into the business of the world, he has been ar- either sex. The toujours gai appeared even in his rested twice or thrice a-year for debts he had judges, bishops, and privy counselors. In a nothing to do with, but as surety for others; and word, all his men were petits maitres, and all his I remember when a friend of his had suffered in women coque.tes. The drapery of his figures was the vice of the town, all the physic his friend extremely well suited to his faces, and was made took was conveyed to him by Jack, and inscribed up of all the glaring colors that could be mixed "A bolus or an electuary for Mr. Truepenny." together; every part of the dress was in a flutter, Jack had a good estate left him, which came to and endeavored to distinguish itself above the nothing; because he believed all who pretended to demands upon it. This easiness and credulity destroy all the other merit he has; and he has all his life been a sacrifice to others, without ever receiving thanks, or doing one good action. I will end this discourse with a speech which I rest. On the left hand of Vanity stood a laborious workman who I found was his humble admirer, and copied after him. He was dressed like a German, and had a very hard name, that sounded something like Stupidity. heard Jack make to one of his creditors (of whom | The third artist that I looked over was Fan he deserved gentler usage) after lying a whole night in custody at his suit. Sir, your ingratitude for the many kindnesses 1 tasque, dressed like a Venetian scaramouch. He had an excellent hand at chimera, and dealt very much in distortions and grimaces. He would I have done you, shall not make me unthankful sometimes affright himself with the phantoms for the good you have done me, in letting me see there is such a man as you in the world. I am obliged to you for the diffidence I shall have all the rest of my life: I shall hereafter trust no man so far as to be in his debt."-R. And with the shadowy picture feeds his mind. WHEN the weather hinders me from taking my diversions without doors, I frequently make a little party with two or three select friends, to that flowed from his pencil. In short, the most elaborate of his pieces was at best but a terrifying dream; and one could say nothing more of his finest figures, than that they were agreeable monsters. The fourth person I examined was very remarkable for his hasty hand, which left his pictures so unfinished that the beauty in the picture (which was designed to continue as a monument of it to posterity) faded sooner than in the person after whom it was drawn. He made so much haste to dispatch his business, that he neither gave himself time to clean his pencils, nor mix his colors. The name of this expeditious workman was Avarice. Not far from this artist I saw another of a quite different nature, who was dressed in the habit visit anything curious that may be seen under of a Dutchman, and known by the name of Incovert. My principal entertainments of this na-dustry. His figures were wonderfully labored. ture are pictures, insomuch that when I have If he drew the portraiture of a man, he did not found the weather set in to be very bad, I have omit a single hair in his face; if the figure of a taken a whole day's journey to see a gallery that ship, there was not a rope among the tackle that is furnished by the hands of great masters. By this means, when the heavens are filled with clouds, when the earth swims in rain, and all nature wears a lowering countenance, I withdraw myself from these uncomfortable scenes into the visionary worlds of art; where I meet with shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those other objects which fill the mind with gay ideas, and disperse that gloominess which is apt to hang upon it in those dark disconsolate seasons. I was some weeks ago in a course of these diversions, which had taken such an entire possession of my imagination, that they formed in it a short morning's dream, which I shall communicate to my reader, rather as the first sketch and outlines of a vision, than as a finished piece. I dreamt that I was admitted into a long, spacious gallery, which had one side covered with pieces of all the famous painters who are now escaped him. He had likewise hung a great part of the wall with night pieces, that seemed to show themselves by the candles which were lighted up in several parts of them; and were so inflamed by the sunshine which accidentally fell upon them, that at first sight I could scarce forbear crying out "Fire." The five foregoing artists were the most considerable on this side the gallery; there were indeed several others whom I had not time to look into. One of them, however, I could not forbear observing, who was very busy in retouching the finest pieces, though he produced no originals of his own. His pencil aggravated every feature that was before overcharged, loaded every defect, and poisoned every color it touched. Though this workman did so much mischief on the side of the living, he never turned his eye toward that of the dead. His name was Envy. Having taken a cursory view of one side of the living, and the other with the works of the great-gallery, I turned myself to that which was filled est masters that are dead. by the works of those great masters that were On the side of the living, I saw several persons dead; when