Shakspeare was indeed born with all the seeds of poetry, and may be compared to the stone in Pyrrhus' ring, which as Pliny tells us, had the figure of Apollo and the nine Muses in the veins of it, produced by the spontaneous hand of nature, without any help from art. No. 593.] MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1714. Thus wander travelers in woods by night, By the moon's doubtful and malignant light.-DRYDEN. My dreaming correspondent, Mr. Shadow, has sent me a second letter, with several curious observations on dreams in general, and the method to render sleep improving; an extract of his letter will not, I presume, be disagreeable to my readers. 46 Since we have so little time to spare, that none of it may be lost, I see no reason why we should neglect to examine those imaginary scenes we are presented with in sleep, only because they have less reality in them than our waking meditations. A traveler would bring his judgment in question, who should despise the directions of his map for want of real roads in it, because here stands a dot instead of a town, or a cipher instead of a city; and it must be a long day's journey to travel through two or three inches. Fancy in dreams give us much such another landscape of life as that does of countries; and though its appearances may seem strangely jumbled together, we may often observe such traces and footsteps of noble thoughts, as, if carefully pursued, might lead us into a proper path of action. There is so much rapture and ecstasy in our fancied bliss, and something so dismal and shocking in our fancied misery, that, though the inactivity of the body has given occasion for calling sleep the image of death, the briskness of the fancy affords us a strong intimation of something within us that can never die. "I have wondered that Alexander the Great, who came into the world sufficiently dreamed of by his parents, and had himself a tolerable knack at dreaming, should often say that sleep was one thing which made him sensible he was mortal. I, who have not such fields of action in the daytime to divert my attention from this matter, plainly perceive that in those operations of the mind, while the body is at rest, there is a certain vastness of conception very suitable to the capacity, and demonstrative of the force of that divine part in our composition which will last forever. Neither do I much doubt but, had we a true account of the wonders the hero last mentioned performed in his sleep, his conquering this little globe would hardly be worth mentioning. I may affirm, without vanity, that, when I compare several actions in Quintus Curtius with some others in my own noctuary, I appear the greater hero of the two." I shall close this subject with observing, that while we are awake we are at liberty to fix our thoughts on what we please, but in sleep we have not the command of them. The ideas which strike the fancy arise in us without our choice, either from the occurrences of the day past, the temper we lie down in, or it may be the direction of some superior being. vicissitude of sleeping and waking as in the pres ent world, the dreams of its inhabitants would be very happy. And so far at present our dreams are in power, that they are generally conformable to our waking thoughts, so that it is not impossible to convey ourselves to a concert of music, the conversation of distant friends, or any other entertainment which has been before lodged in the mind. My readers, by applying these hints, will find the necessity of making a good day of it, if they heartily wish themselves a good night. I have considered Marcia's prayer, and Lucius's account of Cato, in this light: Marc. O ye immortal powers that guard the just, With easy dreams, remember all his virtues, Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man! Mr. Shadow acquaints me in a postscript, that he has no manner of title to the vision which succeeded his first letter; but adds, that, as the gentleman who wrote it dreams very sensibly, he shall be glad to meet him some night or other, under the great elm-tree, by which Virgil has given us a fine metaphorical image of sleep, in order to turn over a few of the leaves together, and oblige the publ with an account of the dreams that lie under the No. 594.] WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 15, 1714 Qui non defendit, alio culpante; solutos He that shall rail against his absent friends, Tells tales, and brings his friends in disesteem; should find that a great part of them proceed from WERE all the vexations of life put together, we those calumnies and reproaches which we spread abroad concerning one another. There is scarce a man living, who is not, in some degree, guilty of this offense; though at the same time, however we treat one another, it must be confessed, that we all consent in speaking ill of the persons who are notorious for this practice. It generally takes its rise either from an ill-will to esteemed, an ostentation of wit, and vanity of be mankind, a private inclination to make ourselves ing thought in the secrets of the world; or from a desire of gratifying any of these dispositions of mind in those persons with whom we converse. The publisher of scandal is more or less odious to mankind, and criminal in himself, as he is in fluenced by any one or more of the foregoing motives. But, whatever may be the occasion of spreading