BY
JOSEPH ADDISON and
RICHARD STEELE
(selected essays)
No. 244. MONDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1711.
*
* *
* *
* *
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" Though I am a woman, yet I am one of those
who confess themselves highly pleased with a specu-
lation you obliged the world with some time ago,
from an old Greek poet you call Simonides, in rela-
tion to the several natures and distinctions of our
own sex. I could not but admire how justly the
characters of women in this age fall in with the
times of Simonides, there being no one of those
sorts I have not at some time or other of my life
met with a sample of. But, Sir, the objects of this
present address are a set of women, comprehended,
I think, in the ninth species of that speculation,
called the Apes; the description of whom I find to
be, ' That they are such [who] are both ugly and ill-
["as"]
natured, who have nothing beautiful themselves, and
endeavour to detract from, or ridicule everything[,]
that appears so in others.' Now, Sir, this sect, as I
have been told, is very frequent in the great town
where you live; but as my circumstances in life
obliges me to reside altogether in the country, though
not many miles from London, I can't have met with
a great number of 'em, nor indeed is it a desirable
acquaintance, as I have lately found by experience.
You must know, Sir, that at the beginning of this
summer a family of these apes came and settled for
the season not far from the place where I live. As
they were strangers in the country, they were visit-
ed by the ladies about 'em, of whom I was [one], with a
humanity usual in those who pass most of their time
in solitude. The apes lived with us very agreeably
our own way till towards the end of the summer,
when they began to bethink themselves of return-
ing to town; then it was, Mr. Spectator, that they
began to set themselves about the proper and dis-
tinguishing business of their character; and as it is
said of evil spirits, that they are apt to carry away
a piece of the house they are about to leave, the
apes, without regard to common mercy, civility, or
gratitude, thought fit to mimic and fall foul on the
faces, dress, and behaviour of their innocent neigh-
bours, bestowing abominable censures and disgrace-
ful appellations, commonly called nicknames, on all
of them; and in short, like true fine ladies, made their
honest plainness and sincerity matter of ridicule. I
could not but acquaint you with these grievances,
as well at the desire of all the parties injured, as
from my own inclination. I hope, Sir, if you can't
propose entirely to reform this evil, you will take
such notice of it in some of your future speculations,
as may put the deserving part of our sex on their
guard against these creatures; and at the same time
the apes may be sensible, that this sort of mirth is
so far from an innocent diversion, that it is in the
highest degree that vice which is said to comprehend
all others.
" I am, Sir,
" Your humble servant,
" CONSTANTIA FIELD."
*
* *
* *
* *
[Addison]
No. 246. WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1711.
______
[Greek writing]
HOM. IL. II. 38.
Nor ever amorous
hero caused thy birth.
Nor
ever tender goddess brought thee forth:
Some
rugged rock's hard entrails gave thee form,
And
raging seas produc'd thee in a storm:
A soul
well suiting that tempestuous kind,
So rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind. POPE.
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" As your paper is part of the equipage of the
tea-table, I conjure you to print what I now write
to you; for I have no other way to communicate
what I have to say to the fair sex on the most im-
portant circumstance of life, even ' the care of child-
ren.' I do not understand [why] you profess your
["that"]
paper is always to consist of matters which are only
to entertain the learned and polite, [and why it can't]
["but that it may"]
agree with your design to publish some which may
tend to the information of mankind in general; and
when it does so, [that] you do more than writing wit and
humour [on the matter]. Give me leave then to tell you,
that of all the abuses [] you have as yet endeavoured
["that ever"]
to reform, certainly not one wanted so much your
assistance as the abuse in nursing of children. It is
unmerciful to see, that a woman endowed with all
the perfections and blessings of nature can, as soon
as she is delivered, turn [away from] her innocent, tender,
["off"]
and helpless infant, and give it up to a woman that is,
ten thousand to one, neither in health nor good
condition, neither sound in mind nor body, that has
neither honour nor reputation, neither love nor pity
for the poor babe, but more regard for the money
than for the whole child, and never will take further
care of it than what by all the encouragement of mo-
ney and presents she is forced to; like Aesop's earth,
which would not nurse the plant of another ground,
although never so much improved, by reason that
plant was not of its own production. And since an-
other's child is no more natural to a nurse, than a
plant to a strange and different ground, how can it
be supposed that the child should thrive; and if it
thrives, must it not imbibe the gross humours and
qualities of the nurse, like a plant in a different
ground, or like a graft upon a different stock? Do
not we observe, that a lamb sucking a goat changes
very much its nature, nay even its skin and wool
into the goat kind? The power of a nurse over a
child, by infusing into it with her milk her qualities
and disposition, is sufficiently and daily observed.
Hence came that old saying concerning an ill-natured
and malicious fellow, that ' he had imbibed his ma-
lice with his nurse's milk, or that some brute or other
had been his nurse.' Hence Romulus and Remus
were said to have been nursed by a wolf; Telephus
the son of Hercules by a [deer]; Pelias the son of
["hind"]
Neptune by a mare; and Ægisthus by a goat; not
that they had actually sucked such creatures, as some
simpletons have imagined, but that their nurses had
been of such a nature and temper, and infused such
into them.
" Many instances may be produced from good au-
thorities and daily experience, that children actu-
ally suck in the [various] passions and depraved in-
["several"]
clinations of their nurses, as anger, malice, fear,
melancholy, sadness, desire, and aversion. This
Diodorus, [Book] 2, witnesses, when he speaks, saying,
["lib."]
that Nero the Emperor's nurse had been very much
addicted to drinking; which habit Nero received
from his nurse, and was so very particular in this,
that the people took so much notice of it, [that] instead
["as"]
of Tiberius Nero, they called him Biberius Mero ["Imbiber of Hot, Straight
Wine"].
The same Diodorus also relates of Caligula, prede-
cessor to Nero, that his nurse used to moisten the
nipples of her breast frequently with blood, to make
Caligula, take the better bold of them; which, says
Diodorus, was the cause that made him so blood-
thirsty and cruel all his lifetime after, [and] that he not
only committed frequent murder by his own hand,
but likewise wished that all human kind wore but
one neck, that he might have the pleasure to cut it
off. Such like degeneracies astonish the parents,
who not knowing after whom the child can take [after],
see one incline to stealing, another to drinking, cruelty,
stupidity; yet all these are not minded. Nay, it
is easy to demonstrate, that a child, although it be
born from the best of parents, may be corrupted by
an ill-tempered nurse. How many children do we
see daily brought into fits, consumptions, rickets, &c.
merely by sucking their nurses when in a passion
or fury? But indeed almost any disorder of the
nurse is a disorder to the child, and few nurses can
be found in this town [who don't] labour under some
["but what"]
distemper or other. The first question that is gen-
erally asked [of] a young woman that wants to be a
nurse, [that is,] why she should [want to] be a nurse to
other people's children, is answered, by her having an ill
husband, and that she must make shift to live. I think now
[that] this very answer is enough to give anybody a shock,
if duly considered; for an ill husband may, or ten
to one if he does not, bring home to his wife an ill
distemper, or at least vexation and disturbance.
Besides, as she takes the child out of mere neces-
sity, her food will be accordingly, or else very coarse
at best; whence proceeds an ill-concocted and coarse
food for the child; for as the blood, so is the milk;
and hence I am very well assured proceeds the
scurvy, the evil, and many other distempers. I beg
of you for the sake of the many poor infants that
may and will be saved by weighing the case seri-
ously, to exhort the people with the utmost vehe-
mence, to let the children suck their own mothers,
both for the benefit of mother and child. For the
general argument, that a mother is weakened by
giving suck to her children, is vain and simple. I
will maintain that the mother grows stronger by it,
and will have her health better than she would
have otherwise. She will find it the greatest cure
and preservative for the vapours and future mis-
[the vapours, "a state of feeling suddenly ill, often as the result of
an unpleasant
carriages, much beyond any other remedy what-
situation or bad news, esp. in women", Cambridge Internat. Dict. of Eng.]
soever. Her children will be like giants, whereas
otherwise they are but living shadows, and like
unripe fruit; and certainly if a woman is strong
enough to bring forth a child, she is beyond all
doubt strong enough to nurse it afterwards. It
grieves me to observe and consider how many poor
children are daily ruined by careless nurses; and
yet how tender ought they to be of a poor infant,
since the least hurt or blow, especially upon the
head, may make it senseless, stupid, or otherwise
miserable forever!
