was quoted in a Letter (of a very ingenious Correspondent of mine) on this Subject. That Author, who had lived in Courts, Camps, travelled through many Countries, and seen many Men under several Climates, and of as various Complections, speaks of our Impotence to resist the Wiles of Women, in very severe Terms.
His
words are as follows
2
:
What Means did the Devil find out, or what Instruments did his own Subtlety present him, as fittest and aptest to work his Mischief by? Even the unquiet Vanity of the Woman; so as byAdam'shearkening to the Voice of his Wife, contrary to the express Commandment of the living God, Mankind by that her Incantation became the subject of Labour, Sorrow, and Death; the Woman being given to Man for a Comforter and Companion, but not for a Counsellor. It is also to be noted by whom the Woman was tempted; even by the most ugly and unworthy of all Beasts, into whom the Devil entered and persuaded. Secondly, What was the Motive of her Disobedience? Even a deSire to know what was most unfitting her Knowledge; an Affection which has ever since remained in all the Posterity of her Sex. Thirdly, What was it that moved the Man to yield to her Persuasions; even the same Cause which hath moved all Men since to the like Consent, namely, an Unwillingness to grieve her or make her sad, lest she should pine, and be overcome with Sorrow. But ifAdamin the state of Perfection, andSolomonthe Son ofDavid,God's chosen Servant, and himself a Man endued with the greatest Wisdom, did both of them disobey their Creator by the Persuasion and for the Love they bare to a Woman, it is not so wonderful as lamentable, that other Men in succeeding Ages have been allured to so many inconvenient and wicked Practices by the Persuasion of their Wives, or other beloved Darlings, who cover over and shadow many malicious Purposes with a counterfeit Passion of dissimulate Sorrow and Unquietness.
The Motions of the Minds of Lovers are no where so well described, as in the Works of skillful Writers for the Stage. The Scene between
Fulvia
and
Curius
, in the second Act of
Johnson's Catiline
, is an excellent Picture of the Power of a Lady over her Gallant. The Wench plays with his Affections; and as a Man of all Places in the World wishes to make a good Figure with his Mistress, upon her upbraiding him with Want of Spirit, he alludes to Enterprizes which he cannot reveal but with the Hazard of his Life. When he is worked thus far, with a little Flattery of her Opinion of his Gallantry, and de
Sir
e to know more of it out of her overflowing Fondness to him, he brags to her till his Life is in her Disposal.
When a Man is thus liable to be vanquished by the Charms of her he loves, the safest Way is to determine what is proper to be done, but to avoid all Expostulation with her before he executes what he has resolved. Women are ever too hard for us upon a Treaty, and one must consider how senseless a thing it is to argue with one whose Looks and Gestures are more prevalent with you, than your Reason and Arguments can be with her. It is a most miserable Slavery to submit to what you disapprove, and give up a Truth for no other Reason, but that you had not Fortitude to support you in asserting it. A Man has enough to do to conquer his own unreasonable Wishes and De
Sir
es; but he does that in vain, if he has those of another to gratify. Let his Pride be in his Wife and Family, let him give them all the Conveniences of Life in such a manner as if he were proud of them; but let it be his own innocent Pride, and not their exorbitant De
Sir
es, which are indulged by him. In this case all the little Arts imaginable are used to soften a Man's Heart, and raise his Passion above his Understanding; but in all Concessions of this Kind, a Man should consider whether the Present he makes flows from his own Love, or the Importunity of his Beloved: If from the latter, he is her Slave; if from the former, her Friend. We laugh it off, and do not weigh this Subjection to Women with that Seriousness which so important a Circumstance deserves. Why was Courage given to Man, if his Wife's Fears are to frustrate it? When this is once indulged, you are no longer her Guardian and Protector, as you were designed by Nature; but, in Compliance to her Weaknesses, you have disabled your self from avoiding the Misfortunes into which they will lead you both, and you are to see the Hour in which you are to be reproached by her self for that very Complaisance to her. It is indeed the most difficult Mastery over our selves we can possibly attain, to resist the Grief of her who charms us; but let the Heart ake, be the Anguish never so quick and painful, it is what must be suffered and passed through, if you think to live like a Gentleman, or be conscious to your self that you are a Man of Honesty. The old Argument, that
You do not love me if you deny me this
, which first was used to obtain a Trifle, by habitual Success will oblige the unhappy Man who gives Way to it, to resign the Cause even of his Country and his Honour.
