true light. A poor dispirited sinner lies trembling under the apprehensions of the state he is entering on; and is asked by a grave attendant how his holiness does? Another hears himself addressed to under the title of highness or excellency, who lies imder such mean circumstances of mortality as are the disgrace of human nature. Titles at such a time look rather like insults and mockery than respect.

The truth of it is, honours are in this world under no regulation; true quality is neglected, virtue is oppressed, and vice triumphant. The last day will rectify this disorder, and assign to every one a station suitable to the dignity of his character. Ranks will be then adjusted, and precedency set right.

Methinks we should have an ambition, if not to advance ourselves in another world, at least to preserve our post in it, and outshine our inferiors in virtue here, that they may not be put above us in a state which is to settle the distinction for eternity.

vation, so far beyond all that they looked for. And they, repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit, shall say within themselves, This was he whom we had sometime in derision, and a proverb of reproach. We fools accounted his life madness, and his end to be without honour. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the saints!

If the reader would see the description of a life that is passed away in vanity and among the sha dows of pomp and greatness, he may see it very finely drawn in the same place +. In the mean time, since it is necessary, in the present constitu tion of things, that order and distinction should be kept in the world, we should be happy, if those who enjoy the upper stations in it, would endeavour to surpass others in virtue, as much as in rank, and by their humanity and condescension make their superiority easy and acceptable to those who are beneath them; and if, on the contrary, those who are in meaner posts of life, would consider how they may better their condition hereafter, and by a just deference and submission to their superiors, make them happy in those bles with which Providence has thought fit to distinguish them.

ADDISON.

Men in scripture are called strangers and sojourners upon earth, and life a pilgrimage. Several heathen, as well as Christian authors, under the same kind of metaphor, have represented the worldings as an inn, which was only designed to furnish us with accommodations in this our passage. It is therefore very absurd to think of setting up our rest before we come to our journey's end, and not rather to take care of the reception we shall there meet, than to fix our thoughts on the little conveniencies and advantages which we enjoy one above another in the way to it.

Epictetus makes use of another kind of allusion, which is very beautiful, and wonderfully proper to incline us to be satisfied with the post in which Providence has placed us. We are here, says he, as in a theatre, where every one has a part allotted to him. The great duty which lies upon a man is to act his part in perfection. We may indeed say, that our part does not suit us, and that we could act another better. But this, says the philosopher, is not our business. All that we are concerned in is, to excel in the part which is given us. If it be an improper one, the fault is not in us, but in Him who has cast our several parts, and is the great disposer of the drama *.

The part that was acted by this philosopher himself was but a very indifferent one, for he lived and died a slave. His motive to contentment in this particular, receives a very great inforcement from the above-mentioned consideration, if we remember that our parts in the other world will be new cast, and that mankind will be there ranged in different stations of superiority and pre-eminence, in proportion as they have here excelled one another in virtue, and performed in their several posts of life the duties which belong to them,

There are many beautiful passages in the little apocryphal book, entitled, The Wisdom of Solomon, to set forth the vanity of Honour, and the like temporal blessings which are in so great repute among men, and to comfort those who have not the possession of them. It represents in very warm and noble terms this advancement of a good man in the other world, and the great surprise which it will produce among those who are his superiors in this. Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before the face of such as have afflicted him, and made no account of his labours. When they see it they shall be troubled with terrible fear, and shall be amazed at the strangeness of his sal

* Enchiridion, or Manual of the Stoic Philosophy, chap. 23.

C.

N° 220. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1711.

Rumoresque serit varios

VIRG. En. xii. ver. 228.

A thousand rumours spreads.

