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the chimney-corner; and could foretel the success of his play in the theatre, from the reception it met at his fire-side; for he tells us the audience always followed the old woman, and never failed to laugh in the same place.

I know nothing which more shows the essential and inherent perfection of simplicity of thought, above that which I call the Gothic manner in writing, than this, that the first pleases all kinds of palates, and the latter only such as have formed to themselves a wrong artificial taste upon little fanciful authors and writers of epigram. Homer, Virgil, or Milton, so far as the language of their poems is understood, will please a reader of plain common sense, who would neither relish nor comprehend an epigram of Martial, or a poem of Cowley: so, on the contrary, an ordinary song or ballad that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or ignorance; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of nature, which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful

to the most refined.

The old song of Chevy-Chase is the favourite ballad of the common people of England, and Ben Jonson used to say he had rather have been the author of it than of all his works. Sir Philip Sidney, in his discourse of poetry, speaks of it in the following words: 'I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung by some blind Crowder with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar? For my own part, I am so professed m admirer of this antiquated song, that I shall give my reader a critique upon it, without any further apology for so doing.

The greatest modern critics have laid it down as a rule, That an heroic poem should be founded upon some important precept of morality, adapted to the constitution of the country in which the poet writes. Homer and Virgil have formed their plans in this view. As Greece was a collection of many governments, who suffered very much among themselves, and gave the Persian emperor, who was their common enemy, many advantages over them by their mutual jealousies and animosities, Homer, in order to establish among them an union, which was so necessary for their safety, grounds his poem upon the discords of the several Grecian princes who were engaged in a confederacy against an Asiatic prince, and the several advantages which the enemy gained by such their discords. At the time the poem we are now treating of was written*, the dissentions of the barons, who were then so many petty princes, ran very high, whether they quarrelled among themselves, or with their neighbours, and produced unspeakable calamities to the country. The poet, to deter men from such unnatural contentions, describes a bloody battle and dreadful scene of death, occasioned by the mutual feuds which reigned in the families of an English and Scotch nobleman. That he designed this for the instruction of his poem, we may learn from his four last lines, in which, after the example of the modern tragedians, he draws from it a precept for the benefit of his readers:

This serious display of the beauties of Chevy Chase exposed Addison to the ridicule of Wagstaffe, and the contempt of Dennis.... See Johnson's Lives of the English Poets, vel. ii. p. 136, 8vo. 1801.

'God save the king, and bless the land
In plenty, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth that foul debate
Twixt noblemen may cease.'

The next point observed by the greatest heroic which do honour to their country: thus Virgil's poets, hath been to celebrate persons and actions hero was the founder of Rome, Homer's a prince of Greece; and for this reason Valerius Flaccus and Statius, who were both Romans, might be justly derided for having chosen the expedition of the Golden Fleece, and the Wars of Thebes, for the subjects of their epic writings.

The poet before us has not only found out an hero in his own country, but raises the reputation of it by several beautiful incidents. The English are the first who take the field, and the last who quit it. The English bring only fifteen hundred to the battle, the Scotch two thousand. The English keep the field with fifty-three; the Scotch retire with fifty-five: all the rest on each side being slain in battle. But the most remarkable circumstance of this kind, is the different manner in which the Scotch and English kings receive the news of this fight and of the great men's deaths who command

ed in it:

This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain.

O heavy news, King James did say,
Scotland can witness be,

I have not any captain more
Of such account as he.
'Like tidings to King Henry * came
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slain in Chevy-Chase.

Now God be with him, said our king,
Sith 'twill no better be,

I trust I have within my realm
Five hundred good as he.

Yet shall not Scot, nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take,
And be revenged on them all

For brave Lord Percy's sake.

This vow full well the king perform'd
After on Humble-down,

In one day fifty knights were slain,
With lords of great renown.

And of the rest of small account
Did many thousands die, &c.'

At the same time that our poet shows a landable
partiality to his countrymen, he represents the
brave a people :
Scots after a manner not unbecoming so bold and

Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed,
Most like a baron bold,
Rode foremost of the company,

Whose armour shone like gold.'