T.
Footnote 1:
an
and in first reprint.
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
History of the World
, Bk. i. ch. 4, sect. 4.
return
Contents
Quis non invenit turbâ quod amaret in illâ?Ovid.translationDearSPEC.'Finding that my last Letter took, I do intend to continue my epistolary Correspondence with thee, on those dear confounded Creatures,Women. Thou knowest, all the little Learning I am Master of is upon that Subject; I never looked in a Book, but for their sakes. I have lately met with two pure Stories for aSpectator, which I am sure will please mightily, if they pass through thy Hands. The first of them I found by chance in aEnglishBook calledHerodotus, that lay in my FriendDapperwit'sWindow, as I visited him one Morning. It luckily opened in the Place where I met with the following Account. He tells us that it was the Manner among thePersiansto have several Fairs in the Kingdom, at which all the young unmarried Women were annually exposed to Sale. The Men who wanted Wives came hither to provide themselves: Every Woman was given to the highest Bidder, and the Mony which she fetched laid aside for the publick Use, to be employed as thou shalt hear by and by. By this means the richest People had the Choice of the Market, and culled out all the most extraordinary Beauties. As soon as the Fair was thus picked, the Refuse was to be distributed among the Poor, and among those who could not go to the Price of aBeautySeveral of these married theAgreeables, without paying a Farthing for them, unless somebody chanced to think it worth his while to bid for them, in which Case the best Bidder was always the Purchaser. But now you must know,Spec. it happened inPersiaas it does in our own Country, that there were as manyugly Women, asBeautiesorAgreeables;so that by Consequence, after the Magistrates had put off a great many, there were still a great many that stuck upon their Hands. In order therefore to clear the Market, the Money which the Beauties had sold for, was disposed of among the Ugly; so that a poor Man, who could not afford to have a Beauty for his Wife, was forced to take up with a Fortune; the greatest Portion being always given to the most Deformed. To this the Author adds, that every poor Man was forced to live kindly with his Wife, or in case he repented of his Bargain, to return her Portion with her to the next publick Sale.What I would recommend to thee on this Occasion is, to establish such an imaginary Fair inGreat Britain: Thou couldst make it very pleasant, by matching Women of Quality with Coblers and Carmen, or describing Titles and Garters leading off in great Ceremony Shop-keepers and Farmers Daughters. Tho' to tell thee the Truth, I am confoundedly afraid that as the love of Mony prevails in our Island more than it did inPersia, we should find that some of our greatest Men would chuse out the Portions, and rival one another for the richest Piece of Deformity; and that on the contrary, the Toasts and Belles would be bought up by extravagant Heirs, Gamesters and Spendthrifts. Thou couldst make very pretty Reflections upon this Occasion in Honour of thePersianPoliticks, who took care, by such Marriages, to beautify the upper part of the Species, and to make the greatest Persons in the Government the most graceful. But this I shall leave to thy judicious Pen.'I have another Story to tell thee, which I likewise met with in a Book. It seems the General of theTartars, after having laid siege to a strong Town inChina, and taken it by Storm, would set to Sale all the Women that were found in it. Accordingly, he put each of them into a Sack, and after having thoroughly considered the Value of the Woman who was inclosed, marked the Price that was demanded for her upon the Sack. There were a great Confluence of Chapmen, that resorted from every Part, with a Design to purchase, which they were to dounsight unseen. The Book mentions a Merchant in particular, who observing one of the Sacks to be marked pretty high, bargained for it, and carried it off with him to his House. As he was resting with it upon a half-way Bridge, he was resolved to take a Survey of his Purchase: Upon opening the Sack, a little old Woman popped her Head out of it; at which the Adventurer was in so great a Rage, that he was going to shoot her out into the River. The old Lady, however, begged him first of all to hear her Story, by which he learned that she was sister to a greatMandarin, who would infallibly make the Fortune of his Brother-in-Law as soon as he should know to whose Lot she fell. Upon which the Merchant again tied her up in his Sack, and carried her to his House, where she proved an excellent Wife, and procured him all the Riches from her Brother that she had promised him.'I fancy, if I was disposed to dream a second time, I could make a tolerable Vision upon this Plan. I would suppose all the unmarried Women inLondonandWestminsterbrought to Market