'May 6. ladies and gentlemen are so much to seek for proper ways of passing time, that they 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I was last Wedare obliged to punchinello for knowing what nesday night at a tavern in the city, among to do with themselves. Since the case is so, a set of men who call themselves "the lawI desire only you would entreat our people yers' club." You must know, sir, this club of quality, who are not to be interrupted in consists only of attorneys; and at this meettheir pleasure, to think of the practice of ing every one proposes the cause he has any moral duty, that they would at least then in hand to the board, upon which each fine for their sins, and give something to member gives his judgment according to these poor children: a little out of their the experience he has met with. If it hapluxury and superfluity would atone, in pens that any one puts a case of which they some measure, for the wanton use of the have had no precedent, it is noted down by rest of their fortunes. It would not, me- their clerk, Will Goosequill (who registers thinks, be amiss, if the ladies who haunt all their proceedings,) that one of them may the cloisters and passages of the play-house go the next day with it to a counsel. This were upon every offence obliged to pay to indeed is commendable, and ought to be the this excellent institution of schools of cha- principal end of their meeting; but had you rity. This method would make offenders been there to have heard them relate their themselves do service to the public. But in methods of managing a cause, their manner the mean time I desire you would publish of drawing out their bills, and, in short, this voluntary reparation which Mr. Powell their arguments upon the several ways does our parish, for the noise he has made of abusing their clients, with the applause in it by the constant rattling of coaches, that is given to him who has done it most drums, trumpets, triumphs, and battles. artfully, you would before now have given The destruction of Troy, adorned with your remarks on them. They are so conHighland dances, are to make up the en-scious that their discourses ought to be tertainment of all who are so well disposed as not to forbear a light entertainment, for no other reason but that it is to do a good action. I am, sir, your most humble servant, RALPH BELFRY. 'I am credibly informed, that all the insinuations which a certain_writer made against Mr. Powell at the Bath, are false and groundless.' kept a secret, that they are very cautious of T. Fallit enim vitium specie virtutis et umbra. Vice oft is hid in Virtue's fair disguise, 'MR. SPECTATOR,-My employment, which is that of a broker, leading me often into taverns about the Exchange, has given me occasion to observe a certain enormity, which I shall here submit to your animadversion. In three or four of these taverns, I have at different times, taken notice of a precise set of people, with grave countenances, short wigs, black clothes, or dark camlet trimmed with black, and mourning No. 373.] Thursday, May 8, 1712. gloves and hat-bands, who meet on certain days at each tavern successively, and keep a sort of moving club. Having often met with their faces, and observed a certain slinking way in their dropping in one after another, I had the curiosity to inquire into their characters, being the rather moved to it by their agreeing in the singularity of their dress; and I find, upon due examination, they are a knot of parish clerks, who have taken a fancy to one another, and perhaps settle the bills of mortality over their half-pints. I have so great a value and veneration for any who have but even an assenting Amen in the service of religion, that I am afraid lest these persons should incur some scandal by this practice; and would therefore have them, without raillery, advised to send the Florence and pullets home to their own houses, and not pretend to live as well as the overseers of the poor. I am, sir, your most humble servant, HUMPHRY TRANSFER.' MR. LOCKE, in his treatise of Human Understanding, has spent two chapters upon the abuse of words. The first and most palpable abuse of words, he says, is when they are used without clear and distinct ideas; the second, when we are so unconstant and unsteady in the application of them, that we sometimes use them to signify one idea, sometimes another. He adds, that the result of our contemplations and reasonings, while we have no precise ideas fixed to our words, must needs be very confused and absurd. To avoid this inconvenience, more especially in moral discourses, where the same word should be constantly used in the same sense, he earnestly recommends the use of definitions. A definition,' says he, is the only way whereby the pre cise meaning of moral words can be known.' | within himself, and from a consciousness of He therefore accuses those of great negli- his own integrity, assumes force enough to gence who discourse of moral things with despise the little censures of ignorance and the least obscurity in the terms they make malice. use of; since, upon the 'forementioned ground, he does not scruple to say that he thinks morality is capable of demonstration as well as the mathematics.' Every one ought to cherish and encourage in himself the modesty and assurance I have here mentioned. A man without assurance is liable to be made uneasy by the folly or ill-nature of every one he converses with. A man without modesty is lost to all sense of honour and virtue. I know no two words that have been more abused by the different and wrong interpretations which are put upon them, than those two, modesty and assurance. To say such a one is a modest man, sometimes indeed It is more than probable that the prince passes for a good character; but at present above-mentioned possessed both these quais very often used to signify a sheepish, awk-lifications in a very eminent degree. Withward fellow, who has neither good breed-out assurance he would never have undering, politeness, nor any knowledge of the world. taken to speak before the most august assembly in the world: without