SIR, WHY will you apply to my father for my love? I cannot help it if he will give you my person; but I assure you it is not in his power, nor even in my own, to give you my heart. Dear sir, do but consider the ill consequence of such a match; you are fifty-five, I twenty-one. You are a man of business, and mightily conversant in arithmetic and making calculations; be pleased therefore to consider what proportion your spirits bear to mine; and when you have made a just estimate of the necessary decay on one side, and the redundance on the other, you will act accordingly. This perhaps is such language as you may not expect from a young lady; but my happiness is at stake, and I must talk plainly. I mortally hate you; and so, as you and my father agree, you may take me or leave me : but if you will be so good as never to see me more, you will for ever oblige,

'SIR,

'Your most humble servant,

* HENRIETTA,'

'MR. SPECTATOR, 'THERE are so many artifices and modes of false wit, and such a variety of humour discovers itself among its votaries, that it would be impossible to exhaust so fertile a subject, if you would think fit to resume it. The following instances may, if you think fit, be added by way of appendix to your discourses on that subject .

That feat of poetical activity mentioned by Horace, of an author who could compose two hundred verses while he stood upon one leg, has been imitated (as I have heard) by a modern writer; who, priding himself on the hurry of his invention, + Id. ch. v. 8-14

• Wisd. ch. v. 1-5.
See Nos. 58 and 63.

thought it no small addition to his fame to have | in an island where few are content without being each piece minuted with the exact number of hours thought wits, it will not be a common benefit, that or days it cost him in the composition. He could wit as well as labour should be made cheap. taste no praise till he had acquainted you in how 'I am, SIR, short space of time he had deserved it; and was not so much led to an ostentation of his art, as of his dispatch:

one good line in every paper, and very often finds his imagination entertained by a hint that awakens in his memory some beautiful passage of a classic author.

It was a saying of an ancient philosopher, which I find some of our writers have ascribed to Queen Elizabeth, who perhaps might have taken occasion to repeat it, that a good face is a letter of recommendation. It naturally makes the beholders inquisitive into the person who is the owner of it, and generally prepossesses them in his favour. A handseme motto has the same effect. Besides that it always gives a supernumerary beauty to a paper, and is sometimes in a manner necessary, when the writer is engaged in what may appear a paradox to vulgar minds, as it shows that he is supported by good authorities, and is not singular in his opinion. I must confess, the motto is of little use to an unlearned reader *, for which reason I consider it only as a word to the wise.' But as for my unlearned friends, if they cannot relish the motto, I take care to make provision for them in the body of my paper. If they do not understand the sign that is hung out, they know very well by it, that they may meet with entertainment in the house; and I think I was never better pleased than with a plain man's compliment, who, upon his friend's telling him that he would like the Spectator much better if he understood the motto, replied, that'good wine needs no bush.'

Roger: that L signifies the lawyer, whom I have described in my second speculation; and that T stands for the trader or merchant. But the letter X, which is placed at the end of some few of my pa pers, is that which has puzzled the whole town, as they cannot think of any name which begins with that letter, except Xenophon and Xerxes, who can neither of them be supposed to have had any hand in these speculations.

In answer to these inquisitive gentlemen, who have many of them made inquiries of me by letter, I must tell them the reply of an ancient philosopher, who carried something hidden under his cloak. A certain acquaintance desiring him to let him know what it was he covered so carefully; * I cover it,' says he, on purpose that you should not know. I have made use of these obscure marks for the same purpose. They are, perhaps, little amulets or charms to preserve the paper against the fascination and malice of evil eyes; for which reason I would not have my reader surprised, if hereafter he sees any of my papers marked with a Q, a Z, a Y, an &c. or with the word Abraca. dabra*.

I shall, however, so far explain myself to the reader, as to let him know that the letters C, L, and X, are cabalistical, and carry more in them than it is proper for the world to be acquainted with. Those who are versed in the philosophy of Pythagoras, and swear by the Tetrachtys, that is the number four, will know very well that the number ten, which is signified by the letter X (and which has so much perplexed the town) has in it many particular powers; that it is called by Platonic writers the complete number; that one, two, three, and four, put together, make up the number ten; and that ten is all. But these are not mys

must have spent many years in hard study before he can arrive at the knowledge of them.