in Sacks, with their respective Prices on each Sack. The first Sack that is sold is marked with five thousand Pound: Upon the opening of it, I find it filled with an admirable Housewife, of an agreeable Countenance: The Purchaser, upon hearing her good Qualities, pays down her Price very chearfully. The second I would open, should be a five hundred Pound Sack: The Lady in it, to our surprize, has the Face and Person of a Toast: As we are wondering how she came to be set at so low a Price, we hear that she would have been valued at ten thousand Pound, but that the Publick had made those Abatements for her being a Scold. I would afterwards find some beautiful, modest, and discreet Woman, that should be the top of the Market; and perhaps discover half a dozen Romps tyed up together in the same Sack, at one hundred Pound an Head. The Prude and the Coquet should be valued at the same Price, tho' the first should go off the better of the two. I fancy thou wouldst like such a Vision, had I time to finish it; because, to talk in thy own way, there is a Moral in it. Whatever thou may'st think of it, pr'ythee do not make any of thy queer Apologies for this Letter, as thou didst for my last. The Women love a gay lively Fellow, and are never angry at the Railleries of one who is their known Admirer. I am always bitter upon them, but well with them.Thine,Honeycomb.
O.
Contents
Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo.Hor.translation
There is nothing which we receive with so much Reluctance as Advice. We look upon the Man who gives it us as offering an Affront to our Understanding, and treating us like Children or Ideots. We consider the Instruction as an implicit Censure, and the Zeal which any one shews for our Good on such an Occasion as a Piece of Presumption or Impertinence. The Truth of it is, the Person who pretends to advise, does, in that particular, exercise a Superiority over us, and can have no other Reason for it, but that in comparing us with himself, he thinks us defective either in our Conduct or our Understanding. For these Reasons, there is nothing so difficult as the Art of making Advice agreeable; and indeed all the Writers, both Ancient and Modern, have distinguished themselves among one another, according to the Perfection at which they have arrived in this Art. How many Devices have been made use of, to render this bitter Potion palatable? Some convey their Instructions to us in the best chosen Words, others in the most harmonious Numbers, some in Points of Wit, and others in short Proverbs.
But among all the different Ways of giving Counsel, I think the finest, and that which pleases the most universally, is
Fable
, in whatsoever shape it appears. If we consider this way of instructing or giving Advice, it excels all others, because it is the least shocking, and the least subject to those Exceptions which I have before mentioned.
This will appear to us, if we reflect in the first place, that upon the reading of a Fable we are made to believe we advise ourselves. We peruse the Author for the sake of the Story, and consider the Precepts rather as our own Conclusions, than his Instructions. The Moral insinuates it self imperceptibly, we are taught by Surprise, and become wiser and better unawares. In short, by this method a Man is so far over-reached as to think he is directing himself, whilst he is following the Dictates of another, and consequently is not sensible of that which is the most unpleasing Circumstance in Advice.
In the next place, if we look into human Nature, we shall find that the Mind is never so much pleased, as when she exerts her self in any Action that gives her an Idea of her own Perfections and Abilities. This natural Pride and Ambition of the Soul is very much gratified in the reading of a Fable: for in Writings of this kind, the Reader comes in for half of the Performance; every thing appears to him like a Discovery of his own; he is busied all the while in applying Characters and Circumstances, and is in this respect both a Reader and a Composer. It is no wonder therefore that on such Occasions, when the Mind is thus pleased with it self, and amused with its own Discoveries, that it is highly delighted with the Writing which is the occasion of it.
For
this reason the
Absalom
and
Achitophel
1
was one of the most popular Poems that ever appeared in
English
. The poetry is indeed very fine, but had it been much finer, it would not have so much pleased, without a plan which gave the Reader an Opportunity of exerting his own Talents.
This oblique manner of giving Advice is so inoffensive, that if we look into ancient Histories, we find the wise Men of old very often chose to give Counsel to their Kings in Fables. To omit many which will occur to every one's Memory,
there
is a pretty Instance of this Nature in a
Turkish
Tale, which I do not like the worse for that little Oriental Extravagance which is mixed with it.