" But I cannot well leave this subject as yet; for
it seems to me very unnatural, that a woman that
has fed a child as part of herself for nine months,
should have no desire to nurse it further, when
brought to light and before her eyes, and when by its
cry it implores her assistance and the office of a mo-
ther. Do not the very smallest of brutes tend their
young ones with all the care and delight imaginable?
How can she be called a mother that will not nurse
her young ones? The earth is called the mother of
all things, not because she produces, but because she
maintains and nurses what she produces. The gen-
eration of the infant is the effect of desire, but the
care of it argues virtue and choice. I am not igno-
rant [] that there are some cases of necessity,
["but"]
where a mother cannot give suck, and then out of
two evils the least must be chosen; but there are
so very few [of these cases], that I am sure in a thousand
there is hardly one real instance; for if a woman does but
know that her husband can spare about three or
six shillings a week extra[], although this is
["ordinary"]
but seldom considered, she certainly, with the as-
sistance of her gossips, will soon persuade the good
man to send the child to nurse, and easily impose
upon him by pretending indisposition. This cruelty
is supported by fashion, and nature gives place to
custom.
" Sir,
" Your humble servant."
[Steele]
No. 247. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1711.
______
[Greek writing] HESIOD.
Their untired lips a wordy torrent pour.
WE are told by some ancient
authors, that Soc-
rates was instructed in eloquence by a woman,
whose name, if I am not mistaken, was Apasia. I
have indeed very often looked upon that art as the
most proper for the female sex, and I think the
universities would do well to consider whether they
should not fill their rhetoric chairs with she pro-
fessors.
It has been said in the praise of some men, that
they could talk whole hours together upon anything;
but it must be owned, to the honour of the other
sex, that there are many among them who can talk
whole hours together upon nothing. I have known
a woman branch out into a long extempore dis-
sertation upon the edging of a petticoat, and chide
her servant for breaking a china cup, in all the
figures of rhetoric.
Were women admitted to plead in courts of judi-
cature, I am persuaded they would carry the elo-
quence of the bar to greater heights than it has yet
arrived at. If any one doubt this, let him but be
present at those debates which frequently arise
among the ladies of the British fishery.
The first kind therefore of female orators which
I shall take notice of, are those who are employed
in stirring up the passions; a part of rhetoric in
which Socrates['] wife had perhaps made a greater
["his"]
proficiency than his above-mentioned teacher.
The second kind of female orators are those who
deal in invectives, and who are commonly known
by the name of the censorious. The imagination
and elocution of this set of rhetoricians is wonderful.
With what a fluency of invention, and copiousness
of expression, will they enlarge upon every little
slip in the behaviour of another! With how many
different circumstances, and with what variety of
phrases, will they tell over the same story! I have
known an old lady make an unhappy marriage the
subject of a month's conversation. She blamed the
bride in one place; pitied her in another; laughed
at her in a third; wondered at her in a fourth; was
angry with her in a fifth; and, in short, wore out a
pair of coach-horses in expressing her concern for
her. At length, after having quite exhausted the
subject on this side, she made a visit to the new-
married pair, praised the wife for the prudent choice
she had made, told her the unreasonable reflections
which some malicious people had cast upon her,
and desired that they might be better acquainted.
The censure and approbation of this kind of women
are therefore only to be considered as helps to dis-
course.
A third kind of female orators may be compre-
hended under the word gossips. Mrs. Fiddle-Faddle
is perfectly accomplished in this sort of eloquence;
she launches out into descriptions of christenings,
runs divisions upon a headdress, knows every dish
of meat that is served up in our neighbourhood,
and entertains her company a whole afternoon to-
gether with the wit of her little boy, before he is
able to speak.
The coquette may he looked upon as a fourth
kind of female orator. To give herself the larger
field for discourse, she hates and loves in the same
breath, talks to her lapdog or parrot, is uneasy in
all kinds of weather and in every part of the room.
She has false quarrels and feigned obligations to all
the men of her acquaintance; sighs when she is
not sad, and laughs when she is not merry. The
coquette is in particular a great mistress of that
part of oratory which is called action, and indeed
seems to speak for no other purpose, but as it gives
her an opportunity of stirring a limb, or varying
a feature, of glancing her eyes, or playing with her
fan.
As for newsmongers, politicians, mimics, story-
tellers, with other characters of that nature which
give birth to loquacity, they are as commonly found
among the men as the women; for which reason I
shall pass them over in silence.
I have often been puzzled to assign a cause why
women should have this talent of a ready utterance
in so much greater perfection than men. I have
sometimes fancied that they have not a retentive
power, or the faculty of suppressing their thoughts,
as men have, but that they are necessitated to speak
everything they think; and if so, it would perhaps
furnish a very strong argument to the Cartesians
for the supporting of their doctrine that the soul
always thinks. But as several are of [the] opinion that
the fair sex are not altogether strangers to the arts
of dissembling and concealing their thoughts, I have
been forced to relinquish that opinion, and have
therefore endeavoured to seek after some better rea-
son. In order to [find] it, a friend of mine, who is an ex-
cellent anatomist, has promised me, by the first op-
portunity, to dissect a woman's tongue, and to ex-
amine whether there may not be in it certain juices
which render it so wonderfully voluble or flippant,
or whether the fibres of it may not be made up of
a finer or more pliant thread; or whether there are
nor in it some particular muscles which dart it up
and down by such sudden glances and vibrations;
or whether, in the last place; there may not be cer-
tain undiscovered channels running from the head
and the heart to this little instrument of loquacity,
and conveying into it a perpetual affluency of animal
spirits. Nor must I omit the reason which Hudi-
bras has given, why those who can talk on trifles
speak with the greatest fluency; namely, that the
tongue is like a race-horse, which runs the faster the
lesser weight it carries.
Which of these reasons soever may be looked
upon as the most probable, I think the Irishman's
thought was very natural, who, after some hours [of]
conversation with a female orator, told her, that he
believed her tongue was very glad when she was
asleep, for that it had not a moment's rest all the
while she was awake.
That excellent old ballad of The Wanton Wife
of Bath, has the following remarkable lines:
I think,
quoth Thomas, women tongues
Of aspen leaves are made.
[aspen leaves flutter readily with a little wind]
And Ovid, though in the description of a
barbarous circumstance, tells us that when the
tongue of a beautiful female was cut out, and
thrown upon the ground, it could not forbear mut-
tering even in that posture:
---Comprensam
forcipe linguam
Abstulit ense
fero: radix micat ultima linguæ.
Ipsa jacet, terræque
tremens immurmurat atræ;
Utque salire
solet mutilatæ cauda colubræ
Palpitat.---
MET. vi. 556.
--The blade had cut
Her tongue sheer off,
close to the trembling root:
The mangled part still
quivered on the ground,
Murmuring with a faint
imperfect sound;
And as a serpent writhes
his wounded train,
[train, i.e. body]
Uneasy, panting, and possess'd
with pain. CROXALL.
If a tongue would be talking without a mouth,
what could it have done when it had all its organs
of speech, and accomplices of sound about it? I
might here mention the story of the Pippin Wo-
man, had I not some reason to look upon it as fabu-
lous.*
I must confess I am so wonderfully charmed with
the music of this little instrument, that I would by
no means discourage it. All that I aim at by this
dissertation is, to cure it of several disagreeable
notes, and in particular of those little jarrings and
dissonances which arise from anger, censoriousness,
gossiping, and coquetry. In short, I would have
it always tuned by good-nature, truth, discretion,
and sincerity.
* The crackling crystal yields,
she sinks, she dies;
Her head chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies:
Pippins she cry'd, but death her voice confounds,
And pip-pip-pip along the ice resounds.
[Addison]
No. 254. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1711.
______
[Greek writing]
Virtuous love is honourable, but lust increaseth sorrow.