immediately I fancied myself stand busy in drawing, coloring, and designing. On the side of the dead painters, I could not discover more than one person at work, who was exceed ingly slow in his motions, and wonderfully nice in his touches. ing before a multitude of spectators, and thousands of eyes looking upon me at once: for all before me appeared so like men and women, that I almost forgot they were pictures. Raphael's figures stood in one row, Titian's in another, Guido Rheni's in a third. One part of the wall I was resolved to examine the several artists that stood before me, and accordingly applied was peopled by Hannibal Carracce, another by myself to the side of the living. ving. The first 1 ob- Correggio, and another by Rubens. To be short, served at work in this part of the gallery was there was not a great master among the dead who Vanity, with his hair tied behind him in a ribbon, and dressed like a Frenchman. All the faces he drew were very remarkable for their smiles, and certain smirking air which he be stowed indifferently on every age and degree of a had not contributed to the embellishment of this side of the gallery. The persons that owed their being to these several masters, appeared all of them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the variety of their shapes, THE SPECTATOR. complexions, and clothes; so that they looked like different nations of the same species. Observing an old man (who was the same person I before mentioned as the only artist that was at work on this side of the gallery) creeping up and down from one picture to another, and retouching all the fine pieces that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his motions. I found his pencil was so very light, that it worked imperceptibly, and, after a thousand touches, scarce produced any visible effect in the picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied himself incessantly, and repeated touch after touch without rest or intermission, he wore off insensibly every little disagreeable gloss that hung upon a figure. He also added such a beautiful brown to the shades and mellowness to the colors, that he made every picture appear more perfect than when it came fresh from the master's pencil. I could not forbear looking upon the face of this ancient workman, and immediately by the long lock of hair upon his forehead, discovered him to be Time. Whether it were because the thread of my dream was at an end I cannot tell; but, upon my taking a survey of this imaginary old man, my sleep left me.0. No. 84.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE, 6, 1711. As stern Ulysses must have wept to hear? LOOKING Over the old manuscript wherein the private actions of Pharamond are set down by way of table-book, I found many things which gave me great delight; and as human life turns upon the same principles and passions in all ages, I thought it very proper to take minutes of what passed in that age, for the instruction of this. The antiquary who lent me these papers gave me a character of Eucrate, the favorite of Pharamond, extracted from an author who lived in that court. The account he gives both of the prince and this his faithful friend, will not be improper to insert here, because I may have occasion to mention many of their conversations, into light. " a luxury, should never obtain favor by his means, an "One evening, when Pharamond came into the apartment of Eucrate, he found him extremely dejected: upon which he asked (with a smile that was natural to him), What, is there any one too miserable to be relieved by Pharamond, that Eucrate is melancholy?" 'I fear there is,' answered the favorite: 'A person without, of a good air, well dressed, and though a man in the strength of life, seems to faint under some inconsolable calamity. All his features seem suffused with agony of mind; but I can observe in him, that it is more inclined to break away in tears than rage. I asked him what he would have. He said he would speak to Pharamond. I desired his business. He could hardly say to me, Eucrate, carry me to the king, my story is not to be told twice; I fear I shall not be able to speak it at all.' Pharamond commanded Eucrate to let him enter; he did so, and the gentleman air which spok spoke approached the king with him under the greatest concern in what manner to demean himself. The king, who had a quick discerning, relieved him from the oppression he was under; and with the most beautiful complacency said to him, 'Sir, do not add to that load of sorrow I see in your countenance the awe of my presence. Think you are speaking to your friend. If the circumstances of your distress will I had admit of it, you shall find me so.' To whom the stranger: Oh, excellent Pharamond, name not a friend to the unfortunate Spinamont.