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This, this cunning "What then can weak woman do? I am willing
to surrender, but he would have it at discretion,
and I with discretion. In the meantime, while
we parley, our several interests are neglected. As
his siege grows stronger, my tea grows weaker:
and while he pleads at my bar, none come to him
for counsel but in forma pauperis. Dear Mr. Spec-
tator, advise him not to insist upon hard articles,
nor by his irregular desires contradict the well-
meaning lines of his countenance. If we were
agreed, we might settle to something, as soon as we
could determine where we should get most by the
law-at the coffee-house or at Westminster.
"Your humble Servant,

vw, and put a billet
it she knows noth-
m my birth to this
reated by any one as I
a few books, which I
his hour a novice to all
30 be worth your while
avior in this case, and
oes expect honest plain
er people? Why must I,
have a good air, a fine com-
20 cm of my years, be
and have the notions of
- my mind, for no other
have the advantages of
Indeed, Sir, what with the
spadas by the sort of peo-
and the utter negligence
the conversation of us
tea is no other than what
rance and vanity, if not
y submitted to your spec-

ar humble Servant,
SHARLOT WEALTHY."

Will's Coffee-house. serve to fill up a paper if you s only to ask, whether that is a paraphrase of Isaiah, in yediens, is not written by Mr. on another line, by putting ces, as at the end of a letter. Se, your humble Servant,

ABRAHAM DAPPERWIT."

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"LUCINDA PABLEY."

A Minute from Mr. John Sly. "The world is pretty regular for about forty rod east and ten west of the observatory of the said Mr. Sly; but he is credibly informed, that when they are got beyond the pass into the Strand, or those who move city ward are got within Temple bar, they are just as they were before. It is therefore humbly proposed, that moving sentries may be appointed all the busy hours of the day be tween the Exchange and Westminster, and report what passes to your honor, or your subordinate officers, from time to time."

Ordered,

will answer for their principles and morals.-T. That Mr. Sly name the said officers, provided he

No. 535.] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1712
Spem longam reseces.
HOR. 1 Od. xi. 7.

Cut short vain hope.

My four-hundred-and-seventy-first speculation turned upon the subject of hope in general. I design this paper as a speculation upon that vain and foolish hope, which is misemployed on tem poral objects, and produces many sorrows and calamities in human life.

It is a precept several times inculcated by Ho race, that we should not entertain a hope of any thing in life which lies at a great distance from us. The shortness and uncertainty of our time here make such a kind of hope unreasonable and absurd. The grave lies unseen between us and the object which we reach after. Where one man lives to enjoy the good he has in view, ten thousand are cut off in the pursuit of it.

It happens likewise unluckily, that one hope o sooner dies in us but another rises up in its stead We are apt to fancy that we shall be happy and satisfied if we possess ourselves of such and such particular enjoyments; but either by reason of their emptiness, or the natural inquietude of the mind, we have no sooner gained one point, but we extend our hopes to another. We still find are inviting scenes and landscapes lying behind those which at a distance terminated our view.

The natural consequences of such reflections an these that we should take care not to let our hopes run out into too great a length; that we should sufficiently weigh the objects of our hope, whether they be such as we may reasonably expect from them what we propose in their fruition, and whe they are such as we are pretty sure of attaini in case our life extend itself so far. If we hope for things which are at too great a distance fre us, it is possible that we may be intercepted as death in our progress toward them. If we h for things of which we have not thoroughly sidered the value of, our disappointment will >

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greater than our pleasure in the fruition of them. | my father-in-law a visit, with a great train and If we hope for what we are not likely to possess, equipage. And when I am placed at his right we act and think in vain, and make life a greater hand, which he will do of course, if it be only to dream and shadow than it really is. honor his daughter, I will give him the thousand pieces of gold which I promised him; and afterward, to his great surprise will present him another purse of the same value, with some short speech: as, 'Sir, you see I am a man of my word: I always give more than I promise."