modesty he would have pleaded the cause he had taken upon him, though it had appeared ever so scandalous. Again, a man of assurance, though at first it only denoted a person of a free and open carriage, is now very usually applied to a profligate wretch, who can break through From what has been said, it is plain that all the rules of decency and morality with-modesty and assurance are both amiable, out a blush. and may very well meet in the same perI shall endeavour therefore in this essay to son. When they are thus mixed and blendrestore these words to their true meaning, ed together, they compose what we endeato prevent the idea of modesty from being vour to express when we say a modest confounded with that of sheepishness, and assurance; by which we understand the to hinder impudence from passing for assur-just mean between bashfulness and impudence. ance. I shall conclude with observing, that as the same man may be both modest and assured, so it is also possible for the same to be both impudent and bashful. We have frequent instances of this odd kind of mixture in people of depraved minds, and mean education, who, though they are not able to meet a man's eyes, or pronounce a sentence without confusion, car voluntarily commit the greatest villanies or most indecent actions. Such a person seems to have made a resolution to do ill even in spite of himself, and in defiance of all those checks and restraints his temper and complexion seem to have laid in his way. If I was put to define modesty, I would call it 'the reflection of an ingenious mind, either when a man has committed an action for which he censures himself, or fancies that he is exposed to the censure of others.' For this reason a man truly modest is as much so when he is alone as in company, and as subject to a blush in his closet as when the eyes of multitudes are upon him. I do not remember to have met with any instance of modesty with which I am so well pleased as that celebrated one of the young prince, whose father being a tributary king to the Romans, had several complaints laid against him before the senate, as a tyrant and oppressor of his subjects. The prince went to Rome to defend his father; but Upon the whole I would endeavour to escoming into the senate, and hearing a multi-tablish this maxim, that the practice of virtude of crimes proved upon him, was so op- tue is the most proper method to give a man pressed when it came to his turn to speak, a becoming assurance in his words and acthat he was unable to utter a word. The story tions. Guilt always seeks to shelter itself tells us, that the fathers were more moved in one of the extremes, and is sometimes atat this instance of modesty and ingenuity tended with both. than they could have been by the most pathetic oration, and, in short, pardoned the guilty father, for this early promise of vir- No. 374.] Friday, May 9, 1712. tue in the son. I take assurance to be the faculty of possessing a man's self, or of saying and doing indifferent things without any uneasiness or emotion in the mind. That which generally gives a man assurance is a moderate knowledge of the world, but above all, a mind fixed and determined in itself to do nothing against the rules of honour and decency. An open and assured behaviour is the natural consequence of such a resolution. A man thus armed, if his words or actions are at any time misrepresented, retires X. Nil actum reputans si quid superesset agendum. THERE is a fault, which, though common, wants a name. It is the very contrary to procrastination. As we lose the present hour by delaying from day to day to execute what we ought to do immediately, so most of us take occasion to sit still and throw away the time in our possession, by retrospect on what is passed, imagining we have friends who have been long in my interests. Power is weakened by the full use of it, but extended by moderation. Galbinius is proud, and will be servile in his present fortune: let him wait. Send for Stertinius: he is modest, and his virtue is worth gaining. I have cooled my heart with reflection, and am fit to rejoice with the army to-morrow. He is a popular general, who can expose himself like a private man during a battle; but he is more popular who can rejoice but like a private man after a victory.' already acquitted ourselves, and established nown upon any thing that was past. I shall our characters in the sight of mankind. produce two fragments of his, to demonBut when we thus put a value upon our-strate that it was his rule of life to support selves for what we have already done, any himself rather by what he should perform, farther than to explain ourselves in order to than what he had done already. In the taassist our future conduct, that will give us blet which he wore about hím, the same an over-weening opinion of our merit, to the year in which he obtained the battle of prejudice of our present industry. The Pharsalia, there were found these loose great rule, methinks, should be, to manage notes of his own conduct. It is supposed by the instant in which we stand, with forti- the circumstances they alluded to, that they tude, equanimity and moderation, according might be set down the evening of the same to men's respective circumstances. If our night. past actions reproach us, they cannot be My part is now but begun, and my atoned for by our own severe reflections so glory must be sustained by the use I make effectually as by a contrary behaviour. If of this victory; otherwise my loss will be they are praise-worthy, the memory of greater than that of Pompey. Our personal them is of no use but to act suitably to them. reputation will rise or fall as we bear our reThus a good present behaviour is an im- spective fortunes. All my private enemies plicit repentance for any miscarriage in among the prisoners shall be spared. I will what is past; but present slackness will not forget this, in order to obtain such another make up for past activity. Time has swal- day. Trebutius is ashamed to see me: I lowed up all that we contemporaries did will go to his tent, and be reconciled in yesterday, as irrevocably