WHEN I consider the false impressions
which are
received by the generality of the world, I am trou-
bled at none more than a certain levity of thought,
which many young women of quality have enter-
tained, to the hazard of their characters, and the
certain misfortune of their lives. The first of the
following letters may best represent the faults I
would now point at, and the answer to it, [is put forth in]
the temper of [a] mind in a contrary character.
" MY DEAR HARRIOT,
" If thou art she, but oh how fallen, how changed,
what an apostate! how lost to all that is gay and
agreeable! To be married I find is to be buried
alive; I cannot conceive it more dismal to be shut
up in a vault to converse with the [ghosts] of my an-
["shades"]
cestors, than to be married down to an old manor-
house in the country, and confined to the conversa-
tion of a sober husband, and an awkward chamber-
maid. For variety I suppose you may entertain
yourself with madam in her grogram gown, the
spouse of your parish vicar, who has by this time,
I am sure, well furnished you with receipts for mak-
ing salves and possets, distilling cordial waters,
[posset, "A spiced drink of hot sweetened milk curdled with wine or ale."
making syrups, and applying poultices.
poultice, "A soft, moist mass of bread, meal, clay, or other adhesive
" Blest solitude! I wish thee joy, my dear,
of thy
substance, usually heated, spread on cloth, and applied to warm,
loved retirement, which indeed you would persuade
moisten, or stimulate an aching or inflamed part of the body.
is very agreeable, and different enough from
Also called cataplasm." Amer. Hert. 3rd Ed.]
what I have here described; but, child, I am afraid
thy brains are a little disordered with romances and
novels. After six months [of] marriage to hear thee
talk of love, and paint the country scenes so softly,
is a little extravagant; one would think you lived
the lives of sylvan deities, or roved among the walks
of Paradise, like the first happy pair. But pray
thee leave these [whimsical ideas], and come to town in
["whimseys"]
order to live, and talk like other mortals. However,
as I am extremely interested in your reputation, I
would willingly give you a little good advice at your
first appearance under the character of a married
woman. It is a little insolent in me, perhaps, to
advise a matron; but I am so afraid you will make
so silly a figure as a fond wife, that I cannot help
warning you not to appear in any public places
with your husband, and never to saunter about St.
James's Park together; if you presume to enter the
ring at Hyde Park together, you are ruined for-
ever; nor must you take the least notice of one
another at the play-house, or opera, unless you
would be laughed at for a very loving couple, most
happily paired in the yoke of wedlock. I would
recommend the example of an acquaintance of ours
to your imitation; she is the most negligent and
fashionable wife in the world; she is hardly ever
seen in the same place with her husband, and if
they happen to meet, you would think them perfect
strangers; she was never heard to [mention his name] in
["name him"]
his absence, and takes care he shall never be the sub-
ject of any discourse that she has a share in. I hope
you will propose this lady as a pattern, though I
am very much afraid you will be so silly to think
Portia, &c., Sabine and Roman wives, much brighter
examples. I wish it may never come into your
head to imitate those antiquated creatures so far as
to came into public in the habit, as well as [the] air, of a
Roman matron. You make already the entertain-
ment at Mrs. Modish's tea-table; she says, she al-
ways thought you a discreet person, and qualified
to manage a family with admirable prudence; she
dies to see what demure and serious airs wedlock
has given you; but she says, she shall never forgive
your choice of so gallant a man as Bellamour to
transform him into a mere sober husband; it was
unpardonable. You see, my dear, we all envy your
happiness, and no person more than
" Your humble servant,
" LYDIA."
" Be not in pain, good madam, for my appearance
in town; I shall frequent no public places, or make
any visits where the character of a modest wife is
ridiculous. As for your wild [ridicule] on matri-
["raillery"]
mony, it is all hypocrisy; you and all the handsome
young women of your acquaintance, show your-
selves to no other purpose, than to gain a conquest
over some man of worth, in order to bestow your
charms and [wealth] on him. There is no indecency
["fortune"]
in the confession, the design is modest and honour-
able, and all your affectation can't disguise it.
" I am married, and have no other concern but to
please the man I love; he is the end of every care
I have; if I dress, it is for him; if I read a poem,
or a play, it is to qualify myself for a conversation
agreeable to his taste; he is almost the end of my
devotions; half my prayers are for his happiness---
I love to talk of him, and never hear him named
but with pleasure and emotion. I am your friend,
and wish you happiness, but am sorry to see by
the air of your letter, that there are a set of women
who are got into the commonplace raillery of every
thing that is sober, decent, and proper; matrimony
and the clergy are the topics of people of little wit,
and no understanding. I own to you, I have learn-
ed [from] the vicar's wife all you tax me with. She is
["of "]
a discreet, ingenious, pleasant, pious woman; I wish
she had the handling of you and Mrs. Modish; you
would find, if you were too free with her, she would
soon make you as charming as ever you were; she
would make you blush as much as if you never had
been fine ladies. The vicar, madam, is so kind as
to visit my husband, and his agreeable conversation
has brought him to enjoy many sober happy hours
when even I am shut out, and my dear master is
entertained only with his own thoughts. These
things, dear madam, will be lasting satisfactions,
when the fine ladies, and the coxcombs, by whom
["coxcomb; "A vain, showy fellow; a conceited, silly man,
they form themselves, are irreparably ridiculous, ri-
fond of display; a superficial pretender to knowledge
diculous in old age. " I
am, Madam,
or accomplishments; a fop. Webster's 1913]
" Your most humble servant,
" MARY HOME."
" DEAR. MR. SPECTATOR,
" You have no goodness in the world, and are
not in earnest in any thing you say that is serious,
if you do not send me a plain answer to this. I
happened some days past to be at the play, where,
during the time of [the] performance, I could not keep
my eyes off from a beautiful young creature who
sat just before me, and who, I have been since in-
formed, has no fortune. It would utterly ruin my
reputation for discretion to marry such a one, and
by what I can learn she has a character of great
modesty, so that there is nothing to be thought on
any other way. My mind has ever since been so
wholly bent on her, that I am much in danger of
doing something very extravagant, without your
speedy advice to,
" Sir,
" Your most humble servant."
I am sorry I cannot answer this impatient gentle-
man, but by another question.
DEAR CORRESPONDENT,
Would you marry to please other people, or
yourself?
[Steele]
No. 260. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1711.
______
Singula de nobis
anni prædantur euntes.
HOR. EPIST. ii.
2. 55.
Years following years
steal something every day,
At last they steal
us from ourselves away. POPE.
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" I AM now in the
sixty-fifth year of my age,
and having been the greater part of my days a man
of pleasure, the decay of my faculties is a stagna-
tion of my life. But how is it, Sir, that my appe-
tites are increased upon me with the loss of power
to gratify them? I write this like a criminal, to
warn people to enter upon what reformation they
please to make in themselves in their youth, and [I do]
not expect they shall be capable of it[, because of] a
["from"]
fond opinion some have often in their mouths, that if we
do not leave our desires, they will leave us. It is
far otherwise; I am now as vain in my dress, and
as flippant, if I see a pretty woman, as when in my
youth I stood upon a bench in the pit to survey
the whole circle of beauties. The folly is so ex-
travagant with me, and I went on with so little
check of my desires, or resignation of them, that I
can assure you I very often, merely to entertain
my own thoughts, sit with my spectacles on, writ-
mg love-letters to the beauties that have been long
since in their graves. This is to warm my heart
with the faint memory of delights which were once
agreeable to me; but how much happier would my
life have been now, if I could have looked back on
any worthy action done for my country? if I had
laid out that which I profused in luxury and wan-
tonness, in acts of generosity or charity? I have
lived a bachelor to this day; and instead of a nu-
merous offspring, with which in the regular ways
of life I might possibly have delighted myself, I
have only to amuse myself with the repetition of
old stories and intrigues which no one will believe
I ever was concerned in. I do not know whether
you have ever treated of it or not; but you cannot
fall on a better subject, than that of the art of grow-
ing old. In such a lecture you must propose, that
no one set his heart upon what is transient; the
beauty grows wrinkled while we are yet gazing at
her. The witty man sinks into [being a moody person (or an eccentric?)]