Many of the miseries and misfortunes of life proceed from our want of consideration, in one or all of these particulars. They are the rocks on which the sanguine tribe of lovers split, and on which the bankrupt, the politician, the alchemist, and projector, are cast away in every age. Men of warm imaginations and towering thoughts are apt to overlook the goods of fortune which are near them, for something that glitters in the sight at a distance; to neglect solid and substantial happiness, for what is showy and superficial; and to contemn that good which lies within their reach, for that which they are not capable of attaining. Hope calculates its schemes for a long and durable life; presses forward to imaginary points of bliss; grasps at impossibilities; and consequently very often ensnares men into beggary, ruin, and dishonor.

"When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particular care to breed in her a due respect for me before I give the reins to love and dalliance. To this end, I shall confine her to her own apartment, make a short visit, and talk but little to her. Her women will represent to me, that she is inconsolable by reason of my unkindness, and beg me with tears to caress her, and let her sit down by me; but I shall still remain inexorable, and will turn my back upon her all the first night. Her mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated upon my sofa. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling What I have here said may serve as a model to herself at my feet, and beg of me to receive her an Arabian fable, which I find translated into into my favor. Then will I, to imprint in her a French by Monsieur Galland. The fable has in thorough veneration for my person, draw up my it such a wild but natural simplicity that I question not but my reader will be as much pleased with it as I have been, and that he will consider himself, if he reflects on the several amusements of hope which have sometimes passed in his mind, as a near relation to the Persian glassman.

Alnaschar, says the fable, was a very idle fellow that never would set his hand to any business during his father's life. When his father died, he left him to the value of a hundred drachmas in Persian money. Alnaschar, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in glasses, bottles, and the finest earthenware. These he piled up in a large open basket, and, having made choice of a very little shop, placed the basket at his feet; and leaned his back upon the wall in expectation of customers. As he sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of his neighbors, as he talked to himself in the following manner: "This basket," says he, "cost me at the wholesale merchant's a hundred drachmas, which is all I have in the world. I shall quickly make two hundred of it by selling it in retail. These two hundred drachmas will in a very little while rise to four hundred, which of course will amount in time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas cannot fail of making eight thousand. As soon as by this means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade of a glassman, and turn jeweler. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealth as I well can desire, I will make a purchase of the finest house I can find, with lands, slaves, eunuchs, and horses. I shall then begin to enjoy myself, and make a noise in the world. I will not however stop there, but still continue my traffic, until I have got together a hundred thousand drachmas. When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the foot of a prince, and will demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage, after having represented to that minister the information which I have received of the beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities which his daughter possesses. I will let him know, at the same time, that it is my intention to make him a present of a thousand pieces of gold on our marriage night. As soon as I have married the grand vizier's daughter, I will buy her ten black eunuchs, the youngest and the best that can be got for money. I must afterward make

legs and spurn her from me with my foot, in such a manner that she shall fall down several paces from the sofa."

Aluaschar was entirely swallowed up in this chimerical vision, and could not forbear acting with his foot what he had in his thoughts; so that unluckily striking his basket of brittle ware, which was the foundation of all his grandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into the. street, and broke them into a thousand pieces. 0.

No. 536.] FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1712. O veræ Phrygiæ, neque enim Phryges!-VIRG. Æn. ix. 617. O less than women in the shapes of men.-DRYDEN.

As I was the other day standing in my bookseller's shop, a pretty young thing about eighteen years of age stepped out of her coach, and brushing by me, beckoned the man of the shop to the further end of his counter, where she whispered something to him, with an attentive look, and at the same time presented him a letter: after which, pressing the end of her fan upon his hand, she delivered the remaining part of her message, and withdrew. I observed, in the midst of her discourse, that she flushed and cast an eye upon me over her shoulder, having been informed by my bookseller that I was the man of the short face whom she had so often read of. Upon her passing by me, the pretty blooming creature smiled in my face, and dropped me a courtsey. She scarce gave me time to return her salute, before she quitted the shop with an easy skuttle, and stepped again into her coach, giving the footman directions to drive where they were bid. Upon her departure my bookseller gave me a letter superscribed "To the ingenious Spectator," which the young lady had desired him to deliver into my own hands, and to tell me that the speedy publication of it would not only oblige herself, but a whole tea-table of my friends. I opened it therefore with a resolution to publish it, whatever it should contain, and am sure if any of my male readers will be so severely critical as not to like it, they would have been as well pleased with it as myself, had they seen the face of the pretty scribe.