I have heard of a couple of preachers in a country town, who endeavoured which should outshine one another, and draw together the greatest congregation. One of them, being well versed in the Fathers, used to quote every now and then a Latin sentence to his illiterate hearers, who, it seems, found themselves so edified by it, that they flocked in greater numbers to this learned man than to histeries for ordinary readers to be let into. A man rival. The other finding his congregation mouldering every Sunday, and hearing at length what was the occasion of it, resolved to give his parish a little Latin in his turn; but being unacquainted with any of the Fathers, he digested into his sermons the whole book of Quæ Genus, adding, however, such explications to it as he thought might be for the benefit of his people. He afterwards entered upon As in Præsenti, which he converted in the same manner to the use of his parishioners. This in a very little time thickened his audience, filled his church, and routed his antagonist.

The natural love to Latin, which is so prevalent in our common people, makes me think that my speculations fare never the worse among them for that little scrap which appears at the head of them; and what the more encourages me in the use of quotations in an unknown tongue, is, that I hear the ladies, whose approbation I value more than that of the whole learned world, declare themselves in a more particular manner pleased

with my Greek mottos.

Designing this day's work for a dissertation upon the two extremities of my paper, and having already dispatched my motto, I shall, in the next place, discourse upon those single capital letters, which are placed at the end of it, and which have afforded great matter of speculation to the curious. I have heard various conjectures upon this subject, Some tell us that C is the mark of those papers that are written by the clergyman, though others ascribe them to the club in general: that the papers marked with R were written by my friend Sir

We had a rabbinical divine in England, who was chaplain to the Earl of Essex in Queen Elizabeth's time, that had an admirable head for secrets of this nature. Upon his taking the doctor of divinity's degree, he preached before the university of Cambridge, upon the first verse of the first chapter of the first book of Chronicles, 'in which,' says he, 'you have the three following words:

Adam, Sheth, Enosh.'

He divided this short text into many parts, and by discovering several mysteries in each word, made

a most learned and elaborate discourse. The name

of this profound preacher was Dr. Alabaster, of whom the reader may find a more particular acThis instance will, I hope, convince my readers count in Dr. Fuller's book of English Worthies. that there may be a great deal of fine writing in the capital letters which bring up the rear of my paper, and give them some satisfaction in that particular. But as for the full explication of these matters, I must refer them to time, which discovers all things +.

+ In Steele's dedication of The Drummer to Mr. Chogreve, we find the following passage: The editor of Addi son's Works, in 4to. Mr. Thomas Tickell) will not let me c any body else obey Mr. Addison's commands, in hiding any thing he desires should be concealed. The circumstance of The mottos were not originally accompanied by trans- marking his Spectators (which I did not know till I had done lations.

with the work) I made my own act; because I thought it too

thing as human life. Horace reflects upon this inconsistency very agreeably in the character of Ti

No 222. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1711. gellius*, whom he makes a mighty pretender to

Cur alter fratrum cessare, et ludere, et ungi,
Præferat Herodis palmetis pinguibus-

HOR. Ep. ii. 1. 2. ver. 183.
Why, of two brothers, one his pleasure loves,
Prefers his sports to Herod's fragrant groves.
CREECH.

MR. SPECTATOR,

economy, and tells you, you might one day hear
him speak the most philosophic things imaginable
concerning being contented with a little, and his
contempt of every thing but mere necessaries; and
in half a week after spend a thousand pounds. When
he says this of him with relation to expense, he de-
scribes him as unequal to himself in every other
circumstance of life. And indeed, if we consider
lavish men carefully, we shall find it always pro-
selves, and finding enjoyment in their own minds.
ceeds from a certain incapacity of possessing them-
Mr. Dryden has expressed this very excellently in
the character of Zimri +:

A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome.
Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong,
Was every thing by starts, and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks, that died in thinking;
Bless'd madman, who could every hour employ
In something new to wish, or to enjoy!
In squand'ring wealth was his peculiar art,
Nothing went unrewarded but desert.'

