Shalum
.
He treated her in the Bower which he had planted amidst the Wood of Nightingales. This Wood was made up of such Fruit-Trees and Plants as are most agreeable to the several Kinds of Singing Birds; so that it had drawn into it all the Musick of the Country, and was filled from one End of the Year to the other with the most agreeable Consort in Season.
He shewed her every Day some beautiful and surprising Scene in this new Region of Woodlands; and as by this Means he had all the Opportunities he could wish for of opening his Mind to her, he succeeded so well, that upon her Departure she made him a kind of Promise, and gave him her Word to return him a positive Answer in less than fifty Years.
She had not been long among her own People in the Vallies, when she received new Overtures, and at the same Time a most splendid Visit from
Mishpach
, who was a mighty Man of old, and had built a great City, which he called after his own Name. Every House was made for at least a thousand Years, nay there were some that were leased out for three Lives; so that the Quantity of Stone and Timber consumed in this Building is scarce to be imagined by those who live in the present Age of the World. This great Man entertained her with the Voice of musical Instruments which had been lately invented, and danced before her to the Sound of the Timbrel. He also presented her with several domestick Utensils wrought in Brass and Iron, which had been newly found out for the Conveniency of Life. In the mean time
Shalum
grew very uneasie with himself, and was sorely displeased at
Hilpa
for the Reception which she had given to
Mishpach
, insomuch that he never wrote to her or spoke of her during a whole Revolution of
Saturn
; but finding that this Intercourse went no further than a Visit, he again renewed his Addresses to her, who during his long Silence is said very often to have cast a wishing Eye upon Mount
Tirzah
.
Her Mind continued wavering about twenty Years longer between
Shalum
and
Mishpach
; for tho' her Inclinations favoured the former, her Interest pleaded very powerfully for the other. While her Heart was in this unsettled Condition, the following Accident happened which determined her Choice. A high Tower of Wood that stood in the City of
Mishpach
having caught Fire by a Flash of Lightning, in a few Days reduced the whole Town to Ashes.
Mishpach
resolved to rebuild the Place whatever it should cost him; and having already destroyed all the Timber of the Country, he was forced to have Recourse to
Shalum
, whose Forests were now two hundred Years old. He purchased these Woods with so many Herds of Cattle and Flocks of Sheep, and with such a vast Extent of Fields and Pastures, that
Shalum
was now grown more wealthy than
Mishpach
; and therefore appeared so charming in the Eyes of
Zilpah's
Daughter, that she no longer refused him in Marriage. On the Day in which he brought her up into the Mountains he raised a most prodigious Pile of Cedar and of every sweet smelling Wood, which reached above 300 Cubits in Height; He also cast into the Pile Bundles of Myrrh and Sheaves of Spikenard, enriching it with every spicy Shrub, and making it fat with the Gums of his Plantations. This was the Burnt-Offering which
Shalum
offered in the Day of his Espousals: The Smoke of it ascended up to Heaven, and filled the whole Country with Incense and Perfume.
Contents
—Quæ in vita usurpant homines, cogitant, curant, vident, Quæque agunt vigilantes, agitantque, ea cuique in somno accidunt.Cic.de Div.translation
By the last Post I received the following Letter, which is built upon a Thought that is new, and very well carried on; for which Reasons I shall give it to the Publick without Alteration, Addition, or Amendment.