We are told that the Sultan
Mahmoud
, by his perpetual Wars abroad, and his Tyranny at home, had filled his Dominions with Ruin and Desolation, and half unpeopled the
Persian
Empire. The Visier to this great Sultan (whether an Humourist or an Enthusiast, we are not informed) pretended to have learned of a certain Dervise to understand the Language of Birds, so that there was not a Bird that could open his Mouth, but the Visier knew what it was he said. As he was one Evening with the Emperor, in their return from Hunting, they saw a couple of Owls upon a Tree that grew near an old Wall out of an Heap of Rubbish.
I would fain know
, says the Sultan,
what those two Owls are saying to one another; listen to their Discourse, and give me an account of it
. The Visier approached the Tree, pretending to be very attentive to the two Owls. Upon his return to the Sultan,
Sir
, says he,
I have heard part of their Conversation, but dare not tell you what it is
. The Sultan would not be satisfied with such an Answer, but forced him to repeat word for word every thing the Owls had said.
You must know then
, said the Visier,
that one of these Owls has a Son, and the other a Daughter, between whom they are now upon a Treaty of Marriage. The Father of the Son said to the Father of the Daughter, in my hearing, Brother, I consent to this Marriage, provided you will settle upon your Daughter fifty ruined Villages for her Portion. To which the Father of the Daughter replied, Instead of fifty I will give her five hundred, if you please. God grant a long Life to Sultan
Mahmoud;
whilst he reigns over us, we shall never want ruined Villages
.
The Story says, the Sultan was so touched with the Fable, that he rebuilt the Towns and Villages which had been destroyed, and from that time forward consulted the Good of his People
2
.
To fill up my Paper, I shall add a most ridiculous piece of natural Magic, which was taught by no less a Philosopher than
Democritus
, namely, that if the Blood of certain Birds, which he mentioned, were mixed together, it would produce a Serpent of such a wonderful Virtue, that whoever did eat it should be skill'd in the Language of Birds, and understand every thing they said to one another. Whether the Dervise abovementioned might not have eaten such a Serpent, I shall leave to the Determinations of the Learned.
O.
Footnote 1:
Dryden's satire on the intrigues of the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Shaftesbury to exclude the King's brother from the Throne. Monmouth was
Absalom
, and Shaftesbury
Achitophel
.
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
Pilpay's Fables.
return
Contents
—Afflata est numine quandoJam propiore Dei—Virg.translation
The following Letter comes to me from that excellent Man in Holy Orders, whom I have mentioned more than once as one of that Society who assist me in my Speculations. It is a
Thought in Sickness
, and of a very serious Nature, for which Reason I give it a place in the Paper of this Day.
Sir,'TheIndispositionwhich has long hung upon me, is at last grown to sucha1Head, that it must quickly make an End of me, or of it self. You may imagine, that whilst I am in this bad state of Health, there are none of your Works which I read with greater Pleasure than yourSaturday'sPapers. I should be very glad if I could furnish you with any Hints for that Day's Entertainment. Were I able to dress up several Thoughts of a serious nature, which have made great Impressions on my Mind during a long Fit of Sickness, they might not be an improper Entertainment for that Occasion.'Among all the Reflections which usually rise in the Mind of a sick Man, who has Time and Inclination to consider his approaching End, there is none more natural than that of his going to appear Naked and Unbodied before Him who made him. When a Man considers, that as soon as the vital Union is dissolved, he shall see that Supreme Being, whom he now contemplates at a Distance, and only in his Works; or, to speak more philosophically, when by some Faculty in the Soul he shall apprehend the Divine Being, and be more sensible of his Presence, than we are now of the Presence of any Object which the Eye beholds, a Man must be lost in Carelessness and Stupidity, who is not alarmed at such a Thought. Dr.Sherlock, in his excellent Treatise upon Death, has represented, in very strong and lively Colours, the State of the Soul in its first Separation from the Body, with regard to that invisible World which every where surrounds us, tho' we are not able to discover it through this grosser World of Matter, which is accommodated to our Senses in this Life. His Words are as follow.That Death, which is our leaving this World, is nothing else but our putting off these Bodies, teaches us, that it is only our Union to these Bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other World: The other World is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine; the Throne of God indeed is at a great remove from this Earth, above the third Heavens, where he displays his Glory to those blessed Spirits which encompass his Throne; but as soon as we step out of these Bodies, we step into the other World, which is not so properly another