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w of the vigilance and ability of tlie persons con. fion, and in a clearer and stronger light than I • cerned, may inquire at the two Golden-Balls, ever met with in any other writer. As there

on Mile-End-Green, near Stepney, where they points are dry in themselves to the generality of « will receive further satisfaction.

readers, the concise and clear manner in which “This is to give notice, that the Speatatox has he has treated them, is very much to be ad$s taken upon him to be visitant of all boarding- mired, as is likewise that particular art which “ schools where young women are educated; he has made use of in the interspersing of all « and designs to proceed in the said office after those graces of poetry, which the subject was « the same manner ebat visitants of colleges do capable of receiving: s in the two famous universities of this land.

The survey of the whole creation, and of “ All lovers who write to the Spectator, are every thing that is transacted in it, is a prospect \ desired to forbear one expression which is in worthy of omniscience; and as much above " most of the letters to him, either out of lazia that, in which Virgil has drawn his Jupiter, as “ress or want of invention, and is true of not the chriftian idea of the Supreme Being is more 4, above two thousand women in the whole rational and sublime than that of the heathens. 5 world; viz. • She has in ber all that is va, The particular objects on which he is described Juable in woman.'

T to have cast his eye, are represented in the moit

beautiful and lively manner, N°315. SATURDAY, March. i. Now had th' Almighty Father from above

From the pure Empyrean where he fits

High thron'd above all height, bent down his eye, Nec deus interfit, nisi dignus vindice nodus

His own works and their works at once to view. Inciderim

About him all the fan&tities of heav'n Hor. Ars Poet, ver. 198. Stood thick as ftars, and from his fight receiv Never presume to make a God appear,

Beatitude paft htt'rance: on his right But for a business worthy of a God.

The radiant image of his glory lat,

ROSCOMMON. His only fon. On earth he first beheld
ORACE advises, a poet to consider of mankind, in the happy garden placed

Our two first parents, yet the only two
genius. Milton seems to have known perfe&tly Uninterrupted joy, unrival'd love,
well, wherein his strength lay, and has therefore in blissful solitude. He then furvey'd
chosen a subject intirely conformable.co

those Hell and the gulph between, and Satan there talents of which he was master. As biş

. genius Coasting the wall of heav'n on this fide night, was wonderfully turned to the fublime, his sub- In the dun air sublime; and ready now ject is the nobleft that could have entered into To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet the thoughts of man. Every thing that is truly. On the bare outside of this world, that seem'd great and astonishing, has a place in it. The Firm land imbofom'd without firmaments whole system of the intellectual world; the Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. chaos, and the creation : heaven, earth, and Him God beholding from his prospect high, hell; enter into the constitution of his poem. Having in the first and second books repre. Thus to his only fon foreseeing spake,

Wherein past, present, future he beholds, fented the infernal world with all its horrors, the thread of his fable naturally leads him into the Satan's approach to the confines of the crea. opposite regions of blifs and glory.

tion is finely imaged in the beginning of the if Milton's majefty forfakes him any where, speech which immediately follows, The effects {t is in those parts of his poem, where the divine of this speech in the blessed fpirits, and in the persons are introduced as fpeakers. One máy, I divine person to whom it was addressed, cannot think, observe, that the author proceeds with a but fill the mind of the reader with a secret pleakind of fear and trembling, whilst he describes fure and complacency, the sentiments of the Almighty. He dares not give his imagination its full play, but chuses to Thus while God spake, ambrofiad fragrance fill'd confine himself to fich thoughts as are drawn All heav'n, and in the blessed fpirits elect from the books of the most orthodox divines and Sense of new joy ineffable diffus'd. to such expressions as may be met with in Scrip. Beyond compare the Son of God was seen

The beauties, therefore, which we are Moft glorious; in him all his Father Mone to look for in these fpeeches, are not of a poet; Substantially express'd; and in his face cal nature, nor fo proper to fill the mind with Divine compassion visibly appear'd, sentiments of grandeur, as with thoughes of Love without end, and without measure grace, devotion. The passions, which they are de

