An ostentatious man will rather relate a blunder, Such informations cannot be highly improving or an absurdity he has committed, than be debarred the reader. from talking of his own dear person. Some very great writers have been guilty of this fault. It is observed of Tully in particular that his works run very much in the first person, and that he takes all occasions of doing himself justice. Does he think,' says Brutus, that his consulship deserves more applause than my putting Cæsar to death, because I am not perpetually talking of the ides of March, as he is of the nones of December?' I need not acquaint my learned reader, that in the ides of March Brutus destroyed Cæsar, and that Cicero quashed the conspiracy of Catiline in the calends of December. How shocking soever this great man's talking of himself might have been to his contemporaries, I must confess I am never better pleased than when he is on this subject. Such openings of the heart give a man a thorough insight into his personal character, and illustrate several passages in the history of his life: besides that, there is some little pleasure in discovering the infirmity of a great inan, and seeing how the opinion he has of himself agrees with what the world entertains of him. The gentlemen of Port Royal, who were more eminent for their learning and their humility than any other in France, banished the way of speaking in the first person out of all their works, as rising from vainglory and self-conceit. To show their particular aversion to it, they branded this form of writing with the name of an egotism; a figure not to be found among the ancient rhetoricians, The most violent egotism which I have met with in the course of my reading, is that of Cardinal Wolsey, ego et rex meus, I and my king;' as perhaps the most eminent egotist that ever appeared in the world was Montaigne, the author of the celebrated Essays. This lively old Gascon has woven all his bodily infirmities into his works; and, after having spoken of the faults or virtues of any other men, immediately publishes to the world how it stands with himself in that particular. Had he kept his own counsel, he might have passed for a much better man, though perhaps he would not have been so diverting an author. The title of an Essay promises perhaps a discourse upon Virgil or Julius Cæsar; but, when you look into it, you are sure to meet with more upon Monsieur Montaigne than of either of them. The younger Scaliger, who seems to have been no great friend to this author, after having acquainted the world that his father sold herrings, adds these words: La grande fadaise de Montaigne, qui a ecrit qu'il aimoit mieux le vin blanc.-Que diable a-t-on à faire de sçavoir ce qu'il aime? For my part,' says Montaigne, I am a great lover of your white wines. What the devil signifies it to the public,' says Scaliger, whether he is a lover of white wines or of red wines?' I cannot here forbear mentioning a tribe of egotists, for whom I have always had a mortal aversion, I mean the authors of memoirs, who are never mentioned in any works but their own, and who raise all their productions out of this single figure of speech. Most of our modern prefaces savour very strongly of the egotism. Every insignificant author fancies it of importance to the world to know that he writ his book in the country, that he did it to pass away some of his idle hours, that it was published at the importunity of friends, or that his natural temper, studies, or conversations, directed him to the choice of his subject. Id populus curat scilicet.' In works of humour especially, when an writes under a fictitious personage, the talku » oneself may give some diversion to the public; I would advise every other writer Dever to of himself, unless there be something very cu derable in his character: though I am sensible a rule will be of little use in the world, because the is no man who fancies his thoughts worth p ing that does not look upon himself as a consid able person. I shall close this paper with a remark upon an as are egotists in conversation: these are gener the vain or shallow part of mankind, people ing naturally full of themselves when they nothing else in them. There is one kind of ego which is very common in the world, though not remember that any writer has taken notices them; I mean those empty conceited fellows repeat, as sayings of their own or some of the particular friends, several jests which were ma before they were born, and which every one va has conversed in the world has heard a hundr times over. A forward young fellow of my a quaintance was very guilty of this absurdity:* would be always laying a new scene for some! piece of wit, and telling us that, as he and Jat Such-a-one were together, one or t'other of thes had such a conceit on such an occasion: upon wh he would laugh very heartily, and wonder t company did not join with him. When his mirth s over, I have often reprehended him out of Terca Tuumne obsecro te, hoc dictum eral? vetus cretBut finding him still incorrigible, and having kindness for the young coxcomb, who was oth wise a good-natured fellow, I recommended to i perusal the Oxford and Cambridge jests, with e veral little pieces of pleasantry of the same ture. Upon the reading of them he was und small confusion to find that all his jokes had paset through several editions, and that what he tho was a new conceit, and had appropriated to own use, had appeared in print before he or s ingenious friends were ever heard of. This had s good an effect upon him, that he is content at pr sent to pass for a man of plain sense in his ers nary conversation, and is never facetions but whet he knows his company. and John a Noakes; and they, I am told, came in with the Conqueror. I am mentioned oftener in both houses of parliament than any other person in Great Britain. My name is written, or, more properly speaking, not written, thus I am one that can turn my hand to every thing, and appear under any shape whatsoever. I can make myself, man, woman, or child. I am sometimes metamorphosed into a year of our Lord, a day of the month, or an hour of the