Sir,'It was a good Piece of Advice whichPythagorasgave to his Scholars, That every Night before they slept they should examine what they had been a doing that Day, and so discover what Actions were worthy of Pursuit to-morrow, and what little Vices were to be prevented from slipping unawares into a Habit. If I might second the Philosopher's Advice, it should be mine, That in a Morning before my Scholar rose, he should consider what he had been about that Night, and with the same Strictness, as if the Condition he has believed himself to be in, was real. Such a Scrutiny into the Actions of his Fancy must be of considerable Advantage, for this Reason, because the Circumstances which a Man imagines himself in during Sleep, are generally such as entirely favour his Inclinations good or bad, and give him imaginary Opportunities of pursuing them to the utmost; so that his Temper will lye fairly open to his View, while he considers how it is moved when free from those Constraints which the Accidents of real Life put it under. Dreams are certainly the Result of our waking Thoughts, and our daily Hopes and Fears are what give the Mind such nimble Relishes of Pleasure, and such severe Touches of Pain, in its Midnight Rambles. A Man that murders his Enemy, or deserts his Friend in a Dream, had need to guard his Temper against Revenge and Ingratitude, and take heed that he be not tempted to do a vile thing in the Pursuit of false, or the Neglect of true Honour. For my Part, I seldom receive a Benefit, but in a Night or two's Time I make most noble Returns for it; which tho' my Benefactor is not a whit the better for, yet it pleases me to think that it was from a Principle of Gratitude in me, that my Mind was susceptible of such generous Transport while I thought my self repaying the Kindness of my Friend: And I have often been ready to beg Pardon, instead of returning an Injury, after considering, that when the Offender was in my Power I had carried my Resentments much too far.'I think it has been observed in the Course of your Papers, how much one's Happiness or Misery may depend upon the Imagination: Of which Truth those strange Workings of Fancy in Sleep are no inconsiderable Instances; so that not only the Advantage a Man has of making Discoveries of himself, but a Regard to his own Ease or Disquiet, may induce him to accept of my Advice. Such as are willing to comply with it, I shall put into a way of doing it with pleasure, by observing only one Maxim which I shall give them,viz. To go to Bed with a Mind entirely free from Passion, and a Body clear of the least Intemperance.'They indeed who can sink into Sleep with their Thoughts less calm or innocent than they should be, do but plunge themselves into Scenes of Guilt and Misery; or they who are willing to purchase any Midnight Disquietudes for the Satisfaction of a full Meal, or a Skin full of Wine; these I have nothing to say to, as not knowing how to invite them to Reflections full of Shame and Horror: But those that will observe this Rule, I promise them they shall awake into Health and Cheerfulness, and be capable of recounting with Delight those glorious Moments wherein the Mind has been indulging it self in such Luxury of Thought, such noble Hurry of Imagination. Suppose a Man's going supperless to Bed should introduce him to the Table of some great Prince or other, where he shall be entertained with the noblest Marks of Honour and Plenty, and do so much Business after, that he shall rise with as good a Stomach to his Breakfast as if he had fasted all Night long; or suppose he should see his dearest Friends remain all Night in great Distresses, which he could instantly have disengaged them from, could he have been content to have gone to Bed without t'other Bottle: Believe me, these Effects of Fancy are no contemptible Consequences of commanding or indulging one's Appetite.'I forbear recommending my Advice upon many other Accounts, till I hear how you and your Readers relish what I have already said, among whom if there be any that may pretend it is useless to them, because they never dream at all, there may be others, perhaps, who do little else all Day long. Were every one as sensible as I am what happens to him in his Sleep, it would be no Dispute whether we past so considerable a Portion of our Time in the Condition of Stocks and Stones, or whether the Soul were not perpetually at Work upon the Principle of Thought. However, 'tis an honest Endeavour of mine to perswade my Countrymen to reap some Advantage from so many unregarded Hours, and as such you will encourage it.'I shall conclude with giving you a Sketch or two of my Way of proceeding.'If I have any Business of consequence to do to-morrow, I am scarce dropt asleep to-night but I am in the midst of it, and when awake I consider the whole Procession of the Affair, and get the Advantage of the next Day's Experience before the Sun has risen upon it.'There is scarce a great Post but what I have some Time or other been in; but my Behaviour while I was Master of a College, pleases me so well, that whenever there is a Province of that Nature vacant, I intend to step in as soon as I can.'I have done many Things that would not pass Examination, when I have had the Art of Flying, or being invisible; for which Reason I am glad I am not possessed of those extra-ordinary Qualities.'Lastly, Mr. SPECTATOR, I have been a great Correspondent of yours, and have read many of my Letters in your Paper which I never wrote you. If you have a Mind I should really be so, I have got a Parcel of Visions and other Miscellanies in my Noctuary, which I shall send you to enrich your Paper with on proper Occasions.I am, &c.John Shadow.Oxford, Aug.20.
Footnote 1:
John Byrom, born at Manchester, in 1691, was quarrelled with by his family for marrying a young lady without fortune, and lived by an ingenious way of teaching short-hand, till the death of an elder brother gave him the family estate. He died in 1763. In 1714 he had just been elected Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1723 he was admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society, and contributed to its Transactions a paper upon his own System of short-hand. In his later years he wrote much rhyme.
return to footnote mark
Contents
—Intus, et in Cute novi—Pers.translation
Tho' the Author of the following Vision is unknown to me, I am apt to think it may be the Work of that ingenious Gentleman, who promised me, in the last Paper, some Extracts out of his Noctuary.