'THERE is one thing I have often looked for in your papers, and have as often wondered to find myself disappointed; the rather, because I think it a subject every way agreeable to your design, and by being left unattempted by others, it seems reserved as a proper employment for you; I mean a disquisition, from whence it proceeds that men of the brightest parts, and most comprehensive genius, completely furnished with talents for any province in human affairs; such as by their wise lessons of economy to others have made it evident that they have the justest notions of life, and of true sense in the conduct of it; from what unhappy contradictious cause it proceeds, that persons thus finished by nature and by art should so often fail in the management of that which they so well understand, and want the address to make a right application of their own rules. This is certainly a prodigious inconsistency in behaviour, and makes much such a figure in morals, as a monstrous birth in naturals; with this difference only, which greatly aggravates the wonder, that it happens much more frequently; and what a blemish does it cast upon wit and learning in the general account of the world? And in bow disadvantageous a light does it expose them to the busy class of mankind, that there should be so many instances of persons who have so conducted their lives in spite of these transcendent advantages, as neither to be happy in themselves, nor useful to their friends; when every body sees it was entirely in their own power to be eminent in both these characters? For my part, I think there is no reflection more astonishing, than to consider one of these gentlemen spending a fair fortune, running in every body's debt without the least apprehension of a future reckoning, and at last leaving not only his own children, but possibly those of other people, by his means, in starv-tainly a very important lesson, to learn how to It is not perhaps much thought of, but it is cering circumstances; while a fellow, whom one would scarce suspect to have a human soul, shall perhaps raise a vast estate out of nothing, and be the founder of a family capable of being very considerable in their country, and doing many illustrious services to it. That this observation is just, experience has put beyond all dispute. But though the fact be so evident and glaring, yet the causes of it are still in the dark; which makes me per-smokers of tobacco, and takers of snuff. be hard on this occasion to mention the harmless suade myself, that it would be no unacceptable piece of entertainment to the town, to inquire into

the hidden sources of so unaccountable an evil. 'I am, SIR,

"Your most humble servant.'

What this correspondent wonders at, has been matter of admiration ever since there was any such

great a sensibility in my friend, and thought it, since it was done, better to be supposed marked by me than the author himself, the real state of which this zealot rashly and injudiciously exposes. I ask the reader, whether any thing but an earnestness to disparage me could provoke the editor in behalf of Mr. Addison to say, that he marked it out of caution against me, when I had taken upon me to say it was I that did it out of tenderness to him.' It may be hence conjectured, that Steele put the as a mark to distinguish Addison's papers in the Guardian.

This loose state of the soul hurries the extravaant from one pursuit to another; and the reason that his expenses are greater than another's, is, makes so many go on in this way to their lives' that his wants are also more numerous. But what end, is, that they certainly do not know how contemptible they are in the eyes of the rest of mankind, or rather, that indeed they are not so contemptible as they deserve. Tully says, it is the greatest of wickedness to lessen your paternal estate. And if a man would thoroughly consider how child, to ride by the estate which should have been much worse than banishment it must be to his his had it not been for his father's injustice to him, he would be smitten with the reflection more deeply than can be understood by any but one who is a father. Sure there can be nothing more afflicting, than to think it had been happier for his son to have been born of any other man living than himself.

enjoy ordinary life, and to be able to relish your being without the transport of some passion, or gratification of some appetite. For want of this capacity, the world is filled with whetters, tipplers, those who, for want of thinking, are forced to be cutters, sippers, and all the numerous train of ever exercising their feeling, or tasting. It would

spondent wonders should get estates, are the more The slower part of mankind, whom my correimmediately formed for that pursuit. They can expect distant things without impatience, because they are not carried out of their way either by violent passion, or keen appetite to any thing. To men addicted to delights, business is an interrup tion; to such as are cold to delights, business is an entertainment. For which reason it was said to tion, No thanks to him; if he had no business, he one who commended a dull man for his applica would have nothing to do.'

so far as it regards the following Ode, I shall sub. join the translation of it as it was sent me by a

No 223. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1711. | friend *, whose admirable pastorals and winter.

O suavis anima! qualem te dicam bonam
Antchac fuisse, tales cum sint reliquix!