these false reports, he ought to consider that the effect of them is equally prejudicial and pernicious to the person at whom they are aimed. It is certain the imagination may be so differ-The injury is the same, though the principle from ently affected in sleep, that our actions of the day whence it proceeds may be different. might be either rewarded or punished with a little As every one looks upon himself with too much age of happiness or misery. St. Austin was of indulgence when he passes a judgment on his own pinion that, if in Paradise there was the same thoughts or actions, and as very few would be thought guilty of this abominable proceeding, mon discretion. I shall only add, that whatever which is so universally practiced, and at the same pleasure any man may take in spreading whispers time so universally blamed, I shall lay down three of this nature, he will find an infinitely greater rules, by which I would have a man examine and satisfaction in conquering the temptation he is search into his own heart, before he stands acquit- under, by letting the secret die within his own ted to himself of that evil disposition of mind breast. which I am here mentioning. First of all, Let him consider whether he does not take delight in hearing the faults of others. Secondly, Whether he is not too apt to believe such little blackening accounts, and more inclined to be credulous on the uncharitable than on the good-natured side. Thirdly, Whether he is not ready to spread and propagate such reports as tend to the disreputation of another. These are the several steps by which this vice proceeds and grows up into slander and defamation. In the first place, a man who takes delight in hearing the faults of others, shows sufficiently that he has a true relish of scandal, and consequently the seeds of this vice, within him. If his mind is gratified with hearing the reproaches which are cast on others, he will find the same pleasure in relating them, and be the more apt to do it, as he will naturally imagine every one he converses with is delighted in the same manner with himself. A man should endeavor, therefore, to wear out of his mind this criminal curiosity, which is perpetually heightened and inflamed by listening to such stories as tend to the disreputation of others. In the second place, a man should consult his own heart whether he be not apt to believe such little blackening accounts, and more inclined to be credulous on the uncharitable than on the goodnatured side. Such a credulity is very vicious it itself, and generally arises from a man's consciousness of his own secret corruptions. It is a pretty saying of Thales, "Falsehood is just as far distant from truth as the ears are from the eyes."* By which he would intimate, that a wise man should not easily give credit to the reports of actions which he has not seen. I shall, under this head, mention two or three remarkable rules to be observed by the members of the celebrated Abby de la Trappe, as they are published in a little French book.t The fathers are there ordered never to give an ear to any accounts of base or criminal actions; to turn off all such discourse if possible; but, in case they hear anything of this nature, so well attested that they cannot disbelieve it, they are then to suppose that the criminal action may have proceeded from a good intention in him who is guilty of it. This is, perhaps, carrying charity to an extravagance; but it is certainly much more laudable than to suppose, as the ill-natured part of the world does, that indifferent and even good actions Foceed from bad principles and wrong intentions. In the third place, a man should examine his heart, whether he does not find in it a secret inclination to propagate such reports as tend to the disreputation of another. No. 595.] FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 17:4. -Nature, and the common laws of sense, Or make a snake engender with a dove, And hungry tigers court the tender lambs.-ROSCOMMON Ir ordinary authors would condescend to write as they think, they would at least be allowed the praise of being intelligible. But they really take pains to be ridiculous; and, by the studied ornaments of style, perfectly disguise the little sense they aim at. There is a grievance of this sort in the commonwealth of letters, which I have for sometime resolved to redress, and accordingly I have set this day apart for justice. What I mean is the mixture of inconsistent metaphors, which is a fault but too often found in learned writers, but in all the unlearned without exception. In order to set this matter in a clear light to every reader, I shall in the first place observe, that a metaphor is a simile in one word, which serves to convey the thoughts of the mind under resemblances and images which affect the senses. There is not anything in the world which may not be compared to several things, if considered in several distinct lights; or, in other words, the same thing may be expressed by different metaphors. But the mischief is, that an unskillful author shall run these metaphors so absurdly into one another, that there shall be no simile, no agreeable picture, no apt resemblance; but confusion, obscurity, and noise. Thus I have known a hero compared to a thunderbolt, a lion, and the sea; all and each of them proper metaphors for impetuosity, courage, or force. But by bad management