ture. Ariftotle obferves, that the fable of an epic poem fhould abound in circumftances that are both credible and aftonishing; or as the French critics choose to phrafe it, the fable fhould be filled with the probable and the marvellous. This rule is as fine and juft as any in Ariftotle's whole art of poetry." If the fable is only probable, it differs nothing from a true hiftory; if it is only marvellous it is no better than a romance. The great fe cret therefore of heroic poetry is to relate fuch circumstances as may produce in the reader at the fame time both belief and aftonishment. This is brought to pafs in a well chofen fable, by the account of fuch things as have really happened, or at least of such things as have happened according to the received opinions of mankind. Milton's fable is a mafter-piece of this nature; as the war in heaven, the condition of the fallen angels, the ftate of innocence, the temptation of the ferpent, and the fall of man, though they are very aftonishing in themselves, are not only credible, but actual points of faith. feems to have the marvellous without the probable, because it is reprefented as proceeding from natural caufes, without the interpofition of any God, or other fupernatural power capable of producing it. The fpears and arrow's grow of themselves without fo much as the modern help of inchantment. If we look into the fiction of Milton's fable, though we find it full of furprifing incidents, they are generally fuited to our notions of the things and perfons defcribed, and tempered with a due measure of probability. I muft only make an exception to the limbo of vanity, with this epifode of fin and death, and fome of his imaginary persons in his chaos. These paffages are aftonishing, but not credible; the reader cannot fo far impose upon himself as to fee a poffìbility in them; they are the defcription of dreams and fhadows, not of things or perfons. I knew that many critics look upon the ftories of Circe, Polypheme, the Sirens, nay the whole Odyffey and Iliad, to be allegories; but allowing this to be true, they are fables, which confidering the opinions of mankind that prevailed in the age of the poet, might poffibly have been according to the letter. The perfons are fuch as might have acted what is afcribed to them, as the circumstances in which they are reprefented, might poffibly have been truths and realities. This appearance of probability is fo abfolutely requifite in the greater kinds of poetry, that Ariftotle obferves the ancient tragic writers made ufe of the names of fuch great men as had actually lived in the world, though the tragedy proceeded upon adventures they were never engaged in, on purpofe to make the subject more credible. In a word, befides the hidden meaning of an epic allegory, the plain literal fenfe ought to appear probable. The story should be fuch as an ordinary reader may acquiefce in, whatever natural, moral, or political truth may be difcovered in it by men of greater penetration. The next method of reconciling miracles with credibility, is by a happy invention of the poet; as in particular, when he introduces agents of à fuperior nature, who are capable of effecting what is wonderful, and what is not to be met with in the ordinary courfe of things. Ulyffes's fhip being turned into a rock, and Æneas's fleet into a fhoal of water-nymphs, though they are very furprising accidents, are nevertheless probable when we are told that they were the gods who thus transformed them. It is this kind of machinery which fills the poems both of Homer and Virgil with fuch circumftances as are wonderful but not impoffible, and fo frequently produce in the reader the most pleasing paffion that can rife in the mind of man, which is admiration. If there be any inftance in the Eneid liable to exception upon this account, it is in the beginning of the third book, where Aneas is reprefented as tearing up the myrtle that dropped blood. To qualify this wonderful circumftance, Polydorus tells a story from the root of the myrtle, that the barbarous inhabitants of the country having pierced him with fpears, and arrows, the wood which was left in his body took root in his wounds, and gave birth to that bleeding tree. This circumftance * Satan, after having long wandered upon the furface, or outmoft wall of the univerfe, difcovers at lait a wide gap in it, which led into the creation, and is defcribed as the opening through which the angels pafs to and fro into the lower world, upon their errands to mankind. His fitting upon the brink of this paffage and taking a furvey of the whole face of nature that appeared to him new and fresh in all its beauties, with the fimile illuftrating this circumftance, fills the mind of the reader with as furprising and glorious an idea as any that arifes in the whole poem. He looks down into that vaft hollow of the univerfe with the eye, or, as Milton calls it in his first book, with the ken of an angel. He furveys all the wonders in this immenfe amphitheatre that lie between both the poles of heaven, and takes in at one view the whole round of the creation. His flight between the feveral worlds that fhined on every fide of him, with the particular defcription of the fun, are fet forth in all the wantonnefs of a luxuriant imagination. His fhape, fpeech and behaviour upon his transforming himself into an angel of light, are touched with exquifite beauty. The poet's thought of directing Satan to the fun, which in the vulgar opinion of mankind is the most confpicuous part of the creation, and the placing in it an angel, is a circumstance very finely contrived, and the more adjusted to a poetical probability, |