I need not point out the beauty of that cir. figned to raise, are a divine love and religious cumstance, wherein the whole host of angels fear. The particular beauty of the speeches in

are represented as standing mute ; nor shew how the third book, consists in that shortness and proper the occasion was to produce fuch a fiperfpicuity of Aile, in which the poet has couched lence in heaven. The close of this divine collo, the greatest mysteries of christianity, and drawn together, in a regular scheme, the whole dis quy; with the hymn of angels that follows up

on it, are so wonderfully beautiful and poetical, penfation of Providence with respect to man,

that I should not forbear inserting the whole He has represented all the abftrufe doctrines of passage, if the bounds of my paper would give predestination, free-will and grace, as also the great points of incarnation and redemption, which naturally grow up in a poem that treats No sooner had th' Almighty ceased, but all of the fall of man; with great energy of expref. The multitude of angels with a mous


me leave.


(Loud as from numbers without number, seems to have the marvellous without the prosweet

bable, because it is represented as proceeding As from bleft voices) utt'ring joy, heav'n from natural causes, without the interpofition rung

of any God, or other supernatural power capaWith jubilee, and loud hosannas fill'd ble of producing it. The spears and arrow's Th' eternal regions ; &c. &c.

grow of themselves without so much as the moSatan's walk upon the outside of the universe, fiction of Milton's fable, though we find it full

dern help of inchantment. If we look into the which at a distance appeared to him of a glo- of surprising incidents, they are generally suited bular form, but, upon his nearer approach, to our notions of the things and persons delooked like an unbounded plain, is natural and noble: as his roaming upon the frontiers of the fcribed, and tempered with a due measure of procreation between that mass of matter, which bability. I must only make an exception to the

limbo of vanity, with this episode of fin and was wrought into a world, and that mapeless death, and some of his imaginary persons in his unformed heap of materials, which still lay in

chaos. These paffages are astonishing, but not chaos and confusion, strikes the imagination credible; the reader cannot so far impofe upon with something astonishingly great and wild: ! himself as to see a posibility in them; they are have before spoken of the limbo of vanity, the description of dreams and shadows, not of which

the poet places upon this outermost fur- things or persons. I know that many critics face of the universe, and Mall here explain my look upon the stories of Circe, Polypireme, the self more at large on that, and other parts of Sirens, nay the whole Odyssey and Iliad, to be the poem, which are of the same Madowy na allegories

; but allowing this to be true, they ture. Aristotle observes, that the fable of an epic mankind that prevailed in the age of the poet,

are fables, which considering the opinions of poem should abound in circumstances that are might possibly have been according to the letter. both credible and attonithing; or as the French The persons are such as might have acted what critics choose to phrase it, the fable should be

is ascribed to them, as the circumstances in filled with the probable and the marvellous. which they are represented, might possibly have This rule is as fine and just as any in Aristotle's been truths and realities. This appearance of whole art of poetry.'

probability is so absolutely requisite in the greatIf the fable is only probable, it differs nothing er kinds of poetry, that Aristotle observes the froin a true history ; if it is only marvellous ancient tragic writers made use of the names it is no better than a romance. The great fe- of such great men as had actually lived in the cret therefore of heroic poetry is to relate such world, though the tragedy proceeded upon adcircumstances as may produce in the reader at

ventures they were never engaged in, on pura the same time both belief and aftonishment. pose to make the subject more credible. In a This is brought to pass in a well chosen fable, word, besides the hidden meaning of an epic ala by the account of such things as have really legory, the plain literal sense ought to appear happened, or at least of such things as have probable. The story should be such as an ordihappened according to the received opinions of nary reader may acquiesce in, whatever natural, mankind. Milton's fable is a master-piece of moral, or political truth may be discovered in it this nature; as the war in heaven, the condition by men of greater penetration.' of the fallen angels, the state of innocence, the

Satan, after having long wandered upon the temptation of the serpent, and the fall of mai), surface, or outmost wall of the universe, dis. though they are very astonishing in themselves, covers at last a wide gap in it, which led into are not only credible, but actual points of the creation, and is described as the opening faith.