Sir'I was the other Day reading the Life ofMahomet.Among many other Extravagancies, I find it recorded of that Impostor, that in the fourth Year of his Age the AngelGabrielcaught him up, while he was among his Play-fellows, and, carrying him aside, cut open his Breast, plucked out his Heart, and wrung out of it that black Drop of Blood, in which, say theTurkishDivines, is contained theFomes Peccati, so that he was free from Sin ever after. I immediately said to my self, tho' this Story be a Fiction, a very good Moral may be drawn from it, would every Man but apply it to himself, and endeavour to squeeze out of his Heart whatever Sins or ill Qualities he finds in it.'While my Mind was wholly taken up with this Contemplation, I insensibly fell into a most pleasing Slumber, when methought two Porters entered my Chamber, carrying a large Chest between them. After having set it down in the middle of the Room they departed. I immediately endeavour'd to open what was sent me, when a Shape, like that in which we paint our Angels, appeared before me, and forbad me. Enclosed, said he, are the Hearts of several of your Friends and Acquaintance; but before you can be qualified to see and animadvert on the Failings of others, you must be pure your self; whereupon he drew out his Incision Knife, cut me open, took out my Heart, and began to squeeze it. I was in a great Confusion, to see how many things, which I had always cherished as Virtues, issued out of my Heart on this Occasion. In short, after it had been thoroughly squeezed, it looked like an empty Bladder, when the Phantome, breathing a fresh Particle of Divine Air into it, restored it safe to its former Repository: and having sewed me up, we began to examine the Chest.'The Hearts were all enclosed in transparent Phials, and preserved in a Liquor which looked like Spirits of Wine. The first which I cast my Eye upon, I was afraid would have broke the Glass which contained it. It shot up and down, with incredible Swiftness, thro' the Liquor in which it swam, and very frequently bounced against the Side of the Phial. TheFomes, or Spot in the Middle of it, was not large, but of a red fiery Colour, and seemed to be the Cause of these violent Agitations. That, says my Instructor, is the Heart ofTom. Dread-Nought,who behaved himself well in the late Wars, but has for these Ten Years last past been aiming at some Post of Honour to no Purpose. He is lately retired into the Country, where, quite choaked up with Spleen and Choler, he rails at better Men than himself, and will be for ever uneasie, because it is impossible he should think his Merit sufficiently rewarded. The next Heart that I examined was remarkable for its Smallness; it lay still at the Bottom of the Phial, and I could hardly perceive that it beat at all. TheFomeswas quite black, and had almost diffused it self over the whole Heart. This, says my Interpreter, is the Heart ofDick Gloomy, who never thirsted after any thing but Money. Notwithstanding all his Endeavours, he is still poor. This has flung him into a most deplorable State of Melancholy and Despair. He is a Composition of Envy and Idleness, hates Mankind, but gives them their Revenge by being more uneasie to himself, than to any one else.'The Phial I looked upon next contained a large fair Heart, which beat very strongly. TheFomesor Spot in it was exceeding small; but I could not help observing, that which way soever I turned the Phial it always appeared uppermost and in the strongest Point of Light. The Heart you are examining, says my Companion, belongs toWill. Worthy. He has, indeed, a most noble Soul, and is possessed of a thousand good Qualities. The Speck which you discover isVanity.'Here, says the Angel, is the Heart ofFreelove, your intimate Friend.Freeloveand I, said I, are at present very cold to one another, and I do not care for looking on the Heart of a Man, which I fear is overcast with Rancour. My Teacher commanded me to look upon it; I did so, and to my unspeakable Surprize, found that a small swelling Spot, which I at first took to beIll-Willtowards me, was onlyPassion, and that upon my nearer Inspection it wholly disappeared; upon which the Phantome told meFreelovewas one of the best-natured Men alive.'This, says my Teacher, is a Female Heart of your Acquaintance. I found theFomesin it of the largest Size, and of a hundred different Colours, which were still varying every Moment. Upon my asking to whom it belonged, I was informed that it was the Heart ofCoquetilla.'I set it down, and drew out another, in which I took theFomesat first Sight to be very small, but was amazed to find, that as I looked stedfastly upon it, it grew still larger. It was the Heart ofMelissa, a noted Prude who lives the next Door to me.'I show you this, says the Phantome, because it is indeed a Rarity, and you have the Happiness to know the Person to whom it belongs. He then put into my Hands a large Chrystal Glass, that enclosed an Heart, in which, though I examined it with the utmost Nicety, I could not perceive any Blemish. I made no Scruple to affirm that it must be the Heart ofSeraphina, and was glad, but not surprized, to find that it was so. She is, indeed, continued my Guide, the Ornament, as well as the Envy, of her Sex; at these last Words, he pointed to the Hearts of several of her Female Acquaintance which lay in different Phials, and had very large Spots in them, all of a deepBlue.You are not to wonder, says he, that you see no Spot in an Heart, whose Innocence has been Proof against all the Corruptions of a depraved Age. If it has any Blemish, it is too small to be discovered by Human Eyes.'I laid it down, and took up the Hearts of other Females, in all of which theFomesran in several Veins, which were twisted together, and made a very perplexed Figure. I asked the Meaning of it, and was told it representedDeceit.'I should have been glad to have examined the Hearts of several of my Acquaintance, whom I knew to be particularly addicted to Drinking, Gaming, Intreaguing, &c., but my Interpreter told me I must let that alone till another Opportunity, and flung down the Cover of the Chest with so much violence, as immediately awoke me.