* one, but he is dead by my own hand; but, oh Pharamond, though it was by the hand of Spinamont, it was by the guilt of Pharamond. I come not, oh excellent prince, to implore your pardon; I come to relate my sorrow, a sorrow too great for human life to support; from henceforth shall all occurrences appear dreams, or short intervals of amusement from this one affliction, which has my griefs give me leave, that I lay before seized my very being. Pardon me, oh Pharayou in the anguish of good as you are, are guilty of the generous blood spilt this day by this unhappy hand. O that it had perished before that instant! Here the stranger paused, and recollecting his mind, after some little meditation, he went on in a calmer tone and gesture as follows: which these memorials of them may give a mind to retire for Pharamond, when he had an hour or two from the hurry of business and fatigue of ceremony, made putting his hand to his face, placing his arm negligently on a window, or some such action as appeared indifferent to all the rest of the company. Upon such notice, unobserved by others (for their entire intimacy was always a secret), Eucrate repaired to his own apartment to receive the king. There was a secret access to this part of the court, at which Eucrate used to admit many, whose mean appearance in the eyes of the ordinary waiters and doorkeepers made them be repulsed from other parts of the palace. Such as these were let in here by order of Eucrate, and had audiences of Pharamond. This entrance Pharamond called the 'gate of the unhappy,' and the tears of the afflicted who came before him, he would say were bribes received by Eucrate; for Eucrate had the most compassionate spirit of all men living, except his generous master, who was always kindled at the least affliction which was communicated to him. In regard for the miserable, Eucrate took particular care that the proper forms of distress, and the idle pretenders to sorrow, about courts, who wanted only supplies to signal to Eucrate, by mond, if a wounded mind, that you, "There is an authority due to distress, and as none of human race is above the reach of sorrow, none should be above the hearing the voice of it; I am sure Pharamond is not. Know then, that I have this morning unfortunately killed in a duel, the man whom of all men living I mošt loved. I command myself too much in your royal presence, to say Pharamond gave me my friend! Pharamond has taken him from me! I will not say, shall the merciful Pharamond destroy his own subjects? Will the father of his country murder his people? But the merciful Pharamond does destroy his subjects, the father of his coun-booksellers. For this reason, when my friends * Mr. Thornhill, the gentleman here alluded to under the fictitious or translated name of Spinamont, killed Sir Chol mondley Deering, of Kent, Bart., in a duel, May 9, 1711. try does murder his people. Fortune is so much the pursuit of mankind, that all glory and honor is in the power of a prince, because he has the distribution of their fortunes. It is therefore the inadvertency, negligence, or guilt, of princes to let anything grow into custom which is against their laws. A court can make fashion and duty, walk together; it can never, without the guilt of a court, happen that it shall not be unfashionable, to do what is unlawful. But, alas! in the dominions of Pharamond, by the force of a tyrant custom, which is misnamed a point of honor, the duelist kills his friend whom he loves; and the judge condemus the duelist while he approves his behavior. Shame is the greatest of all evils; what avail laws, when death only attends the breach of them, and shame obedience to them? As for me, O Pharamond, were it possible to describe the nameless kinds of compunctions and tendernesses I feel, when I reflect upon the little accidents in our former familiarity, my mind swells into sorrow which cannot be resisted enough to be silent in the presence of Pharamond. (With that he fell into a flood of tears, and wept aloud.) Why should not Pharamond hear the anguish he only can relieve others from in time, to come? Let him hear from me, what they feel who have given death by the false mercy of his administration, and form to himself the vengeance called for by those who have perished by his negligence.'"-R. No. 85.] THURSDAY, JUNE 7, 1711. When the sentiments and manners please, And with sonorous trifles charms our ears.-FRANCIS. take a survey of my library, they are very much surprised to find upon the shelf of folios, two long band-boxes standing upright among my books; till I let them see that they are both of them lined with deep erudition and abstruse literature. I might likewise mention a paper-kite, from which I have received great improvement; and a hat-case which I would not exchange for all the beavers in Great Britain. This my inquisitive temper, or rather impertinent humor of prying into all sorts of writing, with my natural aversion to loquacity, gives me a good deal of employment when I enter any house in the country; for I cannot for my heart leave a room before I have thoroughly studied the walls of it, and examined the several printed papers which are usually pasted upon them. The last piece that I met with upon this occasion gave me most exquisite pleasure. My reader will think I am not serious, when I acquaint him that the piece I am going to speak of was the old ballad of the Two Children in the Wood, which 18 one of the darling songs of the common people, and has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age. This song is a plain simple copy of nature, destitute of the helps and ornaments of art. The tale of it is a pretty tragical story, and pleases for no other reason but because it is a copy of nature. There is even a despicable simplicity in the verse; and yet, because the sentiments appear genuine and unaffected, they are able to move the mind of the most polite