through which the angels pass to and fro into The next method of reconciling miracles with the lower world, upon their errands to mancredibility, is by a happy invention of the poet; kind. His fitting upon the brink of this pare as in particular, when he introduces agents of fage and taking a survey of the whole face of à fuperior nature, who are capable of effecting nature that appeared to him new and fresh in what is wonderful, and what is not to be met all its beauties, with the fimile illustrating this with in the ordinary course of things. Ulysses's circumstance, fills the mind of the reader with Thip being turned into a rock, and Æneas's feet

as surprising and glorious an idea as any that into a Moal of water-nymphs, though they are arises in the whole poem. He looks down into very surprising accidents, are nevertheless pro- that vast hollow of the universe with the eye, , bable when we are told that they were the gods or, as Milton calls it in his first book, with the who thus transformed them. It is this kind of ken of an angel. He furveys all the wonders in machinery which fills the poems both of Homer this immense amphitheatre that lie between both and Virgil with such circumstances as are won the poles of heaven, and takes in at one view derful but not impossible, and so frequently the whole round of the creation. produce in the reader the most pleasing passion His flight between the several worlds that that can rise in the mind of man, which is ad- shined on every side of him, with the particular miration, If there be any instance in the description of the sun, are set forth in all the Æneid liable to exception upon this account, wantonness of a luxuriant imagination. His it is in the beginning of the third book, where shape, speech and behaviour upon his transÆneas is represented as tearing up the myrtle forming himself into an angel of light, are that dropped blood. To qualify this wonderful touched with exquisite beauty. The poet's circumstance, Polydorus tells a story from the thought of directing Satan to the fun, which in root of the myrtle, that the barbarous inhabi. the vulgar opinion of mankind is the most contants of the country having piercer liim with spicuous part of the creation, and the placing Ipears and arrows, the wood which was left in in it an angel, is a circumstance very finely conhis body took root in his wounds, and gave trived, and the more adjusted to a poetical probirth to thăt bleeding tree. This circumstance


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• thousands besides myself spend most; and and still I please myself with the shadow,

bability, as it was 'a received doctrine among to have ended them both. The occasion of the most famous philosophers, that every orb • this seems to be thé, want of some necessary had its intelligence; and as an apostle in sacred employment, to put the spirits in motion, and writ is said to have seen such an angel in the awaken them out of their lethargy: if I had sun. In the answer which this angel returns to lefs leisure, I should have more; for I should the disguised evil spirit, , there is such a becom ( then find my time distinguished into portions, ing majesty as is altogether suitable to a supe fome for business, and others for the indulging rior being. The part of it in which he repre • of pleasures : but now one face of indolence sents himself as present at the creation, is very overspreads the whole, and I have no landnoble in itself, and not only proper where it is o mark to direct myself by. Were one's time introduced, but requisite to prepare the reader O little straiteñed by business, like water inclosed for what follows in the seventh book.

in its banks, it would have some determined

ieourse; but unless it be put into some chanI saw when at his word the formless mass,

nel it has no current, but becomes a deluge This world's material mould, came to a heap : 6 without either use or motion. Confufion heard his voice, and wild uproar • When Scanderbeg, prince of Epirus, was Stood rul'd, stood vast infinitude confin'd; « dead, the Turks who had but too often felt Till at his fecond bidding darkness Aed,

• the force of his arm in the battles he had won Light Shone, &c.

< from them, imagined that by wearing a piece In the following part of the speech he points

• of his bones near their heart, they Thould be out the earth with such circumstances, that the

• animated with a vigour and force like to that reader can scarce forbear fancying himself em

( which inspired him when living. As I am ployed on the same diftant view of it.

• like to be but of little use whilft I live, I

am resolved to do what good I can after my Look downward on the globe whose hither . decease, and have accordingly ordered iny fide

• bones to be difposed of in this manner for With light from hence, tho' but reflected, the good of my countrymen, who are troubled Thines;

" with too exorbitant a degree of fire. All foxThat place is earth, the seat of man, that • hunters, upon wearing me, would in a short light

. time be brought to endure their beds in a His day, &C.