His sentiments and actions are every way suitable to an hero. One of us two, says he, must die: I am an earl as well as yourself, so that you can have no pretence for refusing the combat: however, says he, it is pity, and indeed would be a sin, that so many innocent men should perish for our sakes; rather let you and I end our quarrel in single fight:

The battle of Otterburn (or Chevy Chase) was fought July 31st, 1388; when the King of Scotland was Robert Il and the King of England Richard II. See Blair's Chronology Plate XLVIII. But here we have James and Henry!

+ It is not easy to discover how this could be. The field of battle was above 300 miles from London, and not 100 fram Edinburgh.

d be,

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men, il.

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d distinguished themngle combat with each rous parley, full of heearl falls; and with his men to revenge his as the most bitter cirI saw him fall:

arrow keen

is to the heart

W.

vords than these,

en all, end, 1.'

e of those times, is no
For companions and fel-
the eleventh book of
to be admired, where
es, instead of weeping
received, as one might
or of her sex, considers
n we are now speaking)
Entinued after her death:
er æqualibus unam
s quæ sola Camillæ,
que hæc ita fatur:

ti: nunc vulnus acerbum
unt omnia circum:
data novissima perfer;
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Æn. xã. $20.

Is her cheerful eyes; sy colour flies,

of her female train, she speaks with pain: -efore my sight,

ms his right.

aus; fly with speed, charge succeed:

etown relieve.

DRYDEN.

heroic a manner; though d his eye upon Turnus's

sees my fall.'

= tendere palmas

En. xii. 936.

En me beg my life.

DRYDEN.

ion over his enemy is gessionate; I mest only caulet the simplicity of the -ll pardon in so old a poet, e greatness of the thought:

Earl Percy took
the hand,
las, for thy life

my land.

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THE entire conquest of our passions is so difficult a work, that they who despair of it should think of a less difficult task, and only attempt to regulate them. But there is a third thing which may contribute not only to the ease, but also to the pleasure of our life; and that is refining our passions to a greater elegance than we receive them from nature. When the passion is Love, this work is performed in innocent, though rude and uncultivated minds, by the mere force and dignity of the object. There are forms which naturally create respect in the beholders, and at once inflame and chastise the imagination. Such an impression as this gives an immediate ambition to deserve, in or der to please. This cause and effect are beautifully described by Mr. Dryden in the fable of Cymon and Iphigenia. After he has represented Cymon so stupid, that

"He whistled as he went, for want of thought;'

and

he makes him fall into the following scene,
shows its influence upon him so excellently, that it
appears as natural as wonderful:

'It happen'd on a summer's holiday,
That to the greenwood-shade he took his way;
His quarter-staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake,
Hung half before, and half behind his back.
He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went, for want of thought.

By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd,
The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd;
Where in a plain, defended by the wood,
Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood,
By which an alabaster fountain stood:
And on the margin of the fount was laid
(Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid,
Like Dian and her nymphs, when, tir'd with sport,
To rest by cool Eurotas they resort:
The dame herself the goddess well express'd,
Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest,
Than by the charming features of her face,
And e'en in slumber a superior grace;
Her comely limbs compos'd with decent care,
Her body shaded with a slight cymarr;
Her bosom to the view was only bare:
The fanning wind upon her bosom blows,
To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose;

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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes,
And gaping mouth, that testify'd surprise;
Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight,
New as he was to love, and novice in delight:
Long mute he stood, and leaning on his staff,
His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh;
Then would have spoke, but by his glimm'ring sense
First found his want of words, and fear'd offence;
Doubted for what he was he should be known,
By his clown-accent, and his country-tone.'

But lest this fine description should be excepted against, as the creation of that great master Mr. Dryden, and not an account of what has really ever happened in the world, I shall give you verbatim, the epistle of an enamoured footman in the country to his mistress. Their surnames shall not be inserted, because their passions demand a greater respect than is due to their quality. James is servant in a great family, and Elizabeth waits upon the daughter of one as numerous, some miles off her lover. James, before he beheld Betty, was vain of his strength, a rough wrestler, and quarrelsome cudgel-player; Betty a public-dancer at may-poles, a romp at stool-ball; he always following idle women, she playing among the peasants: he a country bully, she a country coquette. But love has made her constantly in her mistress's chamber, where the young lady gratifies a secret passion of her own, by making Betty talk of James; and James is become a constant waiter near his master's apartment, in reading, as well as he can, romances. I cannot learn who Molly is, who it seems walked ten miles to carry the angry message, which gave

occasion to what follows.