day. I very often represent a sum of money, and am generally the first subsidy that is granted to the crown. I have now and then supplied the place of several thousands of land soldiers, and have as frequently been employed in the sea-service. Now, sir, my complaint is this, that I am only made use of to serve a turn, being always discarded as soon as a proper person is found out to fill up my place. If you have ever been in the playhouse before the curtain rises, you see the most of the frontboxes filled with men of my family, who forthwith turn out and resign their stations upon the appearance of those for whom they are retained. But the most illustrious branch of the Blanks are those who are planted in high posts, till such time as persons of greater consequence can be found out to supply them. One of those Blanks is equally qualified for all offices; he can serve in time of need for a soldier, a politician, a lawyer, or what you please. I have known in my time many a brother Blank that has been born under a lucky planet, heap up great riches, and swell into a man of figure and importance, before the grandees of his party could agree among themselves which of them should step into his place. Nay, I have known a Blank continue so long in one of these vacant posts (for such it is to be reckoned all the time a Blank is in it), that he has grown too formidable and dangerous to be removed. But to return to myself. Since I am so very commodious a person, and so very necessary in all well-regulated governments, I desire you will take my case into consideration, that I may be no longer made a tool of, and only employed to stop a gap. Such usage, without a pun, makes me look very blank. For all which reasons I humbly recommend myself to your protection, and am Your most obedient servant, 'BLANK.' 'P. S. I herewith send you a paper drawn up by a country attorney, employed by two gentlemen, whose names he was not acquainted with, and who did not think fit to let him into the secret which they were transacting. I heard him call it "a blank instrument," and read it after the following manner. You may see by this single instance of what use I am to the busy world. "I, T. Blank, Esquire, of Blank Town, in the County of Blank, do own myself indebted in the sum of Blank, to Goodman Blank, for the service he did me in procuring for me the goods following, Blank: and I do hereby promise the said Blank to pay unto him the said sum of Blank, on the Blank day of the month of Blank next ensuing, under the penalty and forfeiture of Blank." GOOD MR. SPECTATOR, "I AM married to a very honest gentleman that is exceeding good-natured, and at the same time very choleric. There is no standing before him when he is in a passion; but as soon as it is over he is the best-humoured creature in the world. When he is angry he breaks all my china-ware that chances to lie in his way, and the next morning sends me in twice as much as he broke the day before. I may positively say that he has broke me a child's fortune since we were first married together. 'As soon as he begins to fret, down goes every thing that is within reach of his cane. I once prevailed upon him never to carry a stick in his hand, but this saved me nothing; for upon seeing me do something that did not please him, he kicked down a great jar, that cost him above ten pounds but the week before. I then laid the fragments together in a heap, and gave him his cane again, desiring him that, if he chanced to be in anger, he would spend his passion upon the china that was broke to his hand; but the very next day, upon my giving a wrong message to one of the servants, he flew into such a rage, that he swept down a dozen tea-dishes, which, to my misfortune, stood very convenient for a side blow. 'I then removed all my china into a room which he never frequents; but I got nothing by this neither, for my looking-glasses immediately went to rack. "In short, sir, whenever he is in a passion, he is angry at every thing that is brittle; and if on such occasions he had nothing to vent his rage upon, I do not know whether my bones would be in safety. Let me be beg of you, sir, to let me know whether there be any cure for this unaccountable distemper; or if not, that you will be pleased to publish this letter: for my husband, having a great veneration for your writings, will by that means know you do not approve of his conduct, I am, your most humble servant, &c.' N° 561. WEDNESDAY, JULY 7, 1714. Adsit Regula, peccatis quæ pænas irroget æquas : Let rules be fix'd that may our rage contain, Ir is the work of a philosopher to be every day subduing his passions, and laying aside his prejudices. I endeavour at least to look upon men and their actions only as an impartial Spectator, without any regard to them as they happen to advance or cross my own private interest. But while I am thus employed myself, I cannot help observing how those about me suffer themselves to be blinded by prejudice and inclination, how readily they pronounce on every man's character, which they can give in two words, and make him either good for nothing, or qualitied for every thing. On the contrary, those who search thoroughly into human nature will find it much more difficult to determine the value of their fellow-creatures, and that men's characters are not thus to be given in general words. There is indeed no such thing as a person entirely good or bad; virtue and vice are blended and mixed together, in a greater or less propor tion, in every one; and if you would search for some particular good quality in its most eminent degree of perfection, you will often find it in a mind where it is darkened and eclipsed by a hundred other irregular passions. Men have either no character at all, says a celebrated author, or it is that of being inconsistent with themselves. They find it easier to join extremities than to be uniform and of a piece. This is finely illustrated in Xenophon's life of Cyrus the Great. That author tells us, that Cyrus having taken a most beautiful lady named Panthea, ta wife of Abradatas, committed her to the custody of Araspas, a young Persian