as it has the ac-private. Give all the men of honour, who tions of the antediluvians. But we are again take part with me, the terms I offered beawake, and what shall we do to-day-to-fore the battle. Let them owe this to their day, which passes while we are yet speaking? Shall we remember the folly of last night, or resolve upon the exercise of virtue to-morrow? Last night is certainly gone, and to-morrow may never arrive. This instant make use of. Can you oblige any man of honour and virtue? Do it immediately. Can you visit a sick friend? Will it revive him to see you enter, and suspend your own ease and pleasure to comfort his weakness, and hear the impertinences of a wretch in pain? Do not stay to take coach, but be gone; your mistress will bring sorrow, and your bottle madness. Go to neither. Such What is particularly proper for the exvirtues and diversions as these are mention- ample of all who pretend to industry in the ed because they occur to all men. But every pursuit of honour and virtue, is, that this man is sufficiently convinced that to sus-hero was more than ordinarily solicitous pend the use of the present moment, and resolve better for the future only, is an unpardonable folly. What I attempted to consider, was the mischief of setting such a value upon what is past, as to think we have done enough. Let a man have filled all the offices of life with the highest dignity till yesterday, and begin to live only to himself to-day, he must expect he will, in the effects upon his reputation, be considered as the man who died yesterday. The man who distinguishes himself from the rest, stands in a press of people: those before him intercept his progress; and those behind him, if he does not urge on, will tread him down. Cæsar, of whom it was said that he thought nothing done while there was left any thing for him to do, went on in performing the greatest exploits, without assuming to himself a privilege of taking rest upon the foundation of the merit of his former actions. It was the manner of that glorious captain to write down what scenes he had passed through, but it was rather to keep his affairs in method, and capable of a clear review, in case they should be examined by others, than that he built a re about his reputation, when a common mind would have thought itself in security, and given itself a loose to joy and triumph. But though this is a very great instance of his temper, I must confess I am more taken with his reflections when he retired to his closet in some disturbance upon the repeated ill omens of Calphurnia's dream, the night before his death. The literal translation of that fragment shall conclude this paper. Be it so, then. If I am to die to-morrow, that is what I am to do to-morrow. It will not be then, because I am willing it should be then; nor shall I escape it because I am unwilling. It is in the gods when, but in myself how, I shall die. If Calphurnia's dreams are fumes of indigestion, how shall I behold the day after to-morrow? If they are from the gods, their admonition is not to prepare me to escape from their decree, but to meet it. I have lived to a fulness of days and of glory: what is there that Cæsar has not done with as much honour as ancient heroes? Cæsar has not yet died! Cæsar is prepared to die.” T. I HAVE more than once had occasion to mention a noble saying of Seneca the philosopher, that a virtuous person struggling with misfortunes, and rising above them, is an object on which the gods themselves may look down with delight. I shall therefore set before my reader a scene of this kind of distress in private life, for the speculation of this day. An eminent citizen, who had lived in good fashion and credit, was, by a train of accidents, and by an unavoidable perplexity in his affairs, reduced to a low condition. There is a modesty usually attending faultless poverty, which made him rather choose to reduce his manner of living to his present circumstances, than solicit his friends in order to support the show of an estate when the substance was gone. His wife, who was a woman of sense and virtue, behaved herself on this occasion with un virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private. The innocent creature, who never suspected his intentions, was pleased with his person; and, having observed his growing passion for her, hoped by so advantageous a match she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting her impoverished relations. One day, as he called to see her, he found her in tears over a letter she had just received from a friend, which gave an account that her father had lately been stripped of every thing by an execution. The lover, who with some difficulty found out the cause of her grief, took this occasion to make her a proposal. It is impossible to express Amanda's confusion when she found his pretensions were not honourable. She was now deserted of all her hopes, and had no power to speak, but, rushing from him in the utmost disturbance, locked herself up in her chamber. He immediately despatched a messenger to her father with the following letter: 'SIR,-I have heard of your misfortunes, and have offered your daughter, if she will live with me, to settle on her four hundred pounds a year, and to lay down the sum for which you are now distressed. I will be so ingenuous as to tell you that I do not intend marriage; but if you are wise, you will use your authority with her not to be too nice, when she has an opportunity of saving you and your family, and of making herself happy. I am, &c.' This letter came to the hands of Amanda's mother. She opened and read it with great surprise and concern. She did not common decency, and never appeared so think it proper to explain herself to the amiable in his eyes as now. Instead of up-messenger, but, desiring him to call again braiding him with the ample fortune she the next morning, she wrote to her daugh had brought, or the many great offers she ter as follows: had refused for his sake, she redoubled all the instances of her affection, while her 'DEAREST CHILD,-Your father and I husband was continually pouring