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think one that may put you in a way to employ the most idle part of the kingdom: I mean that part of mankind who are known by the name of the women's men, or beaux, etc. Mr. Spectator, you are sensible these pretty gentlemen are not made for manly employments, and for want of business are often as much in the vapors as the ladies. Now what I propose is this, that since knitting is again in fashion, which has been found a very pretty amusement, that you will recommend it to these gentlemen as something that may make them useful to the ladies they admire. And since it is not inconsistent with any game, or other diversion, for it may be done in the playhouse, in their coaches, at the tea-table, and in short in all places where they come for the sake of the ladies (except at church; be pleased to forbid it there, to prevent mistakes), it will be easily complied with. It is, beside, an employment that allows, as we see by the fair sex, of many graces, which will make the beaux more readily come into it: it shows a white hand and a diamond ring to great advantage; it leaves the eyes at full liberty to be employed as before, as also the thoughts and the tongue. In short, it seems in every respect so proper, that it is needless to urge it further, by speaking of the satisfaction these male knitters will find, when they see their work mixed up in a fringe, and worn by the fair lady for whom and with whom it was done. Truly, Mr. Spectator, I cannot but be pleased I have hit upon something that these gentlemen are capable of; for it is sad so considerable a part of the kingdom (I mean for numbers) should be of no manner of use. I shall not trouble you further at this time, but only to say, that I am always your reader, and generally your admirer.

"C. B. "P. S. The sooner these fine gentlemen are set to work the better; there being at this time several fine fringes that stay only for more hands."

I shall in the next place present my reader with the description of a set of men who are common enough in the world, though I do not remember that I have yet taken notice of them, as they are drawn in the following letter:

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"Since you have lately, to so good purpose enlarged upon conjugal love, it is to be hoped you will discourage every practice that rather proceeds from a regard to interest than to happiness. Now you cannot but observe, that most of our fine young ladies readily fall in with the direction of the graver sort, to retain in their service by some small encouragement as great a number as they can of supernumerary and insignificant fellows, which they use like whifflers, and commonly call shoeing horns. These are never designed to know the length of the foot, but only, when a good offer comes, to whet and spur him up to the point. Nay, it is the opinion of that grave lady, Madam Matchwell, that it is absolutely convenient for every prudent family to have several of these implements about the house to clap on as occasion serves; and that every spark ought to produce a certificate of his being a shoeing horn before he be admitted as a shoe. A certain lady whom I could name, if it was necessary, has at present more shoeing horns of all sizes, countries, and colors, in her service, than ever she had new shoes in her life. I have known a woman make use of a shoeing horn for several years, and, finding him unsuccessful in that function, convert him at length into a shoe. I am mistaken if your friend, Mr. William Honeycomb, was not a cast shoeing horn before his late marriage. As for myself, I must

frankly declare to you, that I have been an errant shoeing horn for above these twenty years. I served my first mistress in that capacity above five of the number, before she was shod." I confess, though she had many who made their applications to her, I always thought myself the best shoe in her shop; and it was not until a month before her marriage that I discovered what I was.

This had like to have broke my heart, and raised such suspicions in me, that I told the next I made love to, upon receiving some unkind usage from her, that I began to look upon myself as no more than her shoeing horn. Upon which, my dear, who was a coquette in her nature, told me I was hypochondriacal, and that I might as well look upon myself to be an egg, or a pipkin. But in a very short time after she gave me to know that I was not mistaken in myself. It would be tedious to you to recount the life of an unfortunate shoeing horn, or I might entertain you with a very long and melancholy relation of my sufferings. Upon the whole, I think Sir, it would very well become a man in your post, to determine in what cases a woman may be allowed with honor to make use of a shoeing horn, as also to declare, whether a maid on this side five-and-twenty, or a widow who has not been three years in that state, may be granted such a privilege, with other difficulties which will naturally occur to you upon that subject. "I am, Sir,

0.

