, who stood upon their Guard all the while the
Grecians
lay before their City, when they fancied the Siege was raised,
and the Danger past, were the very next Night burnt in their Beds: I
must also observe, that as in some Climates there is a perpetual Spring,
so in some Female Constitutions there is a perpetual May: These are a
kind of Valetudinarians in Chastity, whom I would continue in a constant
Diet. I cannot think these wholly out of Danger, till they have looked
upon the other Sex at least Five Years through a Pair of Spectacles.
Will. Honeycomb
has often assured me, that its much easier to steal one
of this Species, when she has passed her grand Climacterick, than to
carry off an icy Girl on this side Five and Twenty; and that a Rake of
his Acquaintance, who had in vain endeavoured to gain the Affections of
a young Lady of Fifteen, had at last made his Fortune by running away
with her Grandmother.
But as I do not design this Speculation for the Evergreens of the Sex, I
shall again apply my self to those who would willingly listen to the
Dictates of Reason and Virtue, and can now hear me in cold Blood. If
there are any who have forfeited their Innocence, they must now consider
themselves under that Melancholy View, in which
Chamont
regards his
, in those beautiful Lines.
—Long she flourish'd,
Grew sweet to Sense, and lovely to the Eye;
Till at the last a cruel Spoiler came,
Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness;
Then cast it like a loathsome Weed away.1
On the contrary, she who has observed the timely Cautions I gave her,
and lived up to the Rules of Modesty, will now Flourish like a Rose in
June
, with all her Virgin Blushes and Sweetness about her: I must,
however, desire these last to consider, how shameful it would be for a
General, who has made a Successful Campaign, to be surprized in his
Winter Quarters: It would be no less dishonourable for a Lady to lose in
any other Month of the Year, what she has been at the pains to preserve
in
May
.
There is no Charm in the Female Sex, that can supply the place of
Virtue
. Without Innocence, Beauty is unlovely, and Quality contemptible,
Good-breeding degenerates into Wantonness, and Wit into Impudence. It is
observed, that all the Virtues are represented by both Painters and
Statuaries under Female Shapes, but if any one of them has a more
particular Title to that Sex, it is
Modesty
. I shall leave it to the
Divines to guard them against the opposite Vice, as they may be
overpowerd by Temptations; It is sufficient for me to have warned them
against it, as they may be led astray by Instinct.
I desire this Paper may be read with more than ordinary Attention, at
all Tea-Tables within the Cities of
London
and
Westminster
.
X.
Otway's
Orphan
, Act IV.
Contents
Contents, p.7
|
Wednesday, June 4, 1712 |
Henley |
Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton.
Having a great deal of Business upon my Hands at present, I shall beg
the Reader's Leave to present him with a Letter that I received about
half a Year ago from a Gentleman of
Cambridge
, who styles himself
Peter
de Quir
. I have kept it by me some Months, and though I did not know at
first what to make of it, upon my reading it over very frequently I have
at last discovered several Conceits in it: I would not therefore have my
Reader discouraged if he does not take them at the first Perusal.
To Mr.
Spectator1.
From St. John's College Cambridge, Feb. 3, 1712.
Sir,
The Monopoly of Punns in this University has been an immemorial
Privilege of the
Johnians; and we can't help resenting the late Invasion
of our ancient Right as to that Particular, by a little Pretender to
Clenching in a neighbouring College, who in an Application to you by way
of Letter, a while ago, styled himself
Philobrune. Dear Sir, as you are
by Character a profest Well-wisher to Speculation, you will excuse a
Remark which this Gentleman's Passion for the Brunette has suggested to
a Brother Theorist; 'tis an Offer towards a mechanical Account of his
Lapse to Punning, for he belongs to a Set of Mortals who value
themselves upon an uncommon Mastery in the more humane and polite Part
of Letters. A Conquest by one of this Species of Females gives a very
odd Turn to the Intellectuals of the captivated Person, and very
different from that way of thinking which a Triumph from the Eyes of
another more emphatically of the fair Sex, does generally occasion. It
fills the Imagination with an Assemblage of such Ideas and Pictures as
are hardly any thing but Shade, such as Night, the Devil, &c. These
Portraitures very near over-power the Light of the Understanding, almost
benight the Faculties, and give that melancholy Tincture to the most
sanguine Complexion, which this Gentleman calls an Inclination to be in
a
Brown-study, and is usually attended with worse Consequences in case
of a Repulse. During this Twilight of Intellects, the Patient is
extremely apt, as Love is the most witty Passion in Nature, to offer at
some pert Sallies now and then, by way of Flourish, upon the amiable
Enchantress, and unfortunately stumbles upon
that Mongrel miscreated (to
speak in
Miltonic) kind of Wit, vulgarly termed, the Punn.