World, (for there is the same Heaven and Earth still) as a new state of Life. To live in these Bodies is to live in this World; to live out of them is to remove into the next: For while our Souls are confined to these Bodies, and can look only thro' these material Casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing but what is so gross, that it can reflect Light, and convey the Shapes and Colours of Things with it to the Eye: So that though within this visible World, there be a more glorious Scene of Things than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this Veil of Flesh parts the visible and invisible World: But when we put off these Bodies, there are new and surprizing Wonders present themselves to our Views; when these material Spectacles are taken off, the Soul, with its own naked Eyes, sees what was invisible before: And then we are in the other World, when we can see it, and converse with it: Thus St.Paultell us, Thatwhen we are at home in the Body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent from the Body, we are present with the Lord, 2Cor.5. 6, 8.And methinks this is enough to cure us of our Fondness for these Bodies, unless we think it more deSirable to be confined to a Prison, and to look through a Grate all our Lives, which gives us but a very narrow prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at liberty to view all the Glories of the World. What would we give now for the least Glimpse of that invisible World, which the first step we take out of these Bodies will present us with? There are such thingsas Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entered into the Heart of Man to conceive:Death opens our Eyes, enlarges our Prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious World, which we can never see while we are shut up in Flesh; which should make us as willing to part with this Veil, as to take the Film off of our Eyes, which hinders our Sight.'As a thinking Man cannot but be very much affected with the Idea of his appearing in the presence of that Beingwhom none can see and live; he must be much more affected when he considers that this Being whom he appears before, will examine all the Actions of his past Life, and reward or punish him accordingly. I must confess that I think there is no Scheme of Religion, besides that of Christianity, which can possibly support the most virtuous Person under this Thought. Let a Man's Innocence be what it will, let his Virtues rise to the highest pitch of Perfection attainable in this Life, there will be still in him so many secret Sins, so many human Frailties, so many Offences of Ignorance, Passion and Prejudice, so many unguarded Words and Thoughts, and in short, so many Defects in his best Actions, that, without the Advantages of such an Expiation and Atonement as Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be ableto stand in his Sight. Our Holy Religion suggests to us the only Means whereby our Guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect Obedience accepted.'It is this Series of Thought that I have endeavoured to express in the following Hymn, which I have composed during this my Sickness.IWhen rising from the Bed of Death,O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,I see my Maker, Face to Face,O how shall I appear!IIIf yet, while Pardon may be found,And Mercy may be sought,My Heart with inward Horrour shrinks,And trembles at the Thought;IIIWhen thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'dIn Majesty severe,And sit in Judgment on my Soul,O how shall I appear!IVBut thou hast told the troubled Mind,Who does her Sins lament,The timely Tribute of her TearsShall endless Woe prevent.VThen see the Sorrows of my Heart,Ere yet it be too late;And hear my Saviour's dying Groans,To give those Sorrows Weight.VIFor never shall my Soul despairHer Pardon to procure,Who knows thine only Son has dy'dTo make her Pardon sure.'Thereisa noble Hymn inFrench, which MonsieurBaylehas celebrated for avery fine one, and which the famous Author of the Art of Speaking calls anAdmirable one, that turns upon a Thought of the same Nature. If I could have done it Justice inEnglish, I would have sent it you translated; it was written by MonsieurDes Barreaux; who had been one of the greatest Wits and Libertines inFrance, but in his last Years was as remarkable a Penitent2.Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equité;Toûjours tu prens plaiSirà nous tre propice:Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bontéNe me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice.Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impietéNe laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice:Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicité;Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse.Contente ton deSirpuis qu'il t'est glorieux;Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre.J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit:Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,Qui ne soit tout convert du sang deJesus Christ.'If these Thoughts may be serviceable to you, I deSire you would place them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,'Sir,Yours, &c.