"With the most profound veneration, "Yours," etc.

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"IT has been usual to remind persons of rank, on great occasions in life, of their race and quality, and to what expectations they were born; that by considering what is worthy of them, they may be withdrawn from mean pursuits, and encouraged to laudable undertakings. This is turning nobility into a principle of virtue, and making it productive of merit, as it is understood to have been originally a reward of it.

have in some of your speculations asserted to your "It is for the like reason, I imagine, that you readers the dignity of human nature. But you

cannot be insensible that this is a controverted

doctrine; there are authors who consider human maxims have been written to show the falsity of nature in a very different view, and books of all human virtues.* The reflections which are made on the subject usually take some tincture from the tempers and characters of those that make them. Politicians can resolve the most shining actions among men into artifice and design; others, who are soured by discontent, repulses, or ill-usage, are apt to mistake their spleen for philosophy; incapable of rising to any distinction among their men of profligate lives, and such as find themselves fellow-creatures, are for pulling down all appearances of merit which seem to upbraid them; and these hands, we have such draughts of mankind satirists describe nothing but deformity. From all which the Italians call caricaturas; where the art as are represented in those burlesque pictures consists in preserving, amidst distorted proportions

* An allusion to the following book, Reflections et Maximes Morales de M. le Duc de la Rochefoucault.-Mad. L'Encis

says of him, that he had no more belief in virtues than he had in ghost

and aggravated features, some distinguishing likeness of the person, but in such a manner as to transform the most agreeable beauty into the most odious monster.

"It is very disingenuous to level the best of mankind with the worst, and for the faults of particulars to degrade the whole species. Such methods tend not only to remove a man's good opinion of others, but to destroy that reverence for himself, which is a great guard of innocence, and a spring of virtue.

"It is true, indeed, that there are surprising mixtures of beauty and deformity, of wisdom and folly, virtue and vice, in the human make; such a disparity is found among numbers of the same kind; and every individual in some instances, or at some times, is so unequal to himself, that man seems to be the most wavering and inconsistent being in the whole creation. So that the question in morality concerning the dignity of our nature may at first sight appear like some difficult questions in natural philosophy, in which the arguments on both sides seem to be of equal strength. But, as I began with considering this point as it relates to action, I shall here borrow an admirable reflection from Monsieur Pascal, which I think sets it in its proper light.

"It is of dangerous consequence,' says he, 'to represent to man how near he is to the level of beasts, without showing him at the same time his greatness. It is likewise dangerous to let him see his greatness without his meanness. It is more dangerous yet to leave him ignorant of either; but very beneficial that he should be made sensible of both.' Whatever imperfections we may have in our nature, it is the business of religion and virtue to rectify them, as far as is consistent with our present state. In the meantime, it is no small encouragement to generous minds to consider, that we shall put them all off with our mortality. That sublime manner of salutation with which the Jews approach their kings,

O king, live forever!

may be addressed to the lowest and most despised mortal among us, under all the infirmities and distresses with which we see him surrounded. And whoever believes in the immortality of the soul, will not need a better argument for the dignity of his nature, nor a stronger incitement to actions suitable to it.

"The elder Cyrus, just before his death, is represented by Xenophon speaking after this manner: Think not, my dearest children, that when I depart from you I shall be no more; but remember, that my soul, even while I lived among you, was invisible to you; yet by my actions you were sensible it existed in this body. Believe it therefore existing still, though it be still unseen. How quickly would the honors of illustrious men perish after death, if their souls performed nothing to preserve their fame! For my own part, I never could think that the soul while in a mortal body lives, but when departed out of it, it dies; or that its consciousness is lost when it is discharged out of an unconscious habitation. But when it is freed from all corporeal alliance, then it truly exists. Further, since the human frame is broken by death, tell us what becomes of its parts? It is visible whither the materials of other beings are translated, namely: to the source from whence they had their birth. The soul alone, neither present nor departed, is the object of our eyes.'