it hath so hap pened, that the thunderbolt hath overflowed its banks, the lion hath been darted through the skies, and the billows have rolled out of the Libyan desert. The absurdity in this instance is obvious. And yet every time that clashing metaphors are put together, this fault is committed more or less. It hath already been said, that metaphors are images of things which affect the senses. An image, therefore, taken from what acts upon the sight, cannot, without violence, be applied to the hearing; and so of the rest. It is no less an impropriety to make any being in nature or art to do things in its metaphorical state, which it could not do in its original. I shall illustrate what I have said by an instance which I have read more than once in controversial writers. "The heavy lashes," saith a celebrated author, "that have dropped from your pen," etc. I suppose this gentleman having When the disease of the mind, which I have frequently heard of "gall dropping from a pen, hitherto been speaking of, arises to this degree of and being lashed in a satire," he was resolved to malignity, it discovers itself in its worst symp. have them both at any rate, and so uttered this tom, and is in danger of becoming incurable. I complete piece of nonsense. It will most effectuneed not, therefore, insist upon the guilt in this ally discover the absurdity of these monstrous last particular, which every one cannot but disap-unions, if we will suppose these metaphors or improve, who is not void of humanity, or even com ages actually painted. Imagine then a hand holding a pen, and several lashes of whipcord falling from it, and you have the true representation of this sort of eloquence. I believe, by this very reprinted in 1682. It is a letter of M. Felibien to the Duchess rule, a reader may be able to judge of the union of all metaphors watsoever, and determine which are St hæi Serm. 61. +Felibien, Description de l'Abbaye de la Trappe, Paris, 1671: of Liancourt. homogeneous, and which are heterogeneous; or to speak more plainly, which are consistent and which inconsistent. There is yet one evil more which I must take notice of, and that is the running of metaphors into tedious allegories; which, though an error on the better hand, causes confusion as much as the other. This becomes abominable, when the luster of one word leads a writer out of his road, and makes him wander from his subject for a page together. I remember a young fellow of this turn, who, having said by chance that his mistress had a world of charms, thereupon took occasion to consider her as one possessed of frigid and torrid zones, and pursued her from the one pole to the other. I shall conclude this paper with a letter written in that enormous style, which I hope my reader hath by this time set his heart against. The epistle hath heretofore received great applause; but after what hath been said, let any man commend it if he dare. "SIR, "After the many heavy lashes that have fallen rom your pen, you may justly expect in return all the load that my ink can lay upon your shoulders. You have quartered all the foul language upon me that could have raked out of the air of Billingsgate, without knowing who I am, or whether I deserved to be cupped and scarified at this rate. I tell you once for all, turn your eyes where you please, you shall never smell me out. Do you think that the panics, which you sow about the parish, will ever build a monument to your glory? No, Sir, you may fight these battles as long as you will; but when you come to balance the account, you will find that you have been fishing in troubled waters, and that au ignis fatuus hath bewildered you, and that indeed you have built upon a sandy foundation, and brought your hogs to a fair market. "I am, Sir, yours," etc. No. 596.] MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1714. Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis. OVID, Ep. XV. 79. Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move.-POPE. THE case of my correspondent, who sends me the following letter, has somewhat in it so very whimsical, that I know not how to entertain my readers better than by laying it before them: "SIR, Middle Temple, Sept. 18. "I am fully convinced that there is not upon earth a more impertinent creature than an importunate lover. We are daily complaining of the severity of our fate to people who are wholly unconcerned in it; and hourly improving a passion, which we would persuade the world is the torment of our lives. Notwithstanding this reflection, Sir, I cannot forbear acquainting you with my own case. You must know then, Sir, that, even from my childhood, the most prevailing inclination I could perceive in myself was a strong desire to be in favor with the fair sex. I am at present in the one-and-twentieth year of my age; and should have made choice of a she bedfellow many years since, had not my father, who has a pretty good estate of his own getting, and passes in the world for a prudent man, been pleased to lay it down as a maxim, that nothing spoils a young fellow's fortune so soon as marrying early; and that no man ought to think of wedlock until six-and-twenty. Knowing his sentiments upon this head, I thought | it in vain to apply myself to women of condition who expect settlements; so that all my amours have hitherto been with ladies who had no fortunes; but I know not how to give you so good