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Nay more, with the token you sent me for my love and service offered to your sweet person; which was your base respects to my ill conditions; when alas! there is no ill conditions in me, but quite contrary; all love and purity, especially to your sweet person; but all this I take as a jest.

But the sad and dismal news which Molly brought me struck me to the heart, which was it seems, and is, your ill conditions for my love and respects to you.

For she told me, if I came forty times to you, you would not speak with me, which words I am sure is a great grief to me.

Now my dear, if I may not be permitted to your sweet company, and to have the happiness of speaking with your sweet person, I beg the favour of you to accept of this my secret mind and thoughts, which hath so long lodged in my breast, the which if you do not accept, I believe will go nigh to break my heart.

For indeed, my dear, I love you above all the beauties I ever saw in all my life.

The young gentleman, and my master's daughter, the Londoner that is come down to marry her, sat in the arbour most part of last night. Oh, dear Betty, must the nightingales sing to those who marry for money, and not to us true lovers! Oh, my dear Betty, that we could meet this night where we used to do in the wood!

Now, my dear, if I may not have the blessing of kissing your sweet lips, I beg I may have the happiness of kissing your fair hand, with a few lines from you dear self, presented by whom you please or think fit. I believe if time would permit

me, I could write all day; but the time being short, and paper little, no more from your neverfailing lover till death,

JAMES .....

Poor James! since his time and paper were so short, I that have more than I can use well of both, will put the sentiments of this kind letter (the style of which seems to be confused with scraps he had got in hearing and reading what he did not understand) into what he meant to express.

DEAR CREATURE,

'CAN you then neglect him who has forgot all his recreations and enjoyments, to pine away his life in thinking of you? When I do so, you appear more amiable to me than Venus does in the most beautiful description that ever was made of her. All this kindness you return with an accusation, that I do not love you: but the contrary is so manifest, that I cannot think you in earnest. But the certainty given me in your message by Molly, that you do not love me, is what robs me of all comfort. She says you will not see me: if you can have so much cruelty, at least write to me, that I may kiss the impression made by your fair hand. I love you above all things; and in my condition, what you look upon with indifference is to me the most exquisite pleasure or pain. Our young lady and a fine gentleman from London, who are to marry for mercenary ends, walk about our gardens, and hear the voice of evening nightingales, as if for fashion-sake they courted those solitudes, because they have heard lovers do so. Oh Betty! could I hear these rivulets murmur, and birds sing. while you stood near me, how little sensible should I be that we are both servants, that there is any thing on earth above us! Oh! I could write to you as long as I love you, till death itself.

'JAMES."

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Genus immortale manet, multosque per annos Stat fortuna domus, et avi numerantur avorum. VIRG. Georg. iv. 208.

Th' immortal line in sure succession reigns,
The fortune of the family remains,
And grandsires' grandsons the long list contains.
DRYDEN.

HAVING already given my reader an account o several extraordinary clubs both ancient and mo dern, I did not design to have troubled him with

This man's name (Mr. Nichols informs us) was Jame Hirst, who was a servant to the Hon. Edward Wortley, Esą and, in delivering a parcel of letters to his master, gave b mistake this letter, which he had just prepared for his sweet heart, and kept in its stead one of his master's. He quickl returned to rectify the blunder, but it was too late. Unfor tunately the letter to Betty was the first that presented itse to Mr. Wortley, who had indulged his curiosity in read. the love-tale of his enamoured footman. James requested t have it returned, in vain. “No James," said his master, “ yo shall be a great man, and this letter must appear in th Spectator."