nobleman, who had a little before maintained in discourse, that a mind truly virtuous was incapable of entertaining an unlawful passion. The young gentleman had not long been ia possession of his fair captive, when a complaint was made to Cyrus, that he not only solicited the Lady Panthea to receive him in the room of her absent husband; but that, finding his entreaties had no effect, he was preparing to make use of force. Cyrus, who loved the young man, immediately sent for him, and in a gentle manner representing to him his fault, and putting him in mind of his former assertion, the unhappy youth, confounded with a quick sense of his guilt and shame, burst out into a flood of tears, and spoke as follows: on particular persons in particular ocension, wa could not be foreseen when a law was made. T remedy this however as much as poscule, the act of chancery was erected, which frequcaly gates and breaks the teeth of the commons, cases of men's properties, while in crimina there is a power of pardoning still lodged in a crown. Notwithstanding this, it is perhaps imposa a large government to distribute rewards 200 nishaents strictly proportioned to the ment every action. The Spartan commonwealth was s deed wonderfully exact in this particular; and do not remember in all my reading to have s with so nice an example of justice as that recort by Plutarch, with which I shall close my paper « this day. The city of Sparta being unexpectedly attack by a powerful army of Thebans, was in very grea danger of falling into the hands of their esens The citizens suddenly gathered themselves into body, fought with a resolution equal to the nece sity of their affairs, yet no one so remarkably S tinguished himself on this occasion, to the anti ment of both armies, as Isidas, the son of Phor das, who was at that time in the bloom of his you and very remarkable for the comeliness of hap He was coming out of the bath when t alarm was given, so that he had not time to pat his clothes, much less his armour; however, t Oh Cyrus, I am convinced that I have two souls. Love has taught me this piece of philoso-ported with a desire to serve his country in so gr phy. If I had but one soul, it could not at the same time pant after virtue and vice, wish and abhor the same thing. It is certain therefore we have two souls: when the good soul rules I undertake noble and virtuous actions; but when the bad soul predominates, I am forced to do evil. All I can say at present is, that I find my good soul, encou raged by your presence, has got the better of my bad.' I know not whether my readers will allow of this piece of philosophy; but if they will not, they must confess we meet with as different passions in one and the same soul as can be supposed in two. We can hardly read the life of a great man who lived in former ages, or converse with any who is eminent among our contemporaries, that is not an instance of what I am saying. an exigency, snatching up a spear in one hand and a sword in the other, he flung himself into thickest ranks of his enemies. Nothing could wa stand his fury; in what part soever he fought, in put the enemies to flight without receiving a slage wound. Whether, says Plutarch, he was the par ticular care of some god, who rewarded his va that day with an extraordinary protection, or tha his enemies, struck with the unusualness o dress, and beauty of his shape, supposed him some thing more than man, I shall not determine. The gallantry of this action was judged so great by the Spartans, that the Ephori, or chiel me gistrates, decreed he should be presented with a garland; but, as soon as they had done, bied him a thousand drachmas for going out to the b unarmed. N° 565. FRIDAY, JULY 9, 1714. Deum namque ire per cand But as I have hitherto only argued against the partiality and injustice of giving our judgment upon men in gross, who are such a composition of virtues and vices, of good and evil, I might carry this reflection still further, and make it extend to most of their actions. If on the one hand we fairly weighed every circumstance, we should frequently find them obliged to do that action we at first sight condemn, in order to avoid another we should have been much more displeased with. If on the other hand we nicely examined such actions as appear most dazzling to the eye, we should find most of them either deficient and lame in several parts, produced by a bad ambition, or directed to an ill end. The very same action may sometimes be so oddly circumstanced, that it is difficult to determine whether it ought to be rewarded or punished. Those who compiled the laws of England were so sensible of this, that they laid it down as one of their first maxims, It is better suffering a mischief than an inconvenience; which is as much as to say in other words, that, since no law can take in or provide for all cases, it is better private men should have some injustice done them, than that a public griev-rose at length in that clouded may wit** ance should not be redressed. This is usually ton takes notice of, and opened to theve a pleaded in defence of all those hardships which fall picture of nature, which was more £6 iss I WAS yesterday about sun-set walking in the open fields, until the night insensibly fell upon me. first amused myself with all the richness and vær (iy of colours which appeared in the western parts® heaven; in proportion as they faded away * went out, several stars and planets appeared c after another, until the whole firmam stw i glow. The blueness of the ether was exe heightened and enlivened by the season of the veg, and by the rays of all those luminaries th 1 ja through it. The galaxy appeared in its movie tiful white. To complete the scere, dhe fs and disposed among softer lights, than that which | wider circumference to one creature than another, he sun had before discovered to us. As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought rose in me which i believe very often perplexes and disturbs men of serious and contemplative natures, David himself fell into t in that reflection, When I consider the heavens he work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man