That Death, which is our leaving this World, is nothing else but our putting off these Bodies, teaches us, that it is only our Union to these Bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other World: The other World is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine; the Throne of God indeed is at a great remove from this Earth, above the third Heavens, where he displays his Glory to those blessed Spirits which encompass his Throne; but as soon as we step out of these Bodies, we step into the other World, which is not so properly another World, (for there is the same Heaven and Earth still) as a new state of Life. To live in these Bodies is to live in this World; to live out of them is to remove into the next: For while our Souls are confined to these Bodies, and can look only thro' these material Casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing but what is so gross, that it can reflect Light, and convey the Shapes and Colours of Things with it to the Eye: So that though within this visible World, there be a more glorious Scene of Things than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this Veil of Flesh parts the visible and invisible World: But when we put off these Bodies, there are new and surprizing Wonders present themselves to our Views; when these material Spectacles are taken off, the Soul, with its own naked Eyes, sees what was invisible before: And then we are in the other World, when we can see it, and converse with it: Thus St.Paultell us, Thatwhen we are at home in the Body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent from the Body, we are present with the Lord, 2Cor.5. 6, 8.And methinks this is enough to cure us of our Fondness for these Bodies, unless we think it more deSirable to be confined to a Prison, and to look through a Grate all our Lives, which gives us but a very narrow prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at liberty to view all the Glories of the World. What would we give now for the least Glimpse of that invisible World, which the first step we take out of these Bodies will present us with? There are such thingsas Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entered into the Heart of Man to conceive:Death opens our Eyes, enlarges our Prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious World, which we can never see while we are shut up in Flesh; which should make us as willing to part with this Veil, as to take the Film off of our Eyes, which hinders our Sight.
Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equité;Toûjours tu prens plaiSirà nous tre propice:Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bontéNe me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice.Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impietéNe laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice:Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicité;Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse.Contente ton deSirpuis qu'il t'est glorieux;Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre.J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit:Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,Qui ne soit tout convert du sang deJesus Christ.
O.
Footnote 1:
an
in first reprint.
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
Jacques Vallée Seigneur des Barreaux, born in Paris in 1602, was Counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, and gave up his charge to devote himself to pleasure. He was famous for his songs and verses, for his affability and generosity and irreligion. A few years before his death he was converted, and wrote the pious sonnet given above, which had been very widely praised and quoted. In his religious days he lived secluded at Châlon sur Saône, where he died, in 1673.
return
Contents
Me Parnassi deserta per ardua, dulcisRaptat Amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorumCastaliam molle divertitur Orbita Clivo.Virg.translationMr. SPECTATOR,'I came home a little later than usual the other Night, and not finding my self inclined to sleep, I took upVirgilto divert me till I should be more disposed to Rest. He is the Author whom I always chuse on such Occasions, no one writing in so divine, so harmonious, nor so equal a Strain, which leaves the Mind composed, and softened into an agreeable Melancholy; the Temper in which, of all others, I chuse to close the Day. The Passages I turned to were those beautiful Raptures in hisGeorgicks, where he professes himself entirely given up to the Muses, and smit with the Love of Poetry, passionately wishing to be transported to the cool Shades and Retirements of the MountainHæmus. I clos'd the Book and went to Bed. What I had just before been reading made so strong an Impression on my Mind, that Fancy seemed almost to fulfil to me the Wish ofVirgil, in presenting to me the following Vision.'Methought I was on a sudden plac'd in the Plains ofBoeotia, where at the end of the Horizon I saw the MountainParnassusrising before me. The Prospect was of so large an Extent, that I had long wander'd about to find a Path which should directly lead me to it, had I not seen at some distance a Grove of Trees, which in a Plain that had nothing else remarkable enough in it to fix my Sight, immediately determined me to go thither. When