"Thus Cyrus. But to proceed: 'No one shall persuade me, Scipio, that your worthy father, or your grandfathers Paulus and Africanus, or Africanus his father or uncle, or many other excellent men whom I need not name, performed so many actions to be remembered by posterity, with being sensible that futurity was their right. And, if I may be allowed an old man's privilege to speak of myself, do you think I would have endured the fatigue of so many wearisome days and nights, both at home and abroad, if I imagined that the same boundary which is set to my life must terminate my glory? Were it not more desirable to have worn out my days in ease and tranquillity, free from labor, and without emulation? But, I know not how, my soul has always raised itself, and looked forward on futurity, in this view and expectation, that when it shall depart out of life it shall then live forever; and if this were not true, that the mind is immortal, the souls of the most worthy would not, above all others, have the strongest impulse to glory.

"What beside this is the cause that the wisest men die with the greatest equanimity, the ignorant with the greatest concern? Does it not seem that those minds which have the most extensive views foresee they are removing to a happier condition, which those of a narrow sight do not perceive? I, for my part, am transported with the hope of see"I am naturally led by this reflection to a sub-ing your ancestors, whom I have honored and ject I have already touched upon in a former letter, loved; and am earnestly desirous of meeting not and cannot without pleasure call to mind the only those excellent persons whom I have known, thoughts of Cicero to this purpose, in the close of but those, too, of whom I have heard and read, his book concerning old age. Every one who is and of whom I myself have written; nor would Í acquainted with his writings will remember, that be detained from so pleasing a journey. O happy the elder Cato is introduced in that discourse as day, when I shall escape from this crowd, this the speaker, and Scipio and Lælius as his auditors. heap of pollution, and be admitted to that divine This venerable person is represented looking for- assembly of exalted spirits! when I shall go not ward as it were from the verge of extreme old age only to those great persons I have named, but to into a future state, and rising into a contemplation my Cato, my son, than whom a better man was on the unperishable part of his nature, and its ex- never born, and whose funeral rites I myself peristence after death. I shall collect part of his dis- formed, whereas he ought rather to have attended course. And as you have formerly offered some mine. Yet has not his soul deserted me, but, arguments for the soul's immortality, agreeable seeming to cast back a look on me, is gone before both to reason and the Christian doctrine, I believe to those habitations to which it was sensible I your readers will not be displeased to see how the should follow him. And though I might appear same great truth shines in the pomp of Roman to have borne my loss with courage, I was not uneloquence. affected with it; but I comforted myself in the assurance, that it would not be long before we should meet again, and be divorced no more.'

This,' says Cato, 'is my firm persuasion, that since the human soul exerts itself with so great activity; since it has such a remembrance of the past, such a concern for the future; since it is enriched with so many arts, sciences, and discoveries; it is impossible but the Being which contains alí

these must be immortal.'

"I am, Sir," etc.

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To launch beyond all bounds.

SURPRISE is not so much the life of stories, that every one aims at it who endeavors to please by telling them. Smooth delivery, an elegant choice of words, and a sweet arrangement, are all beautifying graces, but not the particulars in this point of conversation which either long command the attention, or strike with the violence of a sudden passion, or occasion the burst of laughter which accompanies humor. I have sometimes fancied that the mind is in this case like a traveler who sees a fine seat in haste; he acknowledges the delightfulness of a walk set with regularity, but would be uneasy if he were obliged to pace it over, when the first view had let him into all its beau

ties from one end to the other.

However, a knowledge of the success which stories will have when they are attended with a turn of surprise, as it has happily made the characters of some, so has it also been the ruin of the characters of others. There is a set of men who outrage truth, instead of affecting us with a manner in telling it; who overleap the line of probability, that they may be seen to move out of the common road; and endeavor only to make their hearers stare by imposing upon them with a kind of nonsense against the philosophy of nature, or such a heap of wonders told upon their own knowledge, as it is not likely one man should have ever met with.