["a humourist"]
imperceptibly, for want of reflecting that all things around
him are in a flux, and continually changing: thus
he is in the space of ten or fifteen years surrounded
by a new set of people, whose manners are as na-
rural to them as his delights, method of thinking,
and mode of living, were formerly to him and his
friends. But the mischief is, he looks upon the
same kind of errors which he himself was guilty of
with an eye of scorn, and with that sort of ill-will
which men entertain against each other for [having] different
opinions. Thus a crazy constitution, and an uneasy
mind[,] is fretted with vexatious passions for young
men's doing foolishly, what it is folly to do at all.
Dear Sir, this is my present state of mind; I hate
those I should laugh at, and envy those I contemn.
The time of youth and vigorous manhood, passed
[in] the way in which I have disposed of it, is attended
with these consequences; but to those who live and
pass away life as they ought [to], all parts of it are
equally pleasant; [and] only the memory of good and
worthy actions is a feast which [will certainly give] a quicker
["must give"]
relish to the soul than ever it could possibly taste
in the highest enjoyments or jollities of youth. As
for me, if I sit down in my great chair and begin to
ponder, the vagaries of a child are not more ridicu-
lous than the circumstances which are heaped up
in my memory; fine gowns, country dances, ends of
tunes, interrupted conversations, and midnight quar-
rels, are what must necessarily compose my soli-
loquy. I beg of you to print this, that some ladies
of my acquaintance, and my years, may be persuad-
ed to wear warm night-caps this cold season; and
that my old friend Jack Tawdry may buy him a
cane, and not creep with the air of a strut. I must
add to all this, that if it were not for one pleasure,
which I thought a very mean one till of very late
years, I should have no one great satisfaction left;
but if I live to the tenth of March 1714, and all my
securities are good, I shall be worth fifty thousand
pounds.
" I am, Sir,
" Your most humble servant,
" JACK AFTERDAY."
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" You will infinitely oblige a distressed lover,
if
will insert in your very next paper, the follow-
ing letter to my mistress. You must know, I am
not a person apt to despair, but she has got an odd
humour of stopping short unaccountably, and as
she herself told a confidant of hers, she has cold
fits. These fits shall last her a month or six weeks
[al]together; and as she falls into them without provo-
cation, so it is to be hoped [for that] she will return from
them without the merit of new services. But life
and love will not admit of such intervals, therefore
pray let her be admonished as follows:
' MADAM,
' I love you, and I honour you; therefore pray
do not tell me of waiting till decencies, till forms,
till humours are consulted and gratified. If you
have that happy constitution [so] as to be indolent for
ten weeks [al]together; you should consider that all
that while I burn in impatiences and fevers; but
still you say [there] will be time enough [for it], though I, and
[there-"it"]
you too, grow older while we are yet talking.
Which do you think the more reasonable, that you
should [exchange] a state of indifference for happiness,
["alter"]
and [do] that to oblige me; or [that] I [should] live in torment,
[in order to avoid laying an] obligation on you? While
["and that to lay no manner of"]
I indulge your insensibility I am doing nothing; if
you favour my passion, you are bestowing bright
desires, gay hopes, generous cares, noble resolu-
tions, and transporting raptures upon,
' Madam,
' Your most devoted
' humble servant.'
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" Here is a gentlewomen [who] lodges in the same
house
with me, that I never did any injury to in my whole
life; and she is always [complaining about] me to those that
["railing at"]
she knows will tell me of it. Don't you think she
is in love with me? or would you have me break
my mind yet, or not?
" Your servant,
" T. B."
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" I am a footman in a great family, and am in
[hotcockles, "A childish play, in which one covers his eyes, and guesses
love with the housemaid. We were all [playing] at hotcockles
who strikes him or his hand placed behind him." Webster's 1913.]
last night in the hall [for the] holidays; when I [was laid out?]
["these", "lay down"]
[while blindfolded by the maid who?]* pulled off her shoe,
["and was blinded, she"]
and hit me with the heel [with] such a rap, as almost broke my
head to pieces. Pray, Sir, was this love or spite?''
* Pardon my question marks, I am guessing more
than usual here. Web Editor.
[Steele]
No. 261. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1711.
_____
[Greek writing]
FRAG. VET. POET.
Wedlock's an ill men eagerly embrace.
MY father, whom I mentioned
in my first specu-
lation, and whom I must always name with honour
and gratitude, has very frequently talked to me upon
the subject of marriage. I was in my younger years
engaged partly by his advice, and partly by my own
inclinations, in the courtship of a person who had a
great deal of beauty, and did not at my first ap-
proaches seem to have any aversion to me; but as
my natural taciturnity hindered me from showing
myself to the best advantage, she by degrees began
to look upon me as a very silly fellow, and being
resolved to regard merit more than any thing else
in the persons who made their applications to her,
she married a captain of dragoons who happened to
be beating up for recruits in those parts.
This unlucky accident has given me an aversion
to pretty fellows ever since, and discouraged me
from trying my fortune with the fair sex. The
observations which I made at this conjuncture, and
the repeated advices which I received at that time
from the good old man above mentioned, have
produced the following essay upon love and mar-
riage.
The pleasantest part of a man's life is generally
that which passes in courtship, provided his passion
be sincere, and the party beloved kind with discre-
tion. Love, desire, hope, all the pleasing emotions
of the soul rise in the pursuit.
It is easier for an artful man who is not in love
to persuade his mistress he has a passion for her,
and to succeed in his pursuits, than for one who
loves with the greatest violence. True love has ten
thousand griefs, impatiences, and resentments that
render a man unamiable in the eyes of the per-
son whose affection he solicits; besides that it
sinks his figure, gives him fears, apprehensions,
and poorness of spirit, and often makes him appear
ridiculous where he has a mind to recommend
himself.
Those marriages generally abound most with love
and constancy, that are preceded by a long court-
ship. The passion should strike root, and gather
strength before marriage be grafted on it. A long
course of hopes and expectations fixes the idea in
our minds, and habituates us to a fondness of the
person beloved.
There is nothing of so great importance to us, as
the good qualities of one to whom we join ourselves
for life; they do not only make our present state
agreeable, but often determine our happiness to all
eternity. Where the choice is left to friends, the
chief point under consideration is an estate; where
the parties choose for themselves, their thoughts
turn most upon the person. They have both their
reasons. The first would procure many conveniences
and pleasures of life to the party whose interests
they espouse; and at the same time may hope that
the wealth of their friend will turn to their own
credit and advantage. The others are preparing
for themselves a perpetual feast. A good person
does not only raise but [perpetuates] love, and breeds a
["continue"]
secret pleasure and complacency in the beholder,
when the first heats of desire are extinguished. It
puts the wife or husband in [agreement] both among
["countenance"]
friends and strangers, and generally fills the family
with a healthy and beautiful race of children.
I should prefer a woman that is agreeable in my
own eye, and not deformed in that of the world, to
a celebrated beauty. If you marry one remarkably
beautiful, you must have a violent passion for her,
or you have not the proper taste for her charms;
and if you have such a passion for her, it is [short] odds
[that] it would he imbittered with fears and jealousies.
["but"]
Good-nature and evenness of temper will give
you an easy companion for life; virtue and good
sense, an agreeable friend; love and constancy, a
good wife or husband. Where we meet one person
with all these accomplishments, we find a hundred
without any one of them. The world notwith-
standing, is more intent on trains and equipages,
[train, "A part of a gown that trails behind the wearer." equipage,
and on the showy parts of life; we love rather to
"A horse-drawn carriage with attendants." Amer. Herit. Third Ed.]
dazzle the multitude, than consult our proper in-
terests; and as I have elsewhere observed, it is one
of the most unaccountable passions of human nature,
that we are at greater pains to appear easy and
happy to others, then [to] really to make ourselves so.
Of all disparities, that in humour makes the most
unhappy marriages, yet scarce[ly] enters into our
thoughts at the contracting of them. Several that
are in this respect unequally yoked, and uneasy for
life with a person of a particular character, might
have been pleased and happy with a person of a
contrary one, notwithstanding they are both per-
haps equally virtuous and laudable in their kind.