I arrived at it, I found it parted out into a great Number of Walks and Alleys, which often widened into beautiful Openings, as Circles or Ovals, set round with Yews and Cypresses, with Niches, Grotto's, and Caves placed on the Sides, encompassed with Ivy. There was no Sound to be heard in the whole Place, but only that of a gentle Breeze passing over the Leaves of the Forest, every thing beside was buried in a profound Silence. I was captivated with the Beauty and Retirement of the Place, and never so much, before that Hour, was pleased with the Enjoyment of my self. I indulged the Humour, and suffered my self to wander without Choice or Design. At length, at the end of a Range of Trees, I saw three Figures seated on a Bank of Moss, with a silent Brook creeping at their Feet. I ador'd them as the tutelar Divinities of the Place, and stood still to take a particular View of each of them. The Middlemost, whose Name wasSolitude, sat with her Arms across each other, and seemed rather pensive and wholly taken up with her own Thoughts, than any ways grieved or displeased. The only Companions which she admitted into that Retirement, was the GoddessSilence, who sat on her right Hand with her Finger on her Mouth, and on her leftContemplation, with her Eyes fixed upon the Heavens. Before her lay a celestial Globe, with several Schemes of Mathematical Theorems. She prevented my Speech with the greatest Affability in the World: Fear not, said she, I know your Request before you speak it; you would be led to the Mountain of the Muses; the only way to it lies thro' this Place, and no one is so often employ'd in conducting Persons thither as my self. When she had thus spoken, she rose from her Seat, and I immediately placed my self under her Direction; but whilst I passed through the Grove, I could not help enquiring of her who were the Persons admitted into that sweet Retirement. Surely, said I, there can nothing enter here but Virtue and virtuous Thoughts: The whole Wood seems design'd for the Reception and Reward of such Persons as have spent their Lives according to the Dictates of their Conscience and the Commands of the Gods. You imagine right, said she; assure your self this Place was at first designed for no other: Such it continued to be in the Reign ofSaturn, when none entered here but holy Priests, Deliverers of their Country from Oppression and Tyranny, who repos'd themselves here after their Labours, and those whom the Study and Love of Wisdom had fitted for divine Conversation. But now it is become no less dangerous than it was before deSirable: Vice has learned so to mimick Virtue, that it often creeps in hither under its Disguise. See there! just before you,Revengestalking by, habited in the Robe ofHonour. Observe not far from himAmbitionstanding alone; if you ask him his Name, he will tell you it isEmulationorGlory. But the most frequent Intruder we have isLust, who succeeds now the Deity to whom in better Days this Grove was entirely devoted.Virtuous Love, withHymen, and the Graces attending him, once reign'd over this happy Place; a whole Train of Virtues waited on him, and no dishonourable Thought durst presume for Admittance: But now! how is the whole Prospect changed? and how seldom renewed by some few who dare despise sordid Wealth, and imagine themselves fit Companions for so charming a Divinity?'The Goddess had no sooner said thus, but we were arriv'd at the utmost Boundaries of the Wood, which lay contiguous to a Plain that ended at the Foot of the Mountain. Here I kept close to my Guide, being sollicited by several Phantomes, who assured me they would shew me a nearer Way to the Mountain of the Muses. Among the restVanitywas extremely importunate, having deluded infinite Numbers, whom I saw wandering at the Foot of the Hill. I turned away from this despicable Troop with Disdain, and addressing my self to my Guide, told her, that as I had some Hopes I should be able to reach up part of the Ascent, so I despaired of having Strength enough to attain the Plain on the Top. But being informed by her that it was impossible to stand upon the Sides, and that if I did not proceed onwards, I should irrecoverably fall down to the lowest Verge, I resolved to hazard any Labour and Hardship in the Attempt: So great a deSire had I of enjoying the Satisfaction I hoped to meet with at the End of my Enterprize!'There were two Paths, which led up by different Ways to the Summit of the Mountain; the one was guarded by the Genius which presides over the Moment of our Births. He had it in charge to examine the several Pretensions of those who deSired a Pass that Way, but to admit none excepting those only on whomMelpomenehad look'd with a propitious Eye at the Hour of their Nativity. The other Way was guarded byDiligence, to whom many of those Persons apply'd who had met with a Denial the other Way; but he was so tedious in granting their Request, and indeed after Admittance the Way was so very intricate and laborious, that many after they had made some Progress, chose rather to return back than proceed, and very few persisted so long as to arrive at the End they proposed. Besides these two Paths, which at length severally led to the Top of the Mountain, there was a third made up of these two, which a little after the Entrance joined