I have been led to this observation by a company into which I fell accidentally. The subject of antipathies was a proper field wherein such false surprises might expatiate, and there were those present who appeared very fond to show it in its full extent of traditional history. Some of them, in a learned manner, offered to our consideration the miraculous powers which the effluviums of cheese have over bodies whose pores are disposed to receive them in a noxious manner; others gave an account of such who could indeed bear the sight of cheese, but not the taste; for which they brought a reason from the milk of their nurses. Others again discoursed, without endeavoring at reasons, concerning an unconquerable aversion which some stomachs have against a joint of meat when it is whole, and the eager inclination they have for it when, by its being cut up, the shape which had affected them is altered. From hence they passed to eels, then to parsnips, and so from one aversion to another, until we had worked up ourselves to such a pitch of complaisance, that when the dinner was to come in we inquired the name of every dish, and hoped it would be no offense to any company, before it was admitted. When we had sat down, this civility among us turned the discourse from eatables to other sorts of aversions; and the eternal cat, which plagues every conversa. tion of this nature, began then to engross the subject. One had sweated at the sight of it, another had smelled it out as it lay concealed in a very distant cupboard; and he who crowned the whole set of these stories, reckoned up the number of times in which it had occasioned him to swoon away. "At last," says he, "that you may all be satisfied of my invincible aversion to a cat, I shall give an unanswerable instance. As I was going through a street of London, where I had never been until then, I felt a general damp and faintness all over me, which I could not tell how to account for, until I chanced to cast my eyes upward, and found that I was passing under a sign post on which the picture of a cat was hung."

The extravagance of this turn in the way of sur prise gave a stop to the talk we had been carrying on. Some were silent because they doubted, and others, because they were conquered in their own way; so that the gentleman had an opportunity to press the belief of it upon us, and let us ses that he was rather exposing himself than ridiculing others.

I must freely own that I did not all this while disbelieve everything that was said; but yet I thought some in the company had been endeav oring who should pitch the bar furthest; that had for some been a measuring cast, and at last my friend of the cat and sign-post had thrown te yond them all.

I then considered the manner in which this story had been received, and the possibility that it might have passed for a jest upon others, if he had not labored against himself. From hence, thought I, there are two ways which the well-bred world generally takes to correct such a practice, when they do not think fit to contradict it flatis.

The first of these is a general silence, which I would not advise any one to interpret in his ova behalf. It is often the effect of prudence in avoiding a quarrel, when they see another drive so fast that there is no stopping him without being run against; and but very seldom the effect of weakness in believing suddenly. The generality al mankind are not so grossly ignorant, as some overbearing spirits would persuade themselves; and if the authority of a character or a cauties against danger makes us suppress our opinions, yet neither of these are of force enough to sup press our thoughts of them. If a man who has endeavored to amuse his company with improbe bilities could but look into their minds, he would find that they imagine he lightly esteems of thes sense when he thinks to impose upon them, and that he is less esteemed by them in his attempt doing so. His endeavor to glory at their expese becomes a ground of quarrel, and the scorn and indifference with which they entertain it begi the immediate punishment and indeed (if should even go no further) silence, or a negled indifference, has a deeper way of wounding th opposition, because opposition proceeds from anger that has a sort of generous sentiment for the adversary mingling along with it, while it shows that there is some esteem in your mind for him in short, that you think him worth while to cate test with. But silence, or negligent indifference, proceeds from anger, mixed with a scoru that shows another that he is thought by you too com temptible to be regarded.

The other method which the world has t for correcting this practice of false surprise, is tr overshoot such talkers in their own bow, raise the story with further degrees of imposs bility, and set up for a voucher to them in such a manner as must let them see they stand detecte Thus I have heard a discourse was once msa upon the effects of fear. One of the company had given an account how it had turned his friends hair gray in a night, while the terrors of a mặ wreck encompassed him. Another, taking hint from hence, began upon his own knowing to enlarge his instances of the like nature te sa a number, that it was not probable he old an have met with them and as he still grow these upon different causes for the sake of rin it might seem at last, from his share of the versation, almost impossible that any one b feel the passion of fear should all h life es*** common an effect of it. By this time company grew negligent, or desirous to conersat him: but one rebuked the rest with an spe

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