Before marriage we cannot be too inquisitive and
discerning in the faults of the person beloved, nor
after it too dim-sighted and superficial. However
perfect and accomplished the person appears to you
at a distance, you will find many blemishes and im-
perfections in her humour, upon a more intimate
acquaintance, which you never discovered or per-
haps suspected. Here, therefore, discretion and
good-nature are to show their strength; the first will
hinder your thoughts from dwelling on what is dis-
agreeable, the other will raise in you all the tender-
ness of compassion and humanity, and by degrees
soften those very imperfections into beauties.
Marriage enlarges the scene of our happiness and
miseries. A marriage of love is pleasant; a mar-
[marriage of interest - or "marriage of convenience: a marriage
riage of interest easy; and a marriage where both
contracted for social, political, or economic advantage rather
meet, happy. A happy marriage has in it all the
than for mutual affection" Merr.-Web. Coll. Dict. 2000 (web)]
pleasures of friendship, all the enjoyments of sense
and reason, and indeed, all the sweets of life. No-
thing is a greater mark of a degenerate and vicious
age, than the common ridicule which passes on this
state of life. It is, indeed, only happy [for] those who
["in"]
can look down with scorn and neglect on the im-
pieties of the times, and tread the paths of life
together in a constant uniform course of virtue.
[Addison]
No. 265. THURSDAY, JANUARY 3, 1711-12.
______
Dixerit
e mutis aliquis, quid virus in angues
Adjicit? et rapidæ tradis ovile lupæ?
OVID. ARS AM. iii.
7.
But
some exclaim: What frenzy rules your mind?
Would you increase the craft of womankind?
Teach them new wiles and arts? As well you may
Instruct a snake to bite, or wolf to prey. CONGREVE.
ONE of the fathers, if
I am rightly informed, has
defined a woman to be [Greek writing,] an animal that
delights in finery. I have already treated of the
sex in two or three papers, conformably to this de-
finition; and have in particular observed, that in all
ages they have been more careful than the men to
adorn that part of the head which we generally call
the outside.
This observation is so very notorious, that when
in ordinary discourse we say a man has a fine head,
a long head, or a good head, we express ourselves
metaphorically, and speak in relation to his under-
standing; whereas when we say of a woman, she
has a fine, a long, or a good head, we speak only it
relation to her commode.
It is observed among birds, that nature has lavish-
ed all her ornaments upon the male, who very often
appears in a most beautiful headdress; whether it
be a crest, a comb, a tuft of feathers, or a natural
little plume, erected like a kind of pinnacle on the
very top of the head. As nature on the contrary
has poured out her charms in the greatest abundance
upon the female part of our species, so they are very
assiduous in bestowing upon themselves the finest
garnitures of art. The peacock, in all his pride,
does not display half the colours that appear in the
garments of a British lady, when she is dressed
either for a ball or a birth-day.
But to return to our female heads. The ladies
have been for some time in a kind of moulting sea-
son with regard to that part of their dress, having
cast great quantities of [ribbon], lace, and cambric,
["riband"] [cambric, " A fine, thin, and white fabric made of
and in some measure reduced that part of the human
flax or linen." Webster's 1913]
figure to the beautiful globular form, which is nat-
ural to it. We have for a great while expected what
kind of ornament would be substituted in the place
of those antiquated commodes. But female [designers]
["projectors"]
were all the last summer so taken up with the
improvement of their petticoats, that they had not
time to attend to anything else; but having at length
sufficiently adorned their lower parts, they now be-
gin to turn their thoughts upon the other extremity,
as well remembering the old kitchen proverb, " that
if you light the fire at both ends, the middle will
shift for itself."
I am engaged in this speculation by a sight which
I lately met with at the opera. As I was standing
in the [back] part of a box, I took notice of a little
["hinder"]
cluster of women sitting together in the prettiest
coloured hoods that I ever saw. One of them was
blue, another yellow, and another philomot; the
[philomot, "Of the color of a dead leaf." Webster's 1913]
fourth was of a pink colour, and the fifth of a pale
green. I looked with as much pleasure upon this
little party-coloured assembly, as upon a bed of tu-
lips, and did not know at first whether it might not
be an embassy of Indian queens; but upon my go-
ing about into the pit, and taking them in front [view], I
was immediately undeceived, and saw so much beauty
in every face, that I found them all to be English.
Such eyes and lips, cheeks and foreheads, could be
the growth of no other country. The complexion
of their faces hindered me from observing any far-
ther the colour of their hoods, though I could easily
perceive, by that unspeakable satisfaction which ap-
peared in their looks, that their own thoughts were
wholly taken up on those pretty ornaments they
wore upon their heads.
I am informed that this fashion spreads daily, in-
somuch that the Whig and Tory ladies begin already
to hang out different colours, and to show their prin-
ciples in their headdress. Nay, if I may believe my
friend Will Honeycomb, there is a certain old co-
quette of his acquaintance, who intends to appear
very [soon] in a rainbow hood, like the Iris in
["suddenly"]
Dryden's Virgil, not questioning but that among
such a variety of colours she shall have a charm for
every heart.
My friend Will, who very much values himself
upon his great insights into gallantry, tells me, that
he can already guess at the humour a lady is in by
her hood, as the courtiers of Morocco know the dis-
position of their present emperor by the colour of
the dress which he puts on. When Melesinda wraps
her head in flame colour, her heart is set upon
execution: when she covers it with purple, I would
not, says he, advise her lover to approach her; but
if she appears in white, it is peace, and he may
hand her out of her [opera] box with safety.
Will informs me likewise, that these hoods may
be used as signals. Why else, says he, does Cor-
nelia always put on a black hood when her husband
is gone into the country?
Such are my friend Honeycomb's dreams of gal-
lantry. For my own part, I impute this diversity
of colours in the hoods to the diversity of complex-
ion in the faces of my pretty countrywomen. Ovid,
in his Art of Love, has given some precepts as to
this particular, though I find they are different from
those which prevail among the moderns. He re-
commends a red striped silk to the pale complexion;
white to the brown, and dark to the fair. On the
contrary, my friend Will, who pretends to be a
greater master in this art than Ovid, tells me, that
the palest features look the most agreeable in white
sarsenet; that a face which is over flushed appears
[sarsenet, "A species of fine thin silk fabric, used for linings, etc."
to advantage in the deepest scarlet; and that the
Webster's 1913]
darkest complexion is not a little alleviated by a
black hood. In short, he is for losing the colour of
the face in that of the hood, as a fire burns dimly,
and a candle goes half out, in the light of the sun.
" This," says he, " your Ovid himself has hinted,
where he treats of these matters, when he tells us
that the blue water nymphs are dressed in sky-col-
oured garments; and that Aurora, who always ap-
pears in the light of the rising sun, is robed in
saffron."
Whether these his observations are justly ground-
ed I cannot tell; but I have often known him, as
we have stood together behind the ladies, praise or
dispraise the complexion of a face which he never
saw, from observing the colour of her hood, and
he has been very seldom [wrong] in these his guesses.
["out"]
As I have nothing more at heart than the honour
and improvement of the fair sex, I cannot conclude
this paper without an exhortation to the British
ladies, that they would excel the women of all other
nations as much in virtue and good sense, as they
do in beauty; which they may certainly do, [and] if they
will be as industrious to cultivate their minds, as
they are to adorn their bodies. In the mean while,
I shall recommend to their most serious considera-
tion the saying of an old Greek poet:
[Greek writing] †
† Manners and not dress are the ornaments of women.
[Addison]
No. 266. FRIDAY, JANUARY 4, 1711-12.
______
Id verò est, quod ego mihi puto palmarium,
Me reperisse, quo modo adolescentulus
Meretricum ingenio et mores posset noscere;
Maturè ut cùm cognôrit, perpetuò oderit.
TER. EUN. ACT V. SC. 4.
This I conceive to be my masterpiece, that
I have discovered
how unexperienced youth may detect the artifices of bad
wo-
men, and by knowing them early, detest them forever.