It would not
be much amiss to consult
Dr. T—W—2 (who is certainly a very able
Projector, and whose system of Divinity and spiritual Mechanicks obtains
very much among the better Part of our Under-Graduates) whether a
general Intermarriage, enjoyned by Parliament, between this Sisterhood
of the Olive Beauties, and the Fraternity of the People call'd
Quakers,
would not be a very serviceable Expedient, and abate that Overflow of
Light which shines within them so powerfully, that it dazzles their
Eyes, and dances them into a thousand Vagaries of Error and Enthusiasm.
These Reflections may impart some Light towards a Discovery of the
Origin of Punning among us, and the Foundation of its prevailing so long
in this famous Body. Tis notorious from the Instance under
Consideration, that it must be owing chiefly to the use of brown Juggs,
muddy Belch, and the Fumes of a certain memorable Place of
Rendezvous
with us at Meals, known by the Name of
Staincoat Hole: For the
Atmosphere of the Kitchen, like the Tail of a Comet, predominates least
about the Fire, but resides behind and fills the fragrant Receptacle
above-mentioned. Besides, 'tis farther observable that the delicate
Spirits among us, who declare against these nauseous proceedings, sip
Tea, and put up for Critic and Amour, profess likewise an equal
Abhorrency for Punning, the ancient innocent Diversion of this Society.
After all, Sir, tho' it may appear something absurd, that I seem to
approach you with the Air of an Advocate for Punning, (you who have
justified your Censures of the Practice in a set Dissertation upon that
Subject;) yet, I'm confident, you'll think it abundantly atoned for by
observing, that this humbler Exercise may be as instrumental in
diverting us from any innovating Schemes and Hypothesis in Wit. as
dwelling upon honest Orthodox Logic would be in securing us from Heresie
in Religion.
Had
Mr. W—n's3 Researches been confined within the
Bounds of
Ramus or
Crackanthorp, that learned News-monger might have
acquiesced in what the holy Oracles pronounce upon the Deluge, like
other
Christians;
and had the surprising
Mr. L—y4 been content with
the Employment of refining upon
Shakespear's Points and Quibbles, (for
which he must be allowed to have a superlative Genius) and now and then
penning a Catch or a Ditty, instead of inditing Odes, and Sonnets, the
Gentlemen of the
Bon Goust in the Pit would never have been put to all
that Grimace in damning the Frippery of State, the Poverty and Languor
of Thought, the unnatural Wit, and inartificial Structure of his Dramas.
I am,
Sir,
Your very humble Servant,
Peter de Quir.
This letter was by John Henley, commonly called Orator
Henley. The paper is without signature in first issue or reprint, but
the few introductory lines, doubtless, are by Steele. John Henley was at
this time but 20 years old. He was born at Melton Mowbray in 1692, and
entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1709. After obtaining his
degree he was invited to take charge of the Grammar School in his native
place, and raised it from decay. He published
Esther
, a poem; went to
London; introduced action into pulpit oratory; missing preferment, gave
lectures and orations, religious on Sundays, and political on
Wednesdays; was described by Pope in the
Dunciad
as the Zany of his age,
and represented by Hogarth upon a scaffold with a monkey by his side
saying Amen. He edited a paper of nonsense called the
Hip Doctor,
and
once attracted to his oratory an audience of shoemakers by announcing
that he would teach a new and short way of making shoes; his way being
to cut off the tops of boots. He died in 1756.
Percy suggests very doubtfully that this may mean Thomas
Woolston, who was born in 1669, educated at Sidney College, Cambridge,
published, in 1705,
The Old Apology for the Truth against the Jews and
Gentiles Revived
, and afterwards was imprisoned and fined for levity in
discussing sacred subjects. The text points to a medical theory of
intermarriage. There was a Thomas Winston, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who
travelled over the continent, took degrees at Basle and Padua, returned
to take his M.D. at Cambridge, and settled in London in 1607.