Contents
Dicitis, omnis in Imbecillitate est et Gratia, et Caritas.Cicerode Nat. Deor. L.translation
Man may be considered in two Views, as a Reasonable, and as a Sociable Being; capable of becoming himself either happy or miserable, and of contributing to the Happiness or Misery of his Fellow Creatures. Suitably to this double Capacity, the Contriver of Human Nature hath wisely furnished it with two Principles of Action, Self-love and Benevolence; designed one of them to render Man wakeful to his own personal Interest, the other to dispose him for giving his utmost Assistance to all engaged in the same Pursuit. This is such an Account of our Frame, so agreeable to Reason, so much for the Honour of our Maker, and the Credit of our Species, that it may appear somewhat unaccountable what should induce Men to represent human Nature as they do under Characters of Disadvantage, or, having drawn it with a little and sordid Aspect, what Pleasure they can possibly take in such a Picture. Do they reflect that 'tis their Own, and, if we will believe themselves, is not more odious than the Original?
One of the first that talked in this lofty Strain of our Nature was
Beneficence
, would his Followers say, is all founded in Weakness; and, whatever be pretended, the Kindness that passeth between Men and Men is by every Man directed to himself. This, it must be confessed, is of a Piece with the rest of that hopeful Philosophy, which having patch'd Man up out of the four Elements, attributes his Being to Chance, and derives all his Actions from an unintelligible Declination of Atoms. And for these glorious Discoveries the Poet is beyond Measure transported in the Praises of his Hero, as if he must needs be something more than Man, only for an Endeavour to prove that Man is in nothing superior to Beasts.
In this School was Mr.
Hobs
instructed to speak after the same Manner, if he did not rather draw his Knowledge from an Observation of his own Temper; for he somewhere unluckily lays down this as a Rule,
'That from the Similitudes of Thoughts and Passions of one Man to the Thoughts and Passions of another, whosoever looks into himself and considers what he doth when he thinks, hopes, fears, &c., and upon what Grounds; he shall hereby read and know what are the Thoughts and Passions of all other Men upon the like Occasions.'
Now we will allow Mr.
Hobs
to know best how he was inclined; But in earnest, I should be heartily out of Conceit with my self, if I thought my self of this unamiable Temper, as he affirms, and should have as little Kindness for my self as for any Body in the World. Hitherto I always imagined that kind and benevolent Propensions were the original Growth of the Heart of Man, and, however checked and over-topped by counter Inclinations that have since sprung up within us, have still some Force in the worst of Tempers, and a considerable Influence on the best. And, methinks, it's a fair Step towards the Proof of this, that the most beneficent of all Beings is He who hath an absolute Fulness of Perfection in Himself, who gave Existence to the Universe, and so cannot be supposed to want that which He communicated, without diminishing from the Plenitude of his own Power and Happiness. The Philosophers before mentioned have indeed done all that in them lay to invalidate this Argument; for, placing the Gods in a State of the most elevated Blessedness, they describe them as Selfish as we poor miserable Mortals can be, and shut them out from all Concern for Mankind, upon the Score of their having no Need of us.
But if He that sitteth in the Heavens wants not us, we stand in continual Need of Him; and surely, next to the Survey of the immense Treasures of his own Mind, the most exalted Pleasure He receives is from beholding Millions of Creatures, lately drawn out of the Gulph of Non-existence, rejoycing in the various Degrees of Being and Happiness imparted to them. And as this is the true, the glorious Character of the Deity, so in forming a reasonable Creature He would not, if possible, suffer his Image to pass out of his Hands unadorned with a Resemblance of Himself in this most lovely Part of his Nature. For what Complacency could a Mind, whose Love is as unbounded as his Knowledge, have in a Work so unlike Himself? a Creature that should be capable of knowing and conversing with a vast Circle of Objects, and love none but Himself? What Proportion would there be between the Head and the Heart of such a Creature, its Affections, and its Understandings? Or could a Society of such Creatures, with no other Bottom but Self-Love on which to maintain a Commerce, ever flourish? Reason, 'tis certain, would oblige every Man to pursue the general Happiness, as the Means to procure and establish his own; and yet if, besides this Consideration, there were not a natural Instinct, prompting Men to de
Sir
e the Welfare and Satisfaction of others, Self-Love, in Defiance of the Admonitions of Reason, would quickly run all Things into a State of War and Confusion.