NO vice or wickedness which
people fall into
from indulgence to desires which are natural to all,
ought to place them below the compassion of the
virtuous part of the world; which indeed often
makes me a little apt to suspect the sincerity of
[the virtue of those] who are too warmly provoked at
["their virtue,"]
other people's personal sins. The unlawful commerce
of the sexes is of all others the hardest to avoid; and
yet there is no one which you shall hear the rigider
part of womankind speak of with so little mercy.
It is very certain that a modest woman cannot ab-
hor the breach of chastity too much; but pray let
her hate it [in] herself, and only pity it in others.
["for"]
Will Honeycomb calls these over-offended ladies,
the outrageously virtuous.
I do not design to fall upon failures in general,
with relation to the gift of chastity, but at present
only enter [into] that large [subject], and begin with the
["upon", "field"]
consideration of poor and public whores. The other
evening, [while] passing along near Covent-garden, I was
jogged on the elbow as I turned into the piazza, on
the right hand coming out of James-street, by a
slim young girl of about seventeen, who with a pert
air asked me if I was [interested in going] for a pint of wine.
I [might] have indulged my curiosity in
["do not know but I should"]
having some chat with her, [except] that I am informed
["but"]
the man of the Bumper knows me; and it would
have made a story for him not very agreeable to
some part of my writings, though I have in others
so frequently said, that I am wholly unconcerned in
any scene I am in [except] as a Spectator. This
["but merely"]
impediment being in my way, we stood under one
of the arches by twilight; and there I could ob-
serve as [precise] features as I had ever seen, the most
["exact"]
agreeable shape, the finest neck and bosom, in a
word, the whole person of a women exquisitely
beautiful. She affected to allure me with a forced
wantonness in her look and air; but I saw it check-
ed with hunger and cold; her eyes were wan and
eager, her dress thin and tawdry, her mien gen-
teel and childish. This strange figure gave me
much anguish of heart, and to avoid being seen
with her, I went away, but could not forbear giving
her a crown. The poor thing sighed, courtesied, and
with a blessing expressed with the utmost vehe-
mence, turned from me. This creature is what they
call " newly come upon the town," but who, falling,
I suppose, into cruel hands, was left in the first
month from [the time of] her dishonour, and exposed to pass
through the hands and discipline of one of those
bags of hell whom we call bawds. But lest I should
[bawds = Madams]
grow too suddenly grave on this subject, and be my-
self outrageously good, I shall turn to a scene in one
of Fletcher's plays, where this character [of a bawd] is
[portrayed], and the [economics] of whoredom most
["drawn", "economy"]
admirably described. The passage I would point to is
in the third scene of the second act of The Humourous
Lieutenant. Leucippe, who is agent for the king's
lust, and bawds at the same time for the whole court,
is very pleasantly introduced, reading her minutes
as a person of business, with two maids, her under-
secretaries, taking instructions at a table before her.
Her women, both those under her present tutelage,
and those which she is laying wait for, are alpha-
betically set down in her book; and as she is look-
ing over the letter C in a muttering voice, as if be-
tween soliloquy and speaking out, she says,
Her maidenhead
will yield me; let me see now:
She is not
fifteen they say; for her complexion---
Cloe, Cloe,
Cloe, here I have her.
Cloe, the
daughter of a country gentleman;
Her age upon
fifteen. Now her complexion,---
A lovely brown;
here ' tis: eyes black and rolling,
The body neatly
built; she strikes a lute well,
Sings most
enticingly. These helps consider'd,
Her maidenhead
will amount to some three hundred,
Or three hundred
and fifty, crowns, ' twill bear it hand-
somely:
Her father's
poor, some little share deducted,
To buy him
a hunting nag.---
These creatures are very well instructed in the
circumstances and manners of all who are [in] any way
related to the fair one whom they have a design upon.
As Cloe is to be purchased with 350 crowns, and
the father taken off with a [bribe]; the merchant's wife
["pad"]
next to her who abounds in plenty, is not to have
downright money, but the mercenary part of her
mind is engaged with a present of plate, and a little
[plate, "Domestic vessels and utensils, as flagons, dishes,
ambition. She is made to understand that it is a
cups, etc., wrought in gold or silver." Webster's 1913.]
man of quality, who dies for her. The examination
of a young girl for business, and the crying down
[of] her value for being a slight thing, together with
every other circumstance in the scene, are inimi-
tably excellent, and have the true spirit of comedy;
though it were to be wished [for that] the author had
added a circumstance which should make Leucippe's
baseness more odious.
It must not be thought a digression from my in-
tended speculation, to talk of bawds in a discourse
upon wenches; for a woman of the town is not
thoroughly and properly such, without having gone
through the education of one of these houses. But
the compassionate case of very many is, that they
are taken into such hands without [] the least sus-
["any"]
picion, previous temptation, or admonition [as] to what
place they are going [to]. [This past] week I went to an
["The last"]
inn in the city to inquire [about] some provisions which
["for"]
were sent by a wagon out [from] the country; and as
["of"]
I waited in one of the boxes till the chamberlain
[chamberlain, "An upper servant of an inn" Webster's 1913.]
had looked over his parcels, I heard an old and a
young voice repeating the questions and responses
of the church-catechism. I thought it no breach
of good-manners to peep [through] a crevice, and look
["at"]
in at people so well employed; but who should I see
there but the most artful procuress in town, [questioning]
["examining"]
a most beautiful country-girl, who had come
up in the same wagon with my things, [as to] " whether she
was well educated, could forbear playing the wan-
ton with servants and idle fellows, of which this
town," says she, " is too full." At the same time,
" whether she knew enough of breeding, [so] that if
["as"]
a squire or a gentleman, or one that was [one of] her betters,
should give her a civil salute, [that] she [would know to]
[would - "should"]
courtesy and be humble nevertheless.["] Her innocent
" forsooths, yeses an't please you's, and she would do
her endeavour," [so] moved the good old lady [as to cause her]
to take her out of the hands of a country bumpkin, her
brother, and hire her for her own maid. I [stayed] till I
["staid"]
saw them all march out to take [the] coach; the brother
loaded with a great cheese, [which] he prevailed upon her
to take for her civilities to his sister. This poor
creature's fate is not far off [from] that of her's whom I
spoke of above: and it is not to be doubted, [that]
["but"]
after she has been long enough a prey to lust, she
will be delivered over to famine. The ironical com-
mendation of the industry and charity of these an-
tiquated ladies, these directors of sin, after they can
no longer commit it [themselves], makes up the beauty of the
inimitable dedication to the Plain-Dealer, and is
[see The
Plain Dealer by William Wycherley, 1676]
a masterpiece of raillery on this vice. But, to un-
derstand all the [surrounding circumstances] of this game
["purlieus"]
the better, and to illustrate this subject in future discourses,
I must venture myself, with my friend Will, into
the haunts of beauty and gallantry; from pampered
vice in the habitations of the wealthy, to distressed
indigent wickedness expelled the harbours of the
brothel.
[Steele]
No. 272. FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 1711-12.
_____
---Longa est injuria, longæ
Ambages.--
VIRG. Æ N. i. 345.
Great is the injury, and long the tale.
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" THE occasion of this letter
is of so great import-
ance, and the circumstances of it such, that I know
you [can only] think it just to insert it, in preference of
["will but"]
all other matters that can present themselves to
your consideration. I need not, after I have said
this, tell you that I am in love. The circumstances
of my passion I shall let you understand as well as
a disordered mind [is able]. That cursed pick-
["will admit"]
thank, Mrs. Jane! Alas, I am railing at one to
[pick-thank, "One who strives to put another under obligation;
you by her name, as familiarly as if you were ac-
an officious person; hence, a flatterer. Webster's 1913.]
quainted with her as well as myself: but I will tell
you all [there is], as fast as the alternate interruptions of
love and anger will give me leave [to]. There is the most
agreeable young woman in the world, whom I am
passionately in love with, and from whom I have
for some space of time received as great marks of
favour as were fit for her to give, or me to desire.
The successful progress of the affair, of all others
the most essential towards a man's happiness, gave
a new life and spirit not only to my behaviour and
discourse, but also a certain grace to all my actions
in the commerce of life, in all things though never
so remote from love. You know the predominant
passion spreads itself through all a man's transactions,
and exalts or depresses him according to the nature
of such passion. But, alas! I have not yet begun
my story, and what is [the use of] making sentences
and observations when a man is pleading for his
life? To begin then. This lady has corresponded
with me under the names of love, she my Belinda,
I her Cleanthes. Though I am thus well got[ten] into
the account of my affair, I cannot keep in the thread
of it so [well without giving] you the character of Mrs.