William Whiston, born 1667, educated at Tamworth School and
Clare Hall, Cambridge, became a Fellow in 1693, and then Chaplain to
Bishop Moore. In 1696 he published his
New Theory of the Earth,
which
divided attention with Burnet's
Sacred Theory of the Earth
already
mentioned. In 1700 Whiston was invited to Cambridge, to act as deputy to
Sir Isaac Newton, whom he succeeded in 1703 as Lucasian Professor. For
holding some unorthodox opinions as to the doctrines of the early
Christians, he was, in 1710, deprived of his Professorship, and banished
from the University. He was a pious and learned man, who, although he
was denied the Sacrament, did not suffer himself to be driven out of the
Church of England till 1747. At last he established a small congregation
in his own house in accordance with his own notion of primitive
Christianity. He lived till 1752.
No L—y of that time has written plays that are remembered.
The John Lacy whom Charles II. admired so much that he had his picture
painted in three of his characters, died in 1681, leaving four comedies
and an alteration of Shakespeare's
Taming of the Shrew
. He was a
handsome man: first dancing-master, then quarter-master, then an admired
comedian. Henley would hardly have used a blank in referring to a
well-known writer who died thirty years before. There was another John
Lacy advertising in the Post Boy, Aug. 3, 1714, The Steeleids, or the
Trial of Wits, a Poem in three cantos, with a motto:
Then will I say, swelled with poetic rage,
That I, John Lacy, have reformed the age.
Contents
Contents, p.7
|
Thursday, June 5, 1712 |
Addison |
—Dolor ipse disertum
Fecerat—
Ovid.
the Stoick Philosophers discard all Passions in general, they will
not allow a Wise Man so much as to pity the Afflictions of another.
If
thou seest thy Friend in Trouble
, says
Epictetus
,
thou mayst put on a
Look of Sorrow, and condole with him, but take care that thy Sorrow be
not real
. The more rigid of this Sect would not comply so far as to
shew even such an outward Appearance of Grief, but when one told them of
any Calamity that had befallen even the nearest of their Acquaintance,
would immediately reply,
What is that to me?
If you aggravated the
Circumstances of the Affliction, and shewed how one Misfortune was
followed by another, the Answer was still,
All this may be true, but
what is it to me?
For my own part, I am of Opinion, Compassion does not only refine and
civilize Humane Nature, but has something in it more pleasing and
agreeable than what can be met with in such an indolent Happiness, such
an Indifference to Mankind as that in which the Stoicks placed their
Wisdom. As Love is the most delightful Passion, Pity is nothing else but
Love softned by a degree of Sorrow: In short, it is a kind of pleasing
Anguish, as well as generous Sympathy, that knits Mankind together, and
blends them in the same common Lot.
Those who have laid down Rules for Rhetorick or Poetry, advise the
Writer to work himself up, if possible, to the Pitch of Sorrow which he
endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up
Pity so much as those who indite their own Sufferings. Grief has a
natural Eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving
Sentiments than be supplied by the finest Imagination. Nature on this
Occasion dictates a thousand passionate things which cannot be supplied
by Art.
It is for this Reason that the short Speeches, or Sentences which we
often meet with in Histories, make a deeper Impression on the Mind of
the Reader, than the most laboured Strokes in a well-written Tragedy.
Truth and Matter of Fact sets the Person actually before us in the one,
whom Fiction places at a greater Distance from us in the other. I do not
remember to have seen any Ancient or Modern Story more affecting than a
Letter of
Ann of Bologne
, Wife to
King Henry the Eighth
, and Mother to
Queen Elizabeth
, which is still extant in the
Cotton Library,
as written
by her own Hand.
Shakespear
himself could not have made her talk in a Strain so suitable
to her Condition and Character. One sees in it the Expostulations of a
slighted Lover, the Resentments of an injured Woman, and the Sorrows of
an imprisoned Queen. I need not acquaint my Reader that this Princess
was then under Prosecution for Disloyalty to the King's Bed, and that
she was afterwards publickly beheaded upon the same Account, though this
Prosecution was believed by many to proceed, as she her self intimates,
rather from the King's Love to
Jane Seymour
than from any actual Crime
in
Ann of Bologne.
Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry.
[Cotton Libr. Otho C. 10.]
Sir,
Your Grace's Displeasure, and my Imprisonment, are Things so strange
unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether
ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and
so obtain your Favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine
ancient professed Enemy, I no sooner received this Message by him,
than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing
a Truth indeed may procure my Safety, I shall with all Willingness and
Duty perform your Command.
But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor Wife will ever be
brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof
preceded. And to speak a Truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in
all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Ann
Boleyn: with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my
self, if God and your Grace's Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither
did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received
Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I
find; for the Ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation
than
your Grace's Fancy, the least Alteration I knew was fit and
sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other
Object2. You have
chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far
beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such
Honour, good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of
mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that
Stain, that unworthy Stain, of a Disloyal Heart towards your good
Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the
Infant-Princess your Daughter. Try me, good King, but let me have a
lawful Tryal, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and
Judges; Yea let me receive an open Tryal, for my Truth shall fear no
open Shame; then shall you see either mine Innocence cleared, your
Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the
World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or
you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure,
and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty,
both before God and Man, not only to Execute worthy Punishment on me
as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection, already settled on
that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some
good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of
my Suspicion therein.
But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death,
but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired
Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin
therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that
he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel
Usage of me, at his general Judgment Seat, where both you and my self
must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the
World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and
sufficiently cleared.
My last and only Request shall be, that my self may only bear the
Burthen of your Grace's Displeasure, and that it may not touch the
innocent Souls of those poor Gentlemen, who (as I understand) are
likewise in strait Imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found
Favour in your Sight, if ever the Name of
Ann Boleyn hath been
pleasing in your Ears, then let me obtain this Request, and I will so
leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest Prayers to
the Trinity to have your Grace in his good Keeping, and to direct you
in all your Actions. From my doleful Prison in the Tower, this sixth
of
May;
Your most Loyal,
And ever Faithful Wife,
Ann Boleyn.
When you see a Neighbour in Tears, and hear him lament the Absence of
his Son, the Hazards of his Voyage into some remote Part of the World,
or the Loss of his Estate; keep upon your Guard, for fear lest some
false Ideas that may rise upon these Occasions, surprise you into a
Mistake, as if this Man were really miserable, upon the Account of
these outward Accidents. But be sure to distinguish wisely, and tell
your self immediately, that the Thing which really afflicts this
Person is not really the Accident it self, (for other People, under
his Circumstances, are not equally afflicted with it) but merely the
Opinion which he hath formed to himself concerning this Accident.
Notwithstanding all which, you may be allowed, as far as Expressions
and outward Behaviour go, to comply with him; and if Occasion require,
to bear a part in his Sighs, and Tears too; but then you must be sure
to take care, that this Compliance does not infect your Mind, nor
betray you to an inward and real Sorrow, upon any such
Account.
Epictetus his Morals, with Simplicius his Comment.
Made English from the Greek by George Stanhope (1694) chapter xxii.
Subject
Contents
Contents, p.7
|
Friday, June 6, 1712 |
Steele |
Insanire pares certa ratione modoque.
Hor.
Cynthio
and
Flavia
are Persons of Distinction in this Town, who have
been Lovers these ten Months last past, and writ to each other for
Gallantry Sake, under those feigned Names; Mr. Such a one and Mrs. Such
a one not being capable of raising the Soul out of the ordinary Tracts
and Passages of Life, up to that Elevation which makes the Life of the
Enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the World. But ever
since the beauteous
Cecilia
has made such a Figure as she now does in
the Circle of Charming Women,
Cynthio
has been secretly one of her
Adorers.
Lætitia
has been the finest Woman in Town these three Months,
and so long
Cynthio
has acted the Part of a Lover very awkwardly in the
Presence of
Flavia
.
Flavia
has been too blind towards him, and has too
sincere an Heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would
have discovered this Change of Mind to any one less engaged than she
was.
Cynthio
was musing Yesterday in the
Piazza
in
Covent-Garden
, and
was saying to himself that he was a very ill Man to go on in visiting
and professing Love to
Flavia
, when his Heart was enthralled to another.