James succeeded in putting an end to Betty's ill con ditions, and obtained her consent to marry him; but th marriage was prevented by her sudden death. James Hirs soon after, from his regard and love for Betty, married he sister, and died (about 1776) by Pennistone, in the neigh bourhood of Wortley, near Leeds. Betty's sister and sud cessor was probably the Molly who walked ten miles to carr the angry message which occasioned the preceding letter.'

nature; but I have f a club, which I can dern, that I dare say my reader than it was I shall communicate it greatest curiosities in

ining of a tradesman aving represented him w, who neglected his his time over a bottle, racter, that he was a club. So very odd a nquire into the nature sounding name; upon me following account: sists of a hundred memle twenty-four hours ner, that the club sits of the year to another; till they are relieved to succeed them. By Everlasting club never h he is not upon duty me who are; so that if whet, a nooning, an ttle after midnight, he a knot of friends to his

club, that the steward cceed one another by to quit the great elbowupper end of the table, liness to fill it; insomuch sede vacante in the me

towards the end (or as the middle) of the civil out interruption till the ich burnt them out, and al weeks. The steward s post till he had like to h a neighbouring house, order to stop the fire;) chair at last, till he had pon the table, and res from the club to withard is frequently talked d upon by every member han the famous captain larendon, who was burnt ould not quit it without wards the close of 1700, Jubilee, the club had it her they should break up but after many speeches ngth agreed to sit out the

lution passed in a general

account of the institution Everlasting club, I should omething of the manners everal members, which I best lights I have received

oks in general, that, since ey have smoked fifty tons thousand butts of ale; one ed port, two hundred barkilderkin of small beer. a great consumption of

D. 1666

cards. It is also said, that they observe the law in Ben Jonson's club *, which orders the fire to be always kept in (focus perennis esto), as well for the convenience of lighting their pipes, as to cure the dampness of the club-room. They have an old woman in the nature of a vestal, whose business it is to cherish and perpetuate the fire, which burns from generation to generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and out above an hundred times.

The Everlasting club treats all other clubs with an eye of contempt, and talks even of the Kit-Cat and October as of a couple of upstarts. Their ordinary discourse (as much as I have been able to learn of it) turns altogether upon such adventures as have passed in their own assembly; of members who have taken the glass in their turns for a week together, without stirring out of the club; of others who have smoked an hundred pipes at a sitting; of others who have not missed their morning's draught for twenty years together. Sometimes they speak in raptures of a run of ale in King Charles's reign; and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games at whist, which have been miraculously recovered by members of the society, when in all human probability the case was desperate.

They delight in several old catches, which they sing at all hours to encourage one another to moisten their clay, and grow immortal by drinking; with many other edifying exhortations of the like nature.

There are four general clubs held in a year, at which times they fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, confirm the old fire-maker, or elect a new one, settle contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other necessaries.

The senior member has outlived the whole club twice over, and has been drunk with the grandfathers of some of the present sitting members.

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Ir is very strange to consider, that a creature like man, who is sensible of so many weaknesses and fame: that vice and ignorance, imperfection and imperfections, should be actuated by a love of misery, should contend for praise, and endeavour as much as possible to make themselves objects of admiration.

But notwithstanding man's essential perfection is but very little, his comparative perfection may be very considerable. If he looks upon himself in an abstracted light, he has not much to boast of; but if he considers himself with regard to others, he may find occasion of glorying, if not in his own virtues, at least in the absence of another's imperfections. This gives a different turn to the reflec

tions of the wise man and the fool. The first en

deavours to shine in himself, and the last to outshine others. The first is humbled by the sense of his own infirmities, the last is lifted up by the discovery of those which he observes in other men. The wise man considers what he wants, and the

* The Leges Convivales of this Club will be found in Ben Jonson's works, by Whalley, vol. vii.

fool what he abounds in. The wise man is happy when he gains his own approbation, and the fool when he recommends himself to the applause of those about him.

But however unreasonable and absurd this pas sion for admiration may appear in such a creature as man, it is not wholly to be discouraged; since it often produces very good effects, not only as it restrains him from doing any thing which is mean and contemptible, but as it pushes him to actions which are great and glorious. The principle may be defective or faulty, but the consequences it produces are so good, that for the benefit of mankind it ought not to be extinguished.

and shedding their blood for them. Some of them, like the Idol in the Apocrypha, must have treats and collations prepared for them every night. It has, indeed, been known, that some of them have been used by their incensed worshippers like the Chinese idols, who are whipped and scourged when they refuse to comply with the prayers that are offered to them.

I must here observe, that those idolaters who devote themselves to the Idols I am here speaking of, differ very much from all other kinds of idolaters. For as others fall out because they worship different Idols, these idolaters quarrel because they worship the same.