["much as to give"]
Jane, whom I will not hide under a borrowed name;
but let you now, that this creature has been, since
I knew her, very handsome, though I will not allow
her even ' she has been ' for the future, and during
the time of her bloom and beauty, was so great a ty-
rant to her lovers, so overvalued herself and under-
rated all her pretenders, that they have deserted
her to a man; and she knows no comfort but that
common one to all in her condition, the pleasure of
interrupting the amours of others. It is impossible
but you must have seen several of these volunteers
in malice, who pass their whole time in the most la-
borious way of life in getting intelligence, running
from place to place with new whispers, without
reaping any other benefit but the hopes of making
others as unhappy as themselves. Mrs. Jane hap-
pened to be at a place where I, with many others
well acquainted with my passion for Belinda, passed
a Christmas evening. There was among the rest a
young lady, so free in mirth, so amiable in a just
reserve that accompanied it; I wrong her to call it
a reserve, [for] there appeared in her a mirth or
["but"]
cheerfulness [something] which was not a forebearance of
[a] more immoderate joy, but the natural appearance of all
which could flow from a mind possessed of a habit
of innocence and purity. [It would have meant for me to] have
["I must"]
utterly forgot Belinda to have taken no notice of one who was
growing up to the same womanly virtues which shine
to perfection in her, [that is,] had I not distinguished one who
seemed to promise to the world the same life and con-
duct [that I have] with my faithful and lovely Belinda. When
the company broke up, the fine young thing permitted me
to take care of her home. Mrs. Jane saw my parti-
cular regard to her, and was informed of my attend-
ing her to her father's house. She came early to
Belinda the neat morning, and asked her ' if Mrs.
Such-a-one had been with her? ' ' No.' ' If Mr.
Such-a-one's lady?' ' No.' ' Nor your cousin Such-
a-one? ' ' No'--' Lord,' says Mrs. Jane, ' what is the
friendship of women [for]?---Nay, they may well laugh
at it. And did no one tell you anything of the be-
haviour of your lover, Mr. What-d'ye-call, last
night? But perhaps it is nothing to you that he is
to be married to young Mrs.--- on Tuesday next? '
Belinda was here ready to die with rage and jea-
lousy. Then Mrs. Jane goes on: ' I have a young
kinsman who is clerk to a great conveyancer, who
shall show you the rough draught of the marriage
settlement [between the two of them]. The world says,
her father gives him two thousand pounds more [in dowry] than
he could have with you.' I went innocently to wait on Belinda
as usual, but was not admitted, I writ to her, and my letter
was sent back unopened. Poor Betty, her maid, who is on my
side, has been here just now blubbering, and told me the whole
matter. She says she did not think I could be so base;
and that she is now so odious to her mistress for having so
often spoke well of me, that she dare not mention me
more. All our hopes are placed in having these
circumstances fairly represented in the Spectator,
which Betty says she dare not but bring up as soon as
it is brought in; and [she] has promised [that] when you have
broke the ice to own this [which] was laid between us, and
when I can come to [have] a hearing, the young lady will
support what we say by her testimony, that I never
saw her but that once in my whole life. Dear sir,
do not omit this true relation[ship], nor think it too
[unusual], for there are crowds of forlorn coquettes
["particular"]
who intermingle themselves with our ladies, and
contract familiarities out of malice, and with no
other design but to blast the hopes of lovers, the ex-
pectation[s] of parents, and the benevolence of kin-
dred. I doubt not but I shall be,
" Sir,
" Your most
obliged humble servant,
" CLEANTHES."
" SIR,
" The other day[, while] entering a room adorned
with
the fair sex, I offered, after the usual manner, to
each of them a kiss; but one, more scornful than
the rest, turned her cheek. I did not think it pro-
per to lake any notice of it till I had asked your
advice.
" Your humble servant,
" E. S."
" Wills Coffee-house, January 10."
The correspondent is desired to say which cheek
the offender turned to him.
ADVERTISEMENT.
All ladies who come to church in the new-
fashioned hoods, are desired to be there before di-
vine service begins, lest they divert the attention
of the congregation.
RALPH.
From the parish-vestry, January 9.
[Steele]
No. 274. MONDAY, JANUARY 14, 1711-12.
______
Audire est operæ pretium, procedere rectè
Qui mæchis non vultis.---
HOR. SAT. i. 2. 37.
All
you, who think the city ne'er can thrive
Till every cuckold-maker's flay'd alive,
Attend.---
POPE.
I HAVE upon several occasions,
that have occur-
red since I first took into my thoughts the present
state of fornication, weighed with myself in behalf
of guilty females, the impulses of flesh and blood,
together with the arts and gallantries of crafty men;
and reflect with some scorn that [the] most part of what
we in our youth think gay and polite, is nothing else
but a habit of indulging a pruriency that way. It
will cost some labour to bring people to so lively a
sense of this, as to recover the manly modesty in
the behaviour of my men readers, and the bashful
grace in the faces of my women; but in all cases
which come into debate, there are certain things
previously to be done before we can have a true light
into the subject-matter; therefore it will, in the first
place, be necessary to consider the impotent wench-
ers and industrious hags, who are supplied with,
and are constantly supplying, new sacrifices to the
devil of lust. You are to know then, if you are so
happy as not to know it already, that the great havoc
which is made in the habitations of beauty and in-
nocence, is committed by such as can only lay waste [to]
and not enjoy the soil. When you observe the pre-
sent state of vice and virtue, the offenders are such
as one would think should have no impulse to what
they are pursuing; as in business, you see some-
times fools pretend to be knaves, so in pleasure, you
will find old men set up for wenchers. This latter
sort of men are the great basis and fund of iniquity
in the kind we are speaking of; you shall have an
old rich man often receive scrawls from the several
quarters of the town, with descriptions of the new
wares in their hands, if he will please to send word
when he will be waited on. This interview is [planned],
["contrived"]
and the innocent is brought to such indecen-
cies as from time to time banish shame and raise
desire. With these preparatives the hags break
their wards by little and little, till they are brought
to lose all apprehensions of what shall befall them
in the possession of younger men. It is a common
postscript of a hag to a young fellow whom she in-
vites to a new woman, " She has, I assure you, seen
none but old Mr. Such-a-one." It pleases the old
fellow that the nymph is brought to him unadorned,
and from his [generosity] she is accommodated with
["bounty"]
enough [money to be able] to dress her for other lovers.
This is the most ordinary method of bringing beauty and
poverty into the possession of the town: but the par-
ticular cases of kind keepers, skilful pimps, and all
others who drive a separate trade, and are not in
the general society or commerce of sin, will require
distinct consideration. At the same time that we
are thus severe on the abandoned we are to repre-
sent the case of others with that mitigation as the
circumstances demand. Calling names does no good;
to speak worse of anything than it deserves, does
only [to] take off from the credit of the accuser, and
[it] has implicitly the force of an apology in the behalf
of the person accused. We shall, therefore, accord-
ing as the circumstances differ, vary our appella-
tions of these criminals: those who offend only
against themselves, and are not scandals to society,
but out of deference to the sober part of the world,
have so much good left in them as to he ashamed,
must not be huddled in the common word due to the
worst of women; but regard is to be had to their
circumstances when they fell, to the uneasy perplex-
ity under which they lived under senseless and se-
vere parents, to the importunity of poverty, to the
violence of a passion in its beginning well grounded,
and all other alleviations which make unhappy wo-
men resign the characteristic of their sex, modesty.
To do otherwise than thus, would be to act like a
pedantic Stoic, who thinks all crimes alike, and not
like an impartial Spectator, who looks upon them
with all the circumstances that diminish or enhance
the guilt. I am in hopes, if this subject be well
pursued, women will hereafter from their infancy
be treated with an eye to their future state in the
world; and not have their tempers made too un-
tractable from an improper sourness or pride, or too
complying from familiarity or forwardness contract-
ed at their own houses. After these hints on this
subject, I shall end this paper with the following
genuine letter; and desire all who think they may
be concerned in future speculations on this subject,
to send in what they have to say for themselves [concerning]
["for"]
some incidents in their lives, in order to have proper
allowances made for their conduct.