an idea of me, as by laying before you the history of my life. "I can very well remember, that at my schoolmistress's, whenever we broke up, I was always for joining myself with the miss who lay-in, and was constantly one of the first to make a party in the play of Husband and Wife. This passion for being well with the females still increased as I advanced in years. At the dancing-school I contracted so many quarrels by struggling with my fellow-scholars for the partner I liked best, that upon a ball-night, before our mothers made their appearance, I was usually up to the nose in blood. My father, like a discreet man, soon removed me from this stage of softness to a school of discipline, where I learnt Latin and Greek. I underwent sev eral severities in this place, until it was thought convenient to send me to the university; though, to confess the truth, I should not have arrived so early at that seat of learning, but from the discovery of an intrigue between me and my master's housekeeper; upon whom I had employed my rhetoric so effectually, that, though she was a very elderly lady, I had almost brought her to consent to marry me. Upon my arrival at Oxford, I found logic so dry, that instead of giving attention to the dead, I soon fell to addressing the living. My first amour was with a pretty girl whom I shall call Parthenope; her mother sold ale by the town-wall. Being often caught there by the proctor, I was forced at last, that my mistress's reputation might receive no blemish, to confess my addresses were honorable. Upon this I was immediately sent home; but Parthenope soon after marrying a shoemaker, I was again suffered to return. My next affair was with my tailor's daughter, who deserted me for the sake of a young barber. Upon my complaining to one of my particular friends of this misfortune, the cruel wag made a mere jest of my calamity, and asked me with a smile, where the needle should turn but to the pole?* After this I was deeply in love with a milliner, and at last with my bed-maker; upon which I was sent away, or, in the university phrase, rusticated forever. "Upon my coming home, I settled to my studies so heartily, and contracted so great a reservedness by being kept from the company I most affected, that my father thought he might venture me at the Temple. "Within a week after my arrival, I began to shine again, and became enamored with a nighty pretty creature, who had everything but money to recommend her. Having frequent opportunities of uttering all the soft things which a heart formed for love could inspire me with, I soon gained her consent to treat of marriage; but unfortunately for us all, in the absence of my charmer I usually talked the same language to her eldest sister, who is also very pretty. Now I assure you, Mr. Spectator, this did not proceed from any real affection I had conceived for her; but, being a perfect stranger to the conversation of men, and strongly addicted to associate with the women, I knew no other language but that of love. I should, however be very much obliged to you if you could free me from the perplexity I am at present in. I have sent word to my old gentleman in the country that I am desperately in love with the younger sister; and her father, who knew no better, poor man, acquainted him by the same post, that I had for some time made my addresses to the elder. Upon *The common sign of a barber's shop this, old Testy sends me up word, that he has No. 597.] WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 22, 1714. -Mens sine pondere ludit.-PETR. The mind uncumber'd plays. SINCE I received my friend Shadow's letter, several of my correspondents have been pleased to send me an account how they have been employed in sleep, and what notable adventures they have | been engaged in during that moonshine in the brain. I shall lay before my readers an abridg. ment of some few of their extravagances, in hopes that they will in time accustom themselves to dream a little more to the purpose. the morning his memory happened to fail him, and he could recollect nothing but an odd fancy that he had eaten his cake: which being found upon search reduced to a few crumbs, he is resolved to remember more of his dreams another time, believing from this that there may possibly be somewhat of truth in them. I have received numerous complaints from several delicious dreamers, desiring me to invent some method of silencing those noisy slaves whose occupations lead them to take their early rounds about the city in a morning, doing a deal of mischief, and working a strange confusion in the affairs of its inhabitants. Several monarchs have done me the the honor to acquaint me how often they have been shook from their respective thrones by the rattling of a coach or the rumbling of a wheelbarrow. And many private gentlemen, I find, have been bawled out of vast estates by fellows not worth three-pence. A fair lady was just on the point of being married to a young, handsome, rich, ingenious nobleman, when an impertinent tinker passing by forbid the hans; and a hopeful youth, who had been newly advanced to great honor and preferment, was forced by a neighboring cobbler to resign_all for an old song. It has been represented to me that those inconsiderable rascals do nothing but go about dissolving of marriages, and spoiling of fortunes, impover ishing rich, and ruining great people, interrupting