PHÆDR. Fab. i. l. 3. ver. 5.
O sweet soul! how good must you have been heretofore,
when your remains are so delicious!

piece have been already so well received. The reader will find in it that pathetic simplicity which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the ode he has here translated. This ode in the Greek (besides those beauties observed by Madam Dacier) has several harmonious turns in the words, which are not lost in the English. I must further add, WHEN I reflect upon the various fate of those mul- that the translation has preserved every image and titudes of ancient writers who flourished in Greece sentiment of Sappho, notwithstanding it has all and Italy, I consider time as an immense ocean, the ease and spirit of an original, In a word, if in which many noble authors are entirely swal- the ladies have a mind to know the manner of lowed up, many very much shattered and da- writing practised by the so much celebrated Sapmaged, some quite disjointed and broken into pho, they may here see it in its genuine and napieces, while some have wholly escaped the com-tural beauty, without any foreign or affected ormon, wreck; but the number of the last is very naments. small.

'One here and there floats on the vast abyss.' Among the mutilated poets of antiquity there is none whose fragments are so beautiful as those of Sappho. They give us a taste of her way of writing, which is perfectly conformable with that extraordinary character we find of her in the remarks of those great critics who were conversant with her works when they were entire. One may see by what is left of them, that she followed nature in all her thoughts, without descending to those little points, conceits, and turns of wit with which many of our modern lyrics are so miserably infected. Her soul seems to have been made up of love and poetry. She felt the passion in all its warmth, and described it in all its symptoms. She is called by ancient authors the tenth muse; and by Plutarch is compared to Cacus the son of Vulcan, who breathed out nothing but flame. I do not know by the character that is given of her works, whether it is not for the benefit of mankind that they are lost. They are filled with such bewitching tenderness and rapture, that it might have been dangerous to have given them a reading.

She fell

An inconstant lover called Phaon, occasioned great calamities to this poetical lady. desperately in love with him, and took a voyage into Sicily, in pursuit of him, he having withdrawn himself thither on purpose to avoid her. It was in that island, and on this occasion, she is supposed to have made the hymn to Venus, with`a translation of which I shall present my reader. Her hymn was ineffectual for procuring that happiness which she prayed for in it. Phaon was still obdurate, and Sappho so transported with the violence of her passion, that she was resolved to get rid of it at any price.

There was a promontory in Acarnania called Leucate, on the top of which was a little temple dedicated to Apollo. In this temple it was usual for despairing lovers to make their vows in secret, and afterwards to fling themselves from the top of the precipice into the sea, where they were sometimes taken up alive. This place was therefore called, The Lover's Leap; and whether or no the fright they had been in, or the resolution that could push them to so dreadful a remedy, or the bruises which they often received in their fall, banished all the tender sentiments of love, and gave their spirits another turn; those who had taken this leap were observed never to relapse into that passion. Sappho tried the cure, but perished in the experiment.

After having given this short account of Sappho,

AN HYMN TO VENUS.
'O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess! from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.

If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferr'd,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
O gentle goddess! hear me now.
Descend, thou bright, immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confess'd.
'Thou once didst leave almighty Jove,
And all the golden roofs above;
The car thy wanton sparrows drew,
Hov'ring in air they lightly flew;
As to my bower they wing'd their way,
I saw their quivering pinions play.

'The birds dismiss'd (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again:
Then you, with looks divinely mild,
In ev'ry heav'nly feature smil'd,
And ask'd what new complaints I made,
And why I call'd you to my aid?

What frenzy in my bosom rag'd,
And by what cure to be assuag'd
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who!

Tho' now he shuns thy longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
Tho' now thy off'rings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Tho' now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
And be thy victim in his turn.

'Celestial visitant, once more
Thy needful presence I implore!
In pity come, and ease my grief,
Bring my distemper'd soul relief,
Favour thy supplant's hidden fires,
And give me all my heart desires."

Madam Dacier observes, there is something very pretty in that circumstance of this ode, wherein Venus is described as sending away her chariot upon her arrival at Sappho's lodgings, to denote that it was not a short transient visit which she intended to make her. This ode was preserved by an eminent Greek critic †, who inserted it entire in his works, as a pattern of perfection in the structure of it.

Longinus has quoted another ode of this great poetess, which is likewise admirable in its ind, and has been translated by the same hand with the foregoing one. I shall oblige my reader with it

* Ambrose Phillips.

+ Dionysius of Halicarnassus, de Structura Orationis.