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" The subject of your yesterday's paper, is of so
great importance, and the thorough handling of it
may be so very useful to the preservation of many
an innocent young creature, that I think every one
is obliged to furnish you with what lights he can to
expose the pernicious arts and practices of those
unnatural women called bawds. In order to [do] this
the inclosed [letter] is sent [to] you, which is verbatim
the copy of a letter written by a bawd of [renown] in this
["figure"]
town to a noble lord. I have concealed the names of
both, my intention being not to expose the persons
but the thing.
" I am, Sir,
" January 5, 1711-12."
" Your humble servant."
' MY LORD,
' I having a great esteem for your honour, and a
better opinion of you than of any of the [people of] quality,
makes me acquaint you of [a matter] that I hope will
["an affair"]
oblige you to know [about]. I have a niece that came to
town about a fortnight ago. Her parents being
lately dead she came to me, expecting to [find]
["a found"]
me in so good a [financial] condition as to a set her up in a
milliner's shop. Her father gave fourscore pound
with her for five years; her time is [up], and she is
["out"]
not sixteen [yet]: as pretty a black gentlewoman as ever
you saw; a little woman, which I know your lord-
ship likes; well shaped, and as fine a complexion
[of] red and white as ever I saw; I doubt not but
["for"]
your lordship will be of the same opinion. She de-
signs to go down [to the country] about a month hence,
[unless] I can provide for her, which I cannot at present.
["except"]
Her father was one with whom all he had died with him,
so there is four children left destitute; so if your
lordship thinks fit to make an appointment [by a line or two in writing,]
where I shall wait on you with my niece[.]
[", by a line or two," I moved this clause to make it
I stay for your answer; for I have no place fitted
sound less awkward. Web Ed.]
up since I left my house, fit to entertain your hon-
our. I told her she should go with me to see a
gentleman, a very good friend of mine; so I desire
you to take no notice of my letter, by reason she is
ignorant of the ways of the town. My lord, I de-
sire if you meet us to come alone; for upon my
word and honour you are the first that I ever men-
tioned her to. So I remain
' Your Lordship's
' Most humble servant to command.'
' I beg of you to burn it when you've read it.'
[Steele]
No. 278. FRIDAY, JANUARY 18, 1711-12.
______
--Sermones ego mallem
Repentes per humum.-- HOR.
EPIST. i. 2. 250.
I rather choose a low and creeping style.
" MR. SPECTATOR,
YOUR having done considerable
services in this
great city, by rectifying the disorders of families,
and several wives having preferred your advice and
directions to those of their husbands, emboldens me
to apply to you at this time. I am a shopkeeper,
and though but a young man, I find by experience
that nothing but the utmost diligence both of hus-
band and wife, among trading people, can keep af-
fairs in any tolerable order. My wife at the begin-
ning of our establishment showed herself very as-
sisting to me in my business as much as [she was able],
["could lie in her way"]
and I have reason to believe it [suited]
["was with"]
her inclination[s]: but of late she has got acquainted
with a schoolman, who values himself for his great
knowledge in the Greek tongue. He entertains her
frequently in the shop with discourses of the beauties
and excellences of that language; and repeats to
her several passages out of the Greek poets, wherein
he tells her there is unspeakable harmony and agree-
able sounds [in it] that all other languages are wholly
unacquainted with. He has so infatuated her with
his jargon, that instead of using her former dili-
gence in the shop, she now neglects the affairs of
the house, and is wholly taken up with her tutor in
learning by heart scraps of Greek, which she vents
upon all occasions. She told me some days ago,
that whereas I use some Latin inscriptions in my
shop, she advised me, with a great deal of concern,
to have them changed into Greek; it being a lan-
guage less understood, would [make it] more conformable
["be"]
to the mystery of my profession; [furthermore, she said] that
our good friend would be assisting to us in this work; and that
a certain faculty of gentlemen would find themselves
so much obliged to us, that they would infallibly
make my fortune. In short her frequent importu-
nities upon this, and other impertinences of the like
nature, make me very uneasy; and if your remon-
strances have no more effect upon her than mine, I
am afraid I shall be obliged to ruin myself to pro-
cure her a settlement at Oxford with her tutor, for she
is already too mad for Bedlam. Now, Sir, you see
the danger my family is exposed to, and the likeli-
hood of my wife's becoming both troublesome and
useless, unless her reading [about] herself in your paper
may make her reflect. She is so very learned that
I cannot pretend by word of mouth to argue with
her. She laughed out [loud] at your ending a paper in
Greek, and said it was a hint to women of litera-
ture, and very civil not to translate it to expose them
to the vulgar. You see how it is with,
" Sir,
" Your humble servant."
" MR. SPECTATOR,
" If you have that humanity and compassion in
your nature that you take such pains to make one
think you have, you will not deny your advice to a
distressed damsel, who intends to be determined by
your judgment in a matter of great importance to
her. You must know then, there is an agreeable
young fellow, to whose person, wit, and humour no-
body makes any objection, that pretends to have
been long in love with me. To this I must add,
whether it proceeds from the vanity of my nature,
or the seeming sincerity of my lover, I won't pre-
tend to say, that I verily believe he [truly values] me;
["has a real value for"]
which, if true, you will allow may
justly augment his merit with his mistress. In short,
I am so sensible of his good qualities, and what I
owe to his passion, that I think I could sooner re-
solve to give up my liberty to him than anybody
else, were there not an objection to be made to his
fortunes, in regard[, that] they do not answer the utmost
[my fortunes] may expect, and are not sufficient to secure
["mine"]
me from undergoing the reproachful phrase, so
commonly used ' that she has played the fool.' Now
though I am one of these few who heartily despise
equipage, diamonds, and a coxcomb, yet since such
opposite notions from mine prevail in the world,
even amongst the best, and such as are esteemed
the most prudent people, I can't find [it] in my heart to
resolve upon incurring the censure of those wise
folks, which I am conscious I shall do, if when I
enter into a married state, I discover a thought
beyond that of equalling, if not advancing my for-
tunes. Under this difficulty I now labour, not
being in the least determined whether I shall be
governed by the vain world, and the frequent ex-
amples I meet with, or hearken to the voice of my
lover, and the [feelings] I find in my heart in favour
["motions"]
of him. Sir, your opinion and advice in this affair
is the only thing I know can turn the balance, and
which I earnestly entreat I may receive soon; for
till I have your thoughts upon it, I am engaged not
to give my swain a final discharge.
" Besides the particular obligation [of gratitude]
you will lay
on me, by giving this subject room in one of your
papers, it is possible it may be of use to some others
of my sex who will be as grateful for the favour as,
" Sir,
" Your humble servant,
" FLORINDA."
" P. S. To tell you the truth, I am married
to
him already, but pray say something to justify me."
[Steele]
No. 281. TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 1711-12.
______
Pectoribus inhians
spirantia consulit exta.
VIRG. Æ N. iv. 64.
Anxious the reeking
entrails he consults.
HAVING already given an account
of the dissec-
tion of a beau's head, with the several discoveries
made on that occasion; I shall here, according to
my promise, enter upon the dissection of a coquette's
heart, and communicate to the public such particu-
lars as we observed in that curious piece of ana-
tomy.
I should perhaps have waived this undertaking,
had I not been put in mind of my promise by several
of my unknown correspondents, who are very im-
portunate with me to make an example of the co-
quette, as I have already done of the beau. It is
therefore in compliance with the request of friends,
that I have looked over the minutes of my former
dream, in order to give the public an exact rela-
tion of it, which I shall enter upon without further
preface.
Our operator, before he engaged in this [imaginary]
["visionary"]
dissection, told us, that there was nothing in his art
more difficult than to lay open the heart of a coquette,
by reason of the many labyrinths, and recesses which
are to be found in it, and which do not appear in
the heart of any other animal.
He desired us first of all t