beauties in the midst of their conquests, and genOne, who styles himself Gladio, complains erals in the course of their victories. A boisterheavily that his fair one charges him with incon- ous peripatetic hardly goes through a street withstancy, and does not use him with half the kind-out waking half a dozen kings and princes, to ness which the sincerity of his passion may de- open their shops or clean shoes, frequently transmand; the said Gladio having by valor and strata-forming scepters into paring shovels, and progem put to death tyrants, enchanters, monsters, clamations into bills. I have by me a letter from knights, etc., without number, and exposed him a young statesman, who in five or six hours came self to all manner of dangers for her sake and to be emperor of Europe, after which he made war safety. He desires in his postscript to know upon the Great Turk, routed him horse and foot, whether, from a constant success in them, he may and was crowned lord of the universe in Constannot promise himself to succeed in her esteem at tinople: the conclusion of all his successes is, that on the 12th instant, about seven in the morning, his imperial majesty was deposed by a chimneysweeper. last. Another, who is very prolix in his narrative, writes me word, that having sent a venture beyond sea, he took occasion one night to fancy himself gone along with it, and grown on a sudden the richest man in all the Indies. Having been there about a year or two, a gust of wind, that forced open his casement, blew him over to his native country again, where awaking at six o'clock, and the change of the air not agreeing with him, he turned to his left side in order to a second voyage; but ere he could get on shipboard, was unfortunately apprehended for stealing a horse, tried and condemned for the fact, and in a fair way of being. executed, if somebody stepping hastily into his chamber, had not brought him a reprieve. This fellow, too, wants Mr. Shadow's advice; who, I dare say, would bid him be content to rise after his first nap, and learn to be satisfied as soon as nature is. The next is a public-spirited gentleman, who tells me, that on the second of September, at night, the whole city was on fire, and would certainly have been reduced to ashes again by this time, if he had not flown over it with the New River on his back, and happily extinguished the flames before they had prevailed too far. He would be in formed whether he has not a right to petition the lord mayor and aldermen for a reward." A letter, dated September the 9th, acquaints me, that the writer, being resolved to try his fortune, had fasted all that day; and, that he might be sure of dreaming upon something at night, procured a handsome slice of bride-cake, which he placed very conveniently under his pillow. In On the other hand, I have epistolary testimonies of gratitude from many miserable people, who owe to this clamorous tribe frequent deliverances from great misfortunes. A small-coalman,* by waking one of these distressed gentlemen, saved him from ten years' imprisonment. An honest watchman, bidding a loud good-morrow to another, freed him from the malice of many potent enemies, and brought all their designs against him to nothing. A certain valetudinarian confesses he has often been cured of a sore throat by the hoarseness of a carman, and relieved from a fit of the gout by the sound of old shoes. A noisy puppy, that plagued a sober gentleman all night long with his impertinence, was silenced by a cinder wench with a word speaking. Instead, therefore, of suppressing this crder of mortals, I would propose it to my readers to make the best advantage of their morning salutations. A famous Macedonian prince, for fear of forgetting himself in the midst of his good fortune, had a youth to wait on him every morning, and bid him remember that he was a man. A citizen who is waked by one of these criers, may regard him as a kind of remembrancer, come to admonish him that it is time to return to the circumstances he has overlooked all the night time, to leave off fancying himself what he is not, and prepare to act suitably to the condition he is really placed in. Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, vol. v. p. 70. The name of this famous musical man was Thomas Britton. People may dream on as long as they please, but | It must indeed be confessed that levity of tem I shall take no notice of any imaginary adventures that do not happen while the sun is on this side the horizon. For which reason I stifle Fritilla's dream at church last Sunday, who, while the rest of the audience were enjoying the benefit of an excellent discourse, was losing her money and jewels to a gentleman at play, until after a strange run of ill-luck she was reduced to pawn three lovely, pretty children for her last stake. When she had thrown them away, her companion went off, discovering himself by his usual tokens, a cloven foot and a strong smell of brimstone, which last proved only a bottle of spirits, which a good old lady applied to her nose, to put her in a condition of hearing the preacher's third head concerning time. If a man has no mind to pass abruptly from his imagined to his real circumstances, he may employ himself awhile in that new kind of observation which my oneirocritical correspondent has directed him to make of himself. Pursuing the imagination through all its extravagances, whether in sleeping or waking, is no improper method of correcting and bringing it to act in subordinacy to reason, so as to be delighted only with such objects as will affect it with pleasure when it is never so cold and sedate. No. 598.] FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1714. Jamne igitur laudas, quod de sapientibus alter Juv. Sat. x. 28. Will ye not now the pair of sages praise, Who the same end pursu'd by several ways? One pitie 1, one condemn'd, the woeful times; One laugh'd at follies, one lamented crimes.