' morning, and perhaps even quit them with I must not conclude my reflexions upon this

regret at ten : instead of hurrying away to third book of Paradise Lost, without taking no

teize a poor animal, and run away from their tice of that celebrated complaint of Milton

own thoughts, a thair or a chariot would be with which it opens, and which certainly de

• thought the most desirable means of performserves all the praises that have been given it;

• ing a remove from one place to another. I though as I have before hinted, it may rather

• Mould be a cure for the unnatural desire of Be looked on as an excrescence, than as an ef

John Trot for dancing, and a specific to lefren sential part of the poem. The same observation

the inclination Mrs. Fidget has to motion, might be applied to that beautiful digression up to the present place the is in. In fine, no

and cause her always to give her approbation on hypocrisy in the same book.


• Egyptian mummy was ever half so useful in

phyfic, as I Mould be to these feverish confti.

tutions, to repress the violent fällies of youth, N° 316. MONDAY, MARCH 3. · ,

" and give each action its proper weight and

r repose. Libertas ; quæ fera, ramen refpexit inertem.

I can fifle any violent inclination, and op. Virg. Ecl. 1. ver. 28.

' pose a torren: of anger, or the folicitations of

's revenge, with success. But indolence is a Freedom, which came at length, cho' now to • stream which flows fowly on, but yet under

DRÝDEN. o mines the foundation of every virtue,". A vice

of a more lively nature were a more desirable Mr. Spectatori

tyrant than this ruft of the inind, which gives F you ever read a letter which is sent with a tincture of its nature to every action of one's

the more pleasure for the reality of its com life. It were as little hazard to be tossed in a plaints, this may have reason to hope for a < storm, as to lie thus perpetually becalmed ; favourable acceptance; and if time be the and it is to no purpose to have within one the moft irretrievable loss, the regrets which fol 6.feeds of a thousand good qualities, if we low will be thought, I hope, the most justifi- I want the vigour and resolution necessary for able. The regaining of my liberty from a the exerting them. Death brings all person's long state of indolence and inactivity, and the « back to an equality; and this image of it, this defire of refifting the farther incroachment of number of the mind, leaves no difference beidleness, make me apply to you; and the (tween the greatest genius and the meanest ununeasiness with which I 'recollect the part derstanding: a faculty of doing things reyears, and the apprehensions with which I " markably praise-worthy thas concealed, is of

expect the future, Toon determine me: to it. 'c no more use to the owner, than a heap of gold • Idleness is so general a distemper, that I can: ( to the man who dares not use it. . not but imagine a speculation on this subject « To-morrow is still the fatal time when all ' will be of universal use. There is hardly any « is to be rectified : co-morrow comes, it goes, without fome allay

more time in

whilft I lose the reality ; unmindful that the * an idle uncertainty which to begin first of present time alone is ours, the future is yet • two affairs, than would have been sufficient runborn, and the past is dead, and can only


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live, as parents in their children, in the actio : all those qualifications you expect in him ons it has produced.

' who pretends to the honour of being. The time we live ought not to be computed

• Madam, by the number of years, but, by the ufe that

Your most humble fervant, • has been made of it; thus it is not the exterte

• Clytander, ' of ground, but the yearly rent which gives the • value to the estate. Wretched and thought

less creatures, in the only place where cove. N° 317. TUESDAY, MARCH 4. . tousness were a virtue we turn prodigals! Nothing lies upon our hands with such uneafi.

-Fruges confumere nati. • ness, nor has there been so many devices for

Hor. Ep. 2. lib. 1. ver. 270 any one thing, as to make it lide away im.

Born to drink and eat. CREECH. perceptibly and to no purpose. A filling 'Thall be hoarded up with care, whilft that Uguftus, a few moments before his death,

asked his friends who stood about him, if away with difregard and contempt. There is they thouglrt he had acted his part well; and op• nothing now.a-days fo much avoided, as a on receiving such an answer as was due to his • folicitous improvement of every part of time; extraordinary merit, “ Let me then,” says he, it is a report muat be thunned as one tenders go off the stage with your applause;" using