that thou ut mindful of him, and the son of man that thou egardest him!' In the same manner, when I conidered that infinite host of stars, or, to speak more philosophically, of suns which were then shining upon me, with those innumerable sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their respective ans; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed another heaven of suns and worlds rising still above this which we discovered, and these still enlightened by a superior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at so great a distance, that they may appear to the inhabitants of the former as the stars do to us; in short, while I pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little insignificant fizure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's works. | according as we rise one above another in the scale of existence. But the widest of these our spheres has its circumference. When therefore we reflect on the divine nature, we are so used and accus tomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot forbear in some measure ascribing it to him in whom there is no shadow of imperfection. Our reason indeed assures us that his attributes are infinite; but the poorness of our conceptions is such that it cannot forbear setting bounds to every thing it contemplates, until our reason comes again to our succour, and throws down all those little prejudices which rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker in the multilicity of his works, and the infinity of those objects among which he seems to be incessantly employed, if we consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent; and, in the second, that he is omniscient. every being, whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present to it as that being is to itself. It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to remove out of one place into another, or to withdraw himself from any thing he has created, or from any part of that space which is diffused and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of him in the language of the old philosopher, he is a Being whose centre is every where, and his circumference no where. If we consider him in his omnipresence: his being passes through, actuates, and supports the whole frame of nature. His creation, and every part of it, is fall of him. There is nothing he has Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the made that is either so distant, so little, or so treation, with all the host of planetary worlds that inconsiderable, which he does not essentially innove about him, utterly extinguished and anniki-habit. His substance is within the substance of ated, they would not be missed more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison of the whole, that it would scarce make a blank in the creation. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass from one end of the creation to the other; as it is possible there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves. We see many stars by the help of glasses which we do not discover with our naked eyes; and the finer our telescopes are the more still are our discoveries. Huygenius carries this thought so far, that he does not think it impossible there may be stars whose light is not yet travelled down to us, since their first creation. | There is no question but the universe has certain bounds set to it; but when we consider that it is the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite goodness, with an infirite space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any bounds to it? To return therefore to my first thought. could not bat look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so great a work under his care and superintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which in all probability swarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter. In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered that it took its rise from those narrow conceptions which we are apt to entertain of the divine nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many different objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, we must of course neglect others. This imperfection, which we observe in ourselves, is an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to creatures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is, beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of every created being is confined to a certain measure of space, and consequently his observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omnipresent. His omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally flows from his omnipresence; he cannot but be conscious of every motion that arises in the whole material world, which he thus essentially pervades, and of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Seval moralists have considered the creation as the temple of God, which he has built with his own hands, and which is filled with his presence. Others have considered infinite space as the receptacle, or rather the habitation, of the Almighty; but the noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite space is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the sensorium of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their sensoriola, or little sensoriums, by which they apprehend the presence and perceive the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their knowledge and observation turn within a very narrow circle. But as God Almighty cannot but perceive and know every thing in which he resides, infinite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an organ to omniscience. Were the soul separate from the body, and with one glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of the creation, should it for millions of years continue its progress through infinite space with the same activity, it would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, and encom passed round with the immensity of the Godhead. While we are in the body he is not less present with us because he is concealed from us. "O that I knew where I might find him!' says Job. Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, 6 but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he does work, but I cannot behold him; he hideth himself on the right hand that I cannot see him.' In short, reason as well as revelation assures us that he cannot be absent from us, notwithstanding he is undiscovered by us. In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence and omniscience every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot but regard every thing that has being, especially such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart in particular which is apt to trouble them on this occasion: for, as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he regards, with an eye of mercy, those who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice, and in an unfeigned humility of heart think themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them +. of exercising those two great virtues, patience a courage, but often produces them in minds withey had scarce any footing before. I must i that it is one of the best schools in the world to me. ceive a general notion of mankind in, and a n tain freedom of behaviour, which is not so e acquired in any other place. At the same time. must own, that some military airs are pretty traordinary, and that a man who goes inte a army a coxcomb will come out of it a st public nuisance: but a man of sense, or one us had not been sufficiently used to a mixed convers tion, generally takes the true turn. The cỡnt a. in all ages been allowed to be the standard good-breeding; and I believe there is not a jai observation in Monsieur Rochefoucault, that m "a man who has been bred up wholly to bus can never get the air of a courtier at court, bu will immediately catch it in the camp." The *** son of this most certainly is, that the very ea of good-breeding and politeness consists in severa niceties, which are so minute that they escape observation, and he falls short of the original a would copy after; but when he sees the sam things charged and aggravated to a fait, be s sooner endeavours to come up to the pattern wie: is set before him, than, though he stops sometid short of that, he naturally rests where in reality ar ought. I was, two or three days ago, mgu pleased with the observation of a bumorous ge tleman upon one of his friends, who was in other respects every way an accomplished person, ra he wanted nothing but a dash of the corcomeni him; by which he understood a little of that 2. which is usually so visible among gentlemen of to army, and which a campaign or two would infalse bly have given him. As my correspondents begin to grow pretty numerous, I think myself obliged to take some notice of them, and shall therefore make this paper a miscellany of letters. I have, since my re-assuming the office of Spectator, received abundance of epis-ness and unconcern in the common actions of id tles from gentlemen of the blade, who I find have been so used to action that they know not how to lie still. They seem generally to be of opinion that the fair at home ought to reward them for their services abroad, and that, till the cause of their country calls them into the field, they have a sort of right to quarter themselves upon the ladies. In order to favour their approaches, I am desired by some to enlarge upon the accomplishments of their profession, and by others to give them my advice in the carrying on their attacks. But let us hear what the gentlemen say for themselves. MR SPECTATOR, THOUGH it may look somewhat perverse amidst the arts of peace to talk too much of war, it is but gratitude to pay the last office to its manes, since even peace itself is, in some measure, obliged to it for its being. You will easily guess, sir, by this my pass gyric upon a military education, that I am m a soldier; and indeed I am so. I remember, wie in three years after I had been in the army, I w: ordered into the country a recruiting. I had ver particular success in this part of the service, and was over and above assured, at my going ateş that I might have taken a young lady, who wa the most considerable fortune in the country, alt with me. I preferred the pursuit of fame at time to all other considerations; and, though i sa not absolutely bent on a wooden leg, readved at least to get a scar or two for the good of Eure pe I have at present as much desire of this sort of nour, and if you could recommend me efectuls should be well enough contented to pass the p You have, in your former papers, always re- mainder of my days in the arms of some dear kị đ commended the accomplished to the favour of the creature, and upon a pretty estate in the coČIA fair; and I hope you will allow me to represent This, as I take it, would be following the ris some part of a military life not altogether unne-ple of Lucius Cincinnatus, the old Rorian diraus. cessary to the forming a gentleman. I need not tell you that in France, whose fashions we have been formerly so fond of, almost every one derives his pretences to merit from the sword; and that a man has scarce the face to make his court to a lady, without some credentials from the service to recommend him. As the profession is very ancient, we have reason to think some of the greatest men among the old Romans derived many of their virtues from it, the commanders being frequently in other respects some of the most shining characters of the age. The army not only gives a man opportunities Job xxiii. 8, &c + See Nos. 571, 580, 590, and 628. who, at the end of a war, left the camp to “e aw the plough. I am, sir, with all imaginable regol 'Your most obedient, MR. SPECTATor, ⚫ humble servant, a the I AM an half-pay officer, and am at present val a friend in the country. Here is a ri-a the neighbourhood, who has made fools of fox-hunters within fifty miles of her. She dear she intends to marry, but has not yet been ward by the man she could like. She usually adaris bef humble admirers to an audience or two; bu, air she has once given them denial, will never r them more. I am assured by a female te |