in one. This carried those happy Few, whose good Fortune it was to find it, directly to the Throne ofApollo. I don't know whether I should even now have had the Resolution to have demanded Entrance at either of these Doors, had I not seen a Peasant-like Man (followed by a numerous and lovely Train of Youths of both Sexes) insist upon Entrance for all whom he led up. He put me in mind of the Country Clown who is painted in the Map for leading PrinceEugeneover theAlps. He had a Bundle of Papers in his Hand, and producing several, which he said, were given to him by Hands which he knewApollowould allow as Passes; among which, methoughts, I saw some of my own Writing; the whole Assembly was admitted, and gave, by their Presence, a new Beauty and Pleasure to these happy Mansions. I found the Man did not pretend to enter himself, but served as a kind of Forester in the Lawns to direct Passengers, who by their own Merit, or Instructions he procured for them, had Virtue enough to travel that way. I looked very attentively upon this kind homely Benefactor, and forgive me,Mr.SPECTATOR, if I own to you I took him for your self. We were no sooner entered, but we were sprinkled three times with the Water of the FountainAganippe, which had Power to deliver us from all Harms, but only Envy, which reached even to the End of our Journey. We had not proceeded far in the middle Path when we arrived at the Summit of the Hill, where there immediately appeared to us two Figures, which extremely engaged my Attention: the one was a young Nymph in the Prime of her Youth and Beauty; she had Wings on her Shoulders and Feet, and was able to transport herself to the most distant Regions in the smallest Space of Time. She was continually varying her Dress, sometimes into the most natural and becoming Habits in the World, and at others into the most wild and freakish Garb that can be imagined. There stood by her a Man full-aged, and of great Gravity, who corrected her Inconsistences, by shewing them in his Mirror, and still flung her affected and unbecoming Ornaments down the Mountain, which fell in the Plain below, and were gathered up and wore with great Satisfaction by those that inhabited it. The Name of the Nymph wasFancy, the Daughter ofLiberty, the most beautiful of all the Mountain-Nymphs. The other wasJudgment, the Off-spring ofTime, and the only Child he acknowledged to be his. A Youth, who sat upon a Throne just between them, was their genuine Offspring; his Name wasWit, and his Seat was composed of the Works of the most celebrated Authors. I could not but see with a secret Joy, that though theGreeksandRomansmade the Majority, yet our own Countrymen were the next both in Number and Dignity. I was now at Liberty to take a full Prospect of that delightful Region. I was inspired with new Vigour and Life, and saw every thing in nobler and more pleasing Views than before; I breathed a purer Æther in a Sky which was a continued Azure, gilded with perpetual Sunshine. The two Summits of the Mountain rose on each Side, and formed in the midst a most delicious Vale, the Habitation of the Muses, and of such as had composed Works worthy of Immortality.Apollowas seated upon a Throne of Gold, and for a Canopy an aged Laurel spread its Boughs and its Shade over his Head. His Bow and Quiver lay at his Feet. He held his Harp in his Hand, whilst the Muses round about him celebrated with Hymns his Victory over the SerpentPython, and sometimes sung in softer Notes the Loves ofLeucothoeandDaphnis.Homer,Virgil, andMiltonwere seated the next to them. Behind were a great Number of others, among whom I was surprized to see some in the Habit ofLaplanders, who, notwithstanding the Uncouthness of their Dress, had lately obtained a Place upon the Mountain. I sawPindarwalking all alone, no one daring to accost him, tillCowleyjoin'd himself to him; but growing weary of one who almost walked him out of breath, he left him forHoraceandAnacreon, with whom he seemed infinitely delighted.'A little further I saw another Groupe of Figures; I made up to them, and found it wasSocratesdictating toXenophon, and the Spirit ofPlato; but most of all,Musoeushad the greatest Audience about him. I was at too great a Distance to hear what he said, or to discover the Faces of his Hearers; only I thought I now perceivedVirgil, who had joined them, and stood in a Posture full of Admiration at the Harmony of his Words.'Lastly, At the very Brink of the Hill I sawBoccalinisending Dispatches to the World below of what happened uponParnassus; but I perceived he did it without leave of the Muses, and by stealth, and was unwilling to have them revised byApollo. I could now from this Height and serene Sky behold the infinite Cares and Anxieties with which Mortals below sought out their way through the Maze of Life. I saw the Path of Virtue lie strait before them, whilst Interest, or some malicious Demon, still hurry'd them out of the Way. I was at once touched with Pleasure at my own Happiness, and Compassion at the sight of their inextricable Errors. Here the two contending Passions rose so high, that they were inconsistent with the sweet Repose I enjoy'd, and awaking with a sudden start, the only Consolation I could admit of for my Loss,wasthe Hopes that this Relation of my Dream will not displease you.'2