the name of a wit and a fine genius, and as the expression with which the Roman actors one fears the dreadful character of a laborious made their exit at the conclusion of a dramatic plodder : but notwithstanding this, the great- piece. I could with that men, while they are eft wits any age has produced thought far in health, would consider well the nature of the otherwise ; for who can think either Socrates part they are engaged in, and what figure it wil} or Demofthenes lost any reputation, by their make in the minds of those they leave behind

continual pains both in overcoming the de- them : whether it was worth coming into the • fects and improving ihe gifts of nature. All world for; whether it be' fuitable to a reasona

are acquainte! with the labour and assiduity ble being ; in Thort, whether if appears grace

with which 'Tully acquired his eloquence. ful in this life, or will turn to an advantage in & Seneca in his letters to. Lucilius assures him, the next. Let the sycophant or buffoon, the ' there was not a day in which he did not either fatirist, or the good companion, consider with

write fomething, or read and epitomize some himself, when his body shall be laid in the grave, good author; and I remember Pliny in one and his soul pass into another state of existence, of his letters, where he gives an account of how much it would redound to his praise to have the various methods he used to fill up every it said of him, that no man in England eat better,

vacancy of time, after several employments that he had an admirable talent at turning his ' which he enumerates ; fonetimes, says he, I friends into ridicule, that obody out-did him • hunt ; but even then I carry with me a pocket at an ill-natured jest,' or that he never went to • book, that whilft my servants are buried in bed before he had dispatched his third bottle,

disposing of the Bets and other matters, I may These are, however, very common funeral orabe employed in something that may be useful tions, and elogiums on deceased persons who to me in studies ; and that if I miss of my have acted among mankind with some figure and gaine, I may at the least bring home some of reputation.

my own thoughts with me, and not have the But if we look into the bulk of our fpecies, • mortification of having caught nothing all they are such as are not likely to be remembered

a moment after their disappearance. They leave Thus, Sir, you see how many examples, I 'behind them no traces of their existence, but ' recal to my mind, and what arguments I u fe are forgotten as though they had never been. o with myfelf, to regain my liberty : but as I They are neither wanted by the poor, regretted

am afraid it is no ordinary persuasion that by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. They will be of service, I Mall expect your thoughts are neither milled in the commonwealth, nor la

on this subject, with the greatest impatience, mented by private persons. Their actions are • especially since the good will not be confined of no fignificancy to mankind, and might have o to me alone, but will be of universal use. been performed by creatures of much less digni« For these is no hopes of amendment where ty than those who are distinguished by the fa

men are pleased with their ruin, and whilst culty of reason. An eminent French author • they think laziness is a desirable character: speaks fomewhere to the following purpose; I • whether it be that they like the Itate itfelf, or have often seen from my chamber-window two • that they think it gives them a new luftrenoble creatures, both of them of an erect coun.

when they do exert themselves, seemingly to tenance and endowed with reafon. These two be able to do that without labour and appli- intellectual beings are employed from morning

cation, which others attain to but with the to night, in rubbing two smooth stones one upgreatest diligence,

on another ; that is, as the vulgar phrase is, in . I am, Sir,

polishing marble. • Your most obliged humble fervant, My friend, Sir Andrew Freeport, as we were

Samuel Slack.' fitting in the club last night, gave us an ac

count of a sober citizen, who died a few days Clytander to Cleone,

fince, This honeft man being of greater conse• Madam,

quence in his own thoughts, than in the eye of Ermission to love you is all that I desire, to the world, had for some years past kept a jour

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6 day.

you place in my way, to furmount and acquire week of it. Since the occurrences fet down in

it mark out such a road of action as that I have Thursday, nine of the clock.

Staid within been speaking of, I mall prefent my reader with until two of the clock for Sir Timothy; who a faithful copy of it; after having first informed did not bring me my annuity according to his him, that the deceased person had in his youth promise. been bred to trade, but finding himfelf not fo Two in the afternoon, Sat down to dinner. well turned for bufiness, he had for several Loss of appetite. Small-beer four. Beef overyears last past lived altogether upon a moderate corned. annuity.

Three. Could not take my nap.

Four ard five. Gave Ralph a box on the Manday, eight of the clock. I put on my ear. Turned off my cook-maid. Sent a mer. clothes, and walked into the parlour.

senger to Sir Timothy: Mem. I did not go to Nine of the clock ditto.." Tied my knee, the club to-night. Went to bed at nine o'clock, ftrings, and waned my hands.