-DRYDEN. MANKIND may be divided into the merry and the serious, who both of them make a very good figure in the species, so long as they keep their respective humors from degenerating into the neighbor ing extreme; there being a natural tendency in the one to a melancholy moroseness, and in the other to a fantastic levity. The merry part of the world are very amiable, while they diffuse a cheerfulness through conver per takes a man off his guard, and opens a pass to his soul for any temptation that assaults it. It favors all the approaches of vice, and weakens all the resistance of virtue; for which reason a renowned statesman in Queen Elizabeth's days, after having retired from court and public business, in order to give himself up to the duties of religion, when any of his old friends used to visit him, had still this word of advice in his mouth, "Be serious." An eminent Italian author of this cast of mind, speaking of the great advantage of a serious and composed temper, wishes very gravely, that for the benefit of mankind he had Trophonius's cave in his possession; which, says he, would contribute more to the reformation of manners than all the workhouses and bridewells in Europe. We have a very particular description of this cave in Pausanias, who tells us that it was made in the form of a huge oven, and had many particu lar circumstances, which disposed the person who was in it to be more pensive and thoughtful than ordinary; insomuch, that no man was ever observed to laugh all his life after, who had once made his entry into this cave. It was usual in those times, when any one carried a more than ordinary gloominess in his features, to tell him that he looked like one just come out of Trophonius's cave. On the other hand, writers of a more merry complexion have been no less severe on the opposite party; and have had one advantage above them, that they have attacked them with more turns of wit and humor. After all, if a man's temper were at his own disposal, I think he would not choose to be of either of these parties; since the most perfect character is that which is formed out of both of them. A man would neither choose to be a hermit or a buffoon; human nature is not so miserable, as that we should be always melancholy; nor so happy, as that we should be always merry. In a word, a man should not live as if there was no God in the world, nor, at the same time, as if there were no men in it. Ubique sation at proper seasons and on proper occasions; No. 599.] MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1714. but, on the contrary, a great grievance to society when they infect every discourse with insipid mirth, and turn into ridicule such subjects as are not suited to it. For though laughter is looked upon by the philosopher as the property of reason, the excess of it has been always considered as the mark of folly. Luctus, ubique pavor.-VIRG. En. ii. 369. IT has been my custom, as I grow old, to allow myself in some little indulgences, which I never On the other side, seriousness has its beauty took in my youth. Among others is that of an while it is attended with cheerfulness and human-afternoon's nap, which I fell into in the fifty-fifth ity, and does not come in unseasonably to pall the good-humor of those with whom we converse. These two sets of men, notwithstanding that each of them shine in their respective characters, are apt to bear a natural aversion and antipathy to one another. What is more usual than to hear men of serious tempers, and austere morals, enlarging upon the vanities and follies of the young and gay part of the species, while they look with a kind of horror upon such pomps and diversions as are innocent in themselves, and only culpable when they draw the mind too much? I could not but smile upon reading a passage in the account which Mr. Baxter gives of his own life, wherein he represents it as a great blessing that in his youth he very narrowly escaped getting a place at court. year of my age, and have continued for the three last years past. By this means, I enjoy a double morning, and rise twice a day fresh to my speculations. It happens very luckily for me, that some of my dreams have proved instructive to my countrymen, so that I may be said to sleep, as well as to wake, for the good of the public. I was yester day meditating on the account with which I have already entertained my readers concerning the cave of Trophonius. I was no sooner fallen into my usual slumber, but I dreamed that this cave was put into my possession, and that I gave public notice of its virtue, inviting every one to it who had a mind to be a serious man for the remaining part of his life. Great multitudes immediately resorted to me. The first who made the experiment was a merry-andrew, who was put into my hands by a neighboring justice of the peace, in order to |