The intention, therefore, of the Idol is quite contrary to the wishes of the idolaters; as the one desires to confine the Idol to himself, the whole bs

It is observed by Cicero, that men of the greatest and the most shining parts are the most actuated by ambition; and if we look into the two sexes, I believe we shall find this principle of ac-siness and ambition of the other is to multiply tion stronger in women than in men.

The passion for praise, which is so very vehement in the fair sex, produces excellent effects in women of sense, who desire to be admired for that only which deserves admiration: and I think we may observe, without a compliment to them, that many of them do not only live in a more uniform course of virtue, but with an infinitely greater regard to their honour, than what we find in the generality of our own sex. How many instances have we of chastity, fidelity, devotion! How many ladies distinguish themselves by the education of their children, care of their families, and love of their husbands, which are the great qualities and achievements of womankind! as the making of war, the carrying on of traffic, the administration of justice, are those by which men grow famous, and get

themselves a name.

But as this passion for admiration, when it works according to reason, improves the beautiful part of our species in every thing that is laudable; so nothing is more destructive to them when it is governed by vanity and folly. What I have therefore here to say, only regards the vain part of the sex, whom, for certain reasons, which the reader will hereafter see at large, I shall distinguish by the name of Idols. An Idol is wholly taken up in the adorning of her person. You see in every posture of her body, air of her face, and motion of her head, that it is her business and employment to gain adorers. For this reason your Idols appear in all public places and assemblies, in order to seduce men to their worship. The playhouse is very frequently filled with Idols; several of them are carried in procession every evening about the ring, and several of them set up their worship even in churches. They are to be accosted in the language proper to the Deity. Life and death are in their power: joys of heaven, and pains of hell, are at their disposal: paradise is in their arms, and eternity in every moment that you are present with them. Raptures, transports, and ecstasies, are the rewards which they confer sighs and tears, prayers and broken hearts, are the offerings which are paid to them. Their smiles make men happy; their frowns drive them to despair. I shall only add under this head, that Ovid's book of the Art of Love is a kind of heathen ritual, which contains all the forms of worship which are made use of to an Idol.

It would be as difficult a task to reckon up these different kinds of Idols, as Milton's was to number those that were known in Canaan, and the lands adjoining. Most of them are worshipped, like Moloch, in fires and flames. Some of them, like Baal, love to see their votaries cut and slashed,

adorers. This humour of an Idol is prettily described in a tale of Chaucer. He represents one of them sitting at a table with three of her votaries about her, who are all of them courting her favour, and paying their adorations. She smiled upon one, drank to another, and trod upon the other's foot which was under the table. Now which of these three, says the old bard, do you think was the favourite? In troth, says he, not one of all the three.

The behaviour of this old Idol in Chaucer puts me in mind of the beautiful Clarinda, one of the greatest Idols among the moderns. She is worshipped once a week by candle-light, in the midst of a large congregation, generally called an assembly. Some of the gayest youths in the nation endeavour to plant themselves in her eye, while she sits in form with multitudes of tapers burning about her. To encourage the zeal of her idolaters, she bestows a mark of her favour upon every one of them, before they go out of her presence. She asks a question of one, tells a story to another, glances an ogle upon a third, takes a pinch of snuß from the fourth, lets her fan drop by accident to give the fifth an occasion of taking it up. In short, every one goes away satisfied with his success, and encouraged to renew his devotions on the same canonical hour that day sevennight.

An Idol may be undeified by many accidental causes. Marriage in particular is a kind of counter-apotheosis, or a deification inverted. When a man becomes familiar with his goddess, she quickly sinks into a woman.

Old age is likewise a great decayer of your Idol. The truth of it is, there is not a more unhappy being than a superannuated Idol, especially when she has contracted such airs and behaviour as are only graceful when her worshippers are about her.

Considering, therefore, that in these and many other cases the woman generally outlives the Idol, I must return to the moral of this paper, and desire my fair readers to give a proper direction to their passion for being admired; in order to which, they must endeavour to make themselves the objects of a reasonable and lasting admiration. This is not to be hoped for, from beauty, or dress, or fashion, but from those inward ornaments which are not to be defaced by time or sickness, and which appear most amiable to those who are most acquainted with them.

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