reader with inward meltings of humanity and compassion. The incidents grow out of the subject, and are such as are the most proper to excite pity; for which reason the whole narration has something in it very moving, notwithstanding the author of it (whoever he was) has delivered it in such an abject phrase and poorness of expression, that the quoting any of it would look like a design of turning it into ridicule. But though the language is mean, the thoughts, as I have before said, from one end to the other, are natural, and therefore cannot fail to please those who are not judges of language, or those who notwitstanding they are judges of language, have a true and unprejudiced taste of nature. The parents, with the age, innocence, and distress, of the children, are set forth in such tender circumstances, that it is impossible for a reader of common humanity not to be affected with them. for the circumstance of the robin-red-breast, it is indeed a little poetical ornament; and to show the genius of the author amidst all his simplicity, it is just the same kind of fiction which one of the greatest of the Latin poets has made use of upon a parallel occasion; I mean that passage in Horace, where he describes himself when he was a child fallen asleep in a desert wood, and covered with leaves by the turtles that took pity on him. It is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see any written or printed paper upon the ground, to take it up and lay it aside carefully, as not know-condition, speech, and behavior, of the dying ran. ing but it may contain some portion of their AlcoI must confess I have so much of the Mussulman in me, that I cannot forbear looking into every printed paper which comes in my way, under whatsoever despicable circumstances it may appear; for as no mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, knows to what use his works may sometime or other be applied, a man may often meet with very celebrated names in a paper of tobacco. I have lighted my pipe more than once with the writings of a prelate; and know a friend of mine, who, for these several years, has converted the essays of a man of quality into a kind of fringe for his candlesticks. I remember in particular, after having read over a poem of an eminent author on a victory, I met with several fragments of it upon the next rejoicing day, which had been employed in squibs and crackers, and by that means celebrated its subject in a double sapacity. I once met with a page of Mr. Baxter under a Christmas-pie. Whether or no the pastrycook had made use of it through chance or waggery, for the defense of that superstitious viande, I know not; but upon the perusal of it, I conceived so good an idea of the author's piety, that I bought the whole book. I have often profited by these accidental readings, and have sometimes found very curious pieces that are either out of print, or not to be met with in the shops of our London As I have heard that the late Lord Dorset, who had the greatest wit tempered with the greatest candor, and was one of the finest critics as well as the best poets of his age, had a numerous collection of old English ballads, and took a particular pleasure in the reading of them. I can affirm the same of Mr. Dryden, and know several of the most refined writers of our present age who are of the same humor. I might likewise refer my reader to Moliere's thoughts on this subject, as he expressed them in the character of the Misanthrope; but those only who are endowed with a true greatness of soul and genius, can divest themselves of the little images of ridicule, and admire nature in her simplicity and nakedness. As for the little conceited wits of the age, who can only show their judgment by finding fault, they cannot be supposed to admire these productions which have nothing to recommend them but the beauties of nature, when they do not know how to relish even those compositions that, with all the beauties of nature, have also the additional advantages of art.-L. No. 86.] FRIDAY, JUNE 8, 1711. Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! OVID, Met. ii, 447. How in the looks does conscious guilt appear.-ADDISON. THERE are several arts, which all men are in some measure masters of, without having been at the pains of learning them. Every one that speaks or reasons is a grammarian and a logician, though he may be wholly unacquainted with the rules of grammar or logic, as they are delivered in books and systems. In the same manner, every one is in some degree a master of that art which is generally distinguished by the name of Physiognomy: and naturally forms to himself the character or fortune of a stranger, from the features and lineaments of his face. We are no sooner presented to any one we never saw before, but we are immediately struck with the idea of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or good-natured man; and upon our first going into a company of strangers, our benevolence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises naturally toward several particular persons, before we have heard them speak a single word, or so much as know who they are. Every passion gives a particular cast to the countenance, and is apt to discover itself in some feature or other. I have seen an eye curse for half an hour together, and an eyebrow call a man a scoundrel. Nothing