out his have just received a letter from a gentleheart to her in complaints that he had ruin- man who pretends love to you, with a proed the best woman in the world. He some-posal that insults our misfortunes, and times came home at a time when she did not expect him, and surprised her in tears, which she endeavoured to conceal, and always put on an air of cheerfulness to receive him. To lessen their expense, their eldest daughter, (whom I shall call Amanda) was sent into the country, to the house of an honest farmer, who had married a servant of the family. This young woman was apprehensive of the ruin which was approaching, and had privately engaged a friend in the neighbourhood to give her an account of what passed from time to time in her father's affairs. Amanda was in the bloom of her youth and beauty, when the Lord of the manor, who often called in at the farmer's house as he followed his coun- "I have been interrupted: I know not try sports, fell passionately in love with how I was moved to say things would mend. her. He was a man of great generosity, As I was going on, I was startled by the but from a loose education, had contracted noise of one that knocked at the door, and a hearty aversion to marriage. He there- hath brought us an unexpected supply of a fore entertained a design upon Amanda's debt which has long been owing. Oh! I would throw us to a lower degree of misery than any thing which is come upon us. How could this barbarous man think that the tenderest of parents would be tempted to supply their wants by giving up the best of children to infamy and ruin? It is a mean and cruel artifice to make this proposal at a time when he thinks our necessities must compel us to any thing; but we will not eat the bread of shame; and therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid the snare which is laid for thy virtue. Beware of pitying us: it is not so bad as you perhaps have been told. All things will yet be well, and I shall write my child better news. will now tell thee all. It is some days I have soon after went up to town himself to com- time was infinitely surprised to find his offers rejected. However, he resolved not to suppress the letter, but carefully sealed it up again, and carried it to Amanda. All his endeavours to see her were in vain till Pavone ex Pythagoreo. From the Pythagorean peacock. Pers. Sat. vi. 11. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I have observed that the officer you some time ago appointed, as inspector of signs, has not done his duty so well as to give you an account of very many strange occurrences in the public streets, which are worthy of, but have escaped, The messenger, notwithstanding he pro-I have ever met with, that which I am now your notice. Among all the oddnesses which mised to deliver this letter to Amanda, telling you gave me most delight. You carried it first to his master, who he ima- must have observed that all the criers in gined would be glad to have an oppor- the street attract the attention of the pastunity of giving it into her hands himself. sengers, and of the inhabitants in the seveHis master was impatient to know the suc-ral parts, by something very particular in cess of his proposal, and therefore broke their tone itself, in the dwelling upon a note, open the letter privately to see the contents. He was not a little moved at so true a pic-ligible by a scream. or else making themselves wholly unintelThe person I am so ture of virtue in distress; but at the same delighted with has nothing to sell, but very for no other merit but the homage they pay gravely receives the bounty of the people, to his manner of signifying to them that he wants a subsidy. You must sure have heard speak of an old man who walks about the city, and that part of the suburbs which office of a day-watchman, followed by a lies beyond the Tower, performing the goose, which bears the bob of his ditty, and confirms what he says with a Quack, of this known circumstance, till, being the quack. I gave little heed to the mention other day in those quarters, I passed by a decrepit old fellow with a pole in his hand, hour after one o'clock!' and immediately who just then was bawling out, Half an a dirty goose behind made her response, Quack, quack.' I could not forbear attending this grave procession for the length of half a street, with no small amazement to find the whole place so familiarly acquainted with a melancholy mid-night voice at noon-day, giving them the hour, and exhorting them of the departure of time, with a bounce at their doors. While I was full of this novelty, I went into a friend's house, and told him how I was diverted with their whimsical monitor and his equipage. My friend gave me the history; and interrupted my commendation of the man, by telling me the livelihood of these two animals is purchased rather by the good parts of the goose than of the leader; for it seems the peripatetic who walked before her was a watchThis letter he sent by his steward, and man in that neighbourhood; and the goose, of she was assured he brought a letter from her mother. He would not part with it but upon condition that she would read it without leaving the room. While she was perusing it, he fixed his eyes on her face with the deepest attention. Her concern gave a new softness to her beauty, and, when she burst into tears, he could no longer refrain from bearing a part in her sorrow, and telling her, that he too had read the letter, and was resolved to make reparation for having been the occasion of it. My reader will not be displeased to see the second epistle which he now wrote to Amanda's mother. 'MADAM,—I am full of shame, and will never forgive myself if I have not your pardon for what I lately wrote. It was far from my intention to add trouble to the afflicted; nor could any thing but my being a stranger to you have betrayed me into a fault, for which, if I live, I shall endeavour to make you amends, as a son. You cannot be unhappy while Amanda is your daughter; nor shall be, if any thing can prevent it which is in the power of, madam, your most obedient humble servant, |