It is an Infirmity that I am not constant to
Flavia;
but it would be
still a greater Crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess
that I do. To marry a Woman with the Coldness that usually indeed comes
on after Marriage, is ruining one's self with one's Eyes open; besides
it is really doing her an Injury.
This last Consideration, forsooth, of
injuring her in persisting, made him resolve to break off upon the first
favourable Opportunity of making her angry. When he was in this Thought,
he saw
Robin the Porter
who waits at
Will's Coffee-House
, passing by.
Robin
, you must know, is the best Man in Town for carrying a Billet; the
Fellow has a thin Body, swift Step, demure Looks, sufficient Sense, and
knows the Town. This Man carried
Cynthio's
first Letter to
Flavia
, and
by frequent Errands ever since, is well known to her. The Fellow covers
his Knowledge of the Nature of his Messages with the most exquisite low
Humour imaginable: The first he obliged
Flavia
to take, was, by
complaining to her that he had a Wife and three Children, and if she did
not take that Letter, which, he was sure, there was no Harm in, but
rather Love, his Family must go supperless to Bed, for the Gentleman
would pay him according as he did his Business.
Robin
therefore
Cynthio
now thought fit to make use of, and gave him Orders to wait before
Flavia's
Door, and if she called him to her, and asked whether it was
Cynthio
who passed by, he should at first be loth to own it was, but
upon Importunity confess it. There needed not much Search into that Part
of the Town to find a well-dressed Hussey fit for the Purpose
Cynthio
designed her. As soon as he believed
Robin
was posted, he drove by
Flavia's
Lodgings in an Hackney-Coach and a Woman in it.
Robin
was at
the Door talking with
Flavia's
Maid, and
Cynthio
pulled up the Glass as
surprized, and hid his Associate. The Report of this Circumstance soon
flew up Stairs, and
Robin
could not deny but the Gentleman favoured his
Master; yet if it was he, he was sure the Lady was but his Cousin whom
he had seen ask for him; adding that he believed she was a poor
Relation, because they made her wait one Morning till he was awake.
Flavia
immediately writ the following Epistle, which
Robin
brought to
Wills'
June 4, 1712.
Sir,
It is in vain to deny it, basest, falsest of Mankind; my Maid, as well
as the Bearer, saw you.
The injur'd Flavia.
After
Cynthio
had read the Letter, he asked
Robin
how she looked, and
what she said at the Delivery of it.
Robin
said she spoke short to him,
and called him back again, and had nothing to say to him, and bid him
and all the Men in the World go out of her Sight; but the Maid followed,
and bid him bring an Answer.
Cynthio
returned as follows.
June 4, Three Afternoon, 1712.
Madam,
That your Maid and the Bearer has seen me very often is very certain;
but I desire to know, being engaged at Picket, what your Letter means
by 'tis in vain to deny it. I shall stay here all the Evening.
Your amazed Cynthio.
As soon as
Robin
arrived with this,
Flavia
answered:
Dear Cynthio,
I have walked a Turn or two in my Anti-Chamber since I writ to you,
and have recovered my self from an impertinent Fit which you ought to
forgive me, and desire you would come to me immediately to laugh off a
Jealousy that you and a Creature of the Town went by in an
Hackney-Coach an Hour ago. I am Your most humble Servant,
Flavia
I will not open the Letter which my Cynthio writ, upon the
Misapprehension you must have been under when you writ, for want of
hearing the whole Circumstance.
Robin
came back in an Instant, and
Cynthio
answered:
Half Hour, six Minutes after Three,
June 4. Will's Coffee-house.
Madam, It is certain I went by your Lodgings with a Gentlewoman to
whom I have the Honour to be known, she is indeed my Relation, and a
pretty sort of Woman. But your starting Manner of Writing, and owning
you have not done me the Honour so much as to open my Letter, has in
it something very unaccountable, and alarms one that has had Thoughts
of passing his Days with you. But I am born to admire you with all
your little Imperfections.
Cynthio.
Robin
run back, and brought for Answer;
Exact Sir, that are at Will's Coffee-house six Minutes after Three,
June 4; one that has had Thoughts and all my little Imperfections.
Sir, come to me immediately, or I shall determine what may perhaps not
be very pleasing to you.
Flavia