is more common than for lovers to complain, resent, languish, despair, and die, in dumb-show. For my own part, I am so apt to frame a notion of every man's humor or circumstances by his looks, that I have sometimes employed myself from Charing-Cross to the Royal Exchange, in drawing the characters of those who have passed by me. When I see a man with a sour riveled face, I cannot forbear pitying his wife: and when I meet with an open ingenuous countenance, think on the happiness of his friends, his family, and relations. I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a stranger, who stood silent in his company, "Speak, that I may see thee." But, with submission, I think we may be better known by our looks than by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily disguised than his countenance. In this case, however, I think the air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it. The truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward disposition of the mind made visible. Those who have established physiognomy into an art, and laid down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded the features much more than the air Martial has a pretty epigram on this subject: Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine læsus: I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds his speculations on the supposition, that as a man hath in the mould of his face a remote likeness to that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, a hog, or any other creature; he hath the same resemblance in the frame of his mind, and is subject to those passions which are predominant in the creature that appears in his countenance. Ac. cordingly he gives the prints of several faces that are of a different mould, and by a little overcharging the likeness, discovers the figures of these several kinds of brutal faces in human features. I remember, in the life of the famous Prince of Condé, the writer observes, the face of that prince was like the face of an eagle, and that prince was very well pleased to be told so. In this case therefore we may be sure, that he had in his mind some general implicit motion of this art of physiognomy which I have just now mentioned; and that when his courtiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he understood them in the same manner as if they had told him, there was something in his looks, which showed him to be strong, active, piercing, and of a royal descent. Whether or no the different motions of the animal spirits, in different passions, may have any effect upon the mould of the face when the lineaments are pliable and tender, or whether the same kind of souls require the same kind of habitations, I shall leave to the consideration of the curious. In the meantime I think nothing can be more glorious than for a man to give the lie to his face, and to be an honest, just, good-natured man, in spite of all those marks and signatures which nature seems to have set upon him for the contrary. This very often happens among those who, instead of being exasperated by their own looks, or envying the looks of others, apply themselves entirely to the cultivating of their minds, and getting those beauties which are more lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece of deformity; and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a system of features as ever was clapped together, which hath appeared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice; in many such cases the soul and body do not seem to be fellows. Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There chanced to be a great physiognomist in his time at Athens, who had made strange discoveries of men's tempers and inclinations by their outward appearances. Socrates' disciples, that they might put this artist to the trial, carried him to their master, whom he had never seen before, and did not know he was then in company with him. After a short examination of his face, the physiognomist pronounced him the most lewd, libidinous, drunken old fellow that he had ever met with in his whole life. Upon which the disciples all burst out a-laughing, as thinking they had detected the falsehood and vanity of his art But Socrates told them, that the principles of his art might be very true, notwithstanding his pre sent mistake; for that he himself was naturally This doubtless refers to Baptista della Porta's famous book De Humana Physiognomia; which has run through many editions, both in Latin and Italian. He died in 1615. inclined to those particular vices which the phy-gine these little considerations and coquetries siognomist had discovered in his countenance, could have the ill consequences I find they have but that he had conquered the strong disposi- by the following letters of my correspondents, tions he was born with, by the dictates of phi- where it seems beauty is thrown into the account, losophy. We are indeed told by an ancient author,f that Socrates very much resembled Silenus in his face; which we find to have been very rightly observed from the statues and busts of both, that are still extant; as well as on several antique seals and precious stones, which are frequently enough to be met with in the cabinets of the curious. But however observations of this nature may sometimes hold, a wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are guilty of toward one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we conceive hatred against a person of worth, or fancy a man to be proud or ill-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too much when we are acquainted with his real character? Dr. Moore, in his admirable System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination to take a prejudice against a man for his looks, among the smaller vices in morality, and, if I remember, gives it the name of a "prosopolepsia."