Hours ten, eleven and twelve. Smoked three Friday, Passed the morning in meditacion
pipes of Virginia. Read the Supplement and upon Sir Timothy, who was with me a quarter
Daily Courant. Things go ill in the north. Mr, before twelve.
Nisby's opinion thereupon.

Twelve of the clock Bought a new head to
One of the clock in the afternoon. Chid my cane, and a tongue to my buckle, Drank a
Ralph for mislaying my tobacco-box.

glass of pur) to recover 'appetite.
Two of the clock. Sat down to dinner. Two and three. Dined and slept well.
Mem. Too many plumbs, and no suet.

From four to fix. Went to the coffee-house From three to four. Took my afternoon's Met Mr. Nisby there. Smoked several pipes. nap:

Mr. Nilby of opinion that laced coffee is bad | From four to fix. Walked into the fields. for the head. Wind, S. S. E.

Six of the clock. At the club as, steward. From fix to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's Sat late. opinion about the peace.

Twelve of the clock. Went to bed, dreamt Ten of the clock. Went to bed, slept found that I drank small-beer with the Grand Vifier.

Tuesday, being holiday, eight of the clock. Saturday. Waked at eleven, walked in the
Rose as usual.

fields, wind'N. E.
Nine of the clock, Warhed hands and face, Twelye. Caught in a shower,
shaved, put on my double-soaled shoes.

One in the afternoon. Returned home and
Ten, eleven, twelve. Took a walk to Il, dried myself.

Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First One. Took a pot of Mother Cob's mild.

course, marrow-bones ; second, ox-cheek, with Between two and three. Returned, dined on

a bottle of Brooks and Hellier. a knuckle of real and bacon. Mem. Sprouts

Three of the clock. Overslept myself. wanting.

Six. Went to the club. Like to have faller Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good.

into a gutter, Grand Visier certainly dead, &c, Three. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter dish. Mem. Cook-maid in love and grown careless.

I question not but the reader will be fur. From four to fix. Coffee-house. Read the prised to find the above-mentioned journalist

A. dini of twist. Grand Vifier stran. taking so much care of a life that was filled gled.

with such inconfiderable actions, and received From fix to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's look into the behaviour of many whom we

fo very small improvements; and yet, if we account of the great Turk.

Ten. Dream of the Grand Vifier. Broken daily converse with, we shall find that most of deep.)

their hours are taken up in those three importa

ant articles of eating, drinking, and sleeping. Wednesday, eight of the clock. Tongue of I do not suppose that a man loses his time, who my shoe-buckle broke. Hands but not face. is not engaged in public affairs, or in an illura

Nine. Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To trious course of action. On the contrary, I be. be allowed for the laft leg of mutton.

lieve 'our hours may very often be more profita. Ten, eleven. At the coffee-houfe. More bly laid out in such transactions as make no fi. work in the North... Stranger in a black wig gure in the world, than in such as are apt to asked me how stocks went.

draw upon them the attention of mankind. One From twelve to one. Walked in the fields. may become wiser and better by feveral me. Wind to the south,

thods of employing one's self in secrecy and fi. From one to two. Smoked a pipe and a lence, and do what is laudable without noise or half.

oftentation. I would, however, recommend to Two. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter every one of my readers, the keeping a journal dith. Mem. Cook-maid in love, and grown of their lives for one week, and ferting down careless,

punctually their whole series of employments From four to fix. At the coffee-houfe. Ad. during that space of time. This kind of self, vice from Smyrna, that the Grand Vifier was examination would give them, a true state of first of all strangled, and af:erwards beheaded. themselves, and incline them to confider seri.

Six of the clock in the evening. Was half an ously what they are about, One day would hour in the club before any body else came. re&ify the omissions of another, and make a Mr. Nisby of opinion that the Grand Vifier was man weigh all those indifferent actions, which, not strangled the sixth inftant.

though they are easily forgotten, must certains Ten at night. Went to bed. Slept without ly be acsounted for.

L waking until nine next morning,




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