-L. No. 87.] SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1711. It has been the purpose of several of my speculations to bring people to an unconcerned behavior, with relation to their persons, whether beautiful or defective. As the secrets of the Ugly club were exposed to the public, that men might see there were some noble spirits in the age who are not at all displeased with themselves upon considerations which they have no choice in; so the discourse concerning Idols tended to lessen the value people put upon themselves from personal advantages and gifts of nature. As to the latter species of mankind-the beauties, whether male or female-they are generally the most untractable people of all others. You are so excessively perplexed with the particularities in their behavior, that to be at ease, one would be apt to wish there in matters of sale, to those who receive no favor from the charmers. "MR. SPECTATOR, June 4. "After I have assured you I am in every respect one of the handsomest young girls about town, I need be particular in nothing but the make of my face, which has the misfortune to be exactly oval. This I take to proceed from a temper that naturally inclines me both to speak and hear. "With this account you may wonder how I can have the vanity to offer myself as a candidate, which I now do, to the society where the Spectator and Hecatissa have been admitted with so much applause. I don't want to be put in mind how very defective I am in everything that is ugly: I am too sensible of my own unworthiness in this particular, and therefore I only propose myself as a foil to the club. "You see how honest I have been to confess all my imperfections, which is a great deal to come from a woman, and what I hope you will encourage with the favor of your interest. "There can be no objection made on the side of the matchless Hecatissa, since it is certain I shall be in no danger of giving her the least occasion of jealousy; and then a joint stool in the very lowest place at the table is all the honor that is coveted by "Your most humble and obedient servant, "ROSALINDA." "Upon reading your late dissertation concerning idols, I cannot but complain to you that there are, in six or seven places of this city, coffeehouses kept by persons of that sisterhood. These idols sit and receive all day long the adoration of the youth within such and such districts. know, in particular, goods are not entered as they ought to be at the custom-house, nor law reports perused at the temple, by reason of one beauty were no such creatures. They expect so great who detains the young merchants too long near allowances, and give so little to others, that they | 'Change, and another fair one who keeps the stuwho have to deal with them find, in the main, a dents at her house when they should be at study. 1 man with a better person than ordinary, and a beautiful woman, might be very happily changed for such to whom nature has been less liberal The handsome fellow is usually so much a gentleman, and the fine woman has something so becoming, that there is no enduring either of them. It has therefore been generally my choice to mix with cheerful ugly creatures, rather than gentlemen who are graceful enough to omit or to do what they please, or beauties who have charms enough to do and say what would be disobliging in any but themselves. Diffidence and presumption, upon account of our persons, are equally faults; and both arise from the want of knowing, or rather endeavoring to know ourselves, and for what we ought to be valued or neglected. But indeed I did not ima A Greek word, used in the N. T. Rom., ii, 11, and Eph. vi, 9: where it said "God no respecter persons." Here it signifies a prejudice against a person formed from his countenance, ect., too hastily. It would be worth your while to see how the idolaters alternately offer incense to their idols, and what heart-burnings arise in those who wait for their turn to receive kind aspects from those little thrones which all the company, but these lovers, call the bars. I saw a gentleman turn as pale as ashes, because an idol turned the sugar in a teadish for his rival, and carelessly called the boy to to serve him, with a 'Sirrah! why don't you give the gentleman the box to please himself? Certain it is, that a very hopeful young man was ta ken with leads in his pockets below-bridge, where he intended to drown himself, because his idol would wash the dish in which she had but just drunk tea, before she would let him use it. "I am, Sir, a person past being amorous, and do not give this information out of envy or jealousy, but I am a real sufferer by it. These lovers take anything for tea and coffee; I saw one yesterday surfeit to make his court! and all his rivals, at the same time, loud in the commendation of liquors that went against everybody in the |