As nearly interested as the Soul is in the Fate of the Body; our provident Creator saw it necessary, by the constant Returns of Hunger and Thirst, those importunate Appetites, to put it in Mind of its Charge; knowing, that if we should eat and drink no oftner than cold abstracted Speculation should put us upon these Exercises, and then leave it to Reason to prescribe the Quantity, we should soon refine our selves out of this bodily Life. And indeed, 'tis obvious to remark, that we follow nothing heartily, unless carried to it by Inclinations which anticipate our Reason, and, like a Biass, draw the Mind strongly towards it. In order, therefore, to establish a perpetual Intercourse of Benefits amongst Mankind, their Maker would not fail to give them this generous Prepossession of Benevolence, if, as I have said, it were possible. And from whence can we go about to argue its Impossibility? Is it inconsistent with Self-Love? Are their Motions contrary? No more than the diurnal Rotation of the Earth is opposed to its Annual; or its Motion round its own Center, which may be improved as an Illustration of Self-Love, to that which whirls it about the common Center of the World, answering to universal Benevolence. Is the Force of Self-Love abated, or its Interest prejudiced by Benevolence? So far from it, that Benevolence, though a distinct Principle, is extreamly serviceable to Self-Love, and then doth most Service when 'tis least designed.
But to descend from Reason to Matter of Fact; the Pity which arises on Sight of Persons in Distress, and the Satisfaction of Mind which is the Consequence of having removed them into a happier State, are instead of a thousand Arguments to prove such a thing as a disinterested Benevolence. Did Pity proceed from a Reflection we make upon our Liableness to the same ill Accidents we see befall others, it were nothing to the present Purpose; but this is assigning an artificial Cause of a natural Passion, and can by no Means be admitted as a tolerable Account of it, because Children and Persons most Thoughtless about their own Condition, and incapable of entering into the Prospects of Futurity, feel the most violent Touches of Compassion.
And then as to that charming Delight which immediately follows the giving Joy to another, or relieving his Sorrow, and is, when the Objects are numerous, and the kindness of Importance really inexpressible, what can this be owing to but a Consciousness of a Man's having done some thing Praise-worthy, and expressive of a great Soul? Whereas, if in all this he only Sacrificed to Vanity and Self-Love, as there would be nothing brave in Actions that make the most shining Appearance, so Nature would not have rewarded them with this divine Pleasure; nor could the Commendations, which a Person receives for Benefits done upon selfish Views, be at all more Satisfactory, than when he is applauded for what he doth without Design; because in both Cases the Ends of Self-Love are equally answered.
The Conscience of approving ones self a Benefactor to Mankind is the noblest Recompence for being so; doubtless it is, and the most interested cannot propose anything so much to their own Advantage, notwithstanding which, the Inclination is nevertheless unselfish. The Pleasure which attends the Gratification of our Hunger and Thirst, is not the Cause of these Appetites; they are previous to any such Prospect; and so likewise is the De
Sir
e of doing Good; with this Difference, that being seated in the intellectual Part, this last, though Antecedent to Reason, may yet be improved and regulated by it, and, I will add, is no otherwise a Virtue than as it is so.
Thus have I contended for the Dignity of that Nature I have the Honour to partake of, and, after all the Evidence produced, think I have a Right to conclude, against the Motto of this Paper, that there is such a thing as Generosity in the World. Though if I were under a Mistake in this, I should say as
Cicero
in Relation to the Immortality of the Soul, I willingly err, and should believe it very much for the Interest of Mankind to lye under the same Delusion. For the contrary Notion naturally tends to dispirit the Mind, and sinks it into a Meanness fatal to the Godlike Zeal of doing good. As on the other hand, it teaches People to be Ungrateful, by possessing them with a Perswasion concerning their Benefactors, that they have no Regard to them in the Benefits they bestow. Now he that banishes Gratitude from among Men, by so doing stops up the Stream of Beneficence. For though in conferring Kindnesses, a truly generous Man doth not aim at a Return, yet he looks to the Qualities of the Person obliged, and as nothing renders a Person more unworthy of a Benefit, than his being without all Resentment of it, he will not be extreamly forward to Oblige such a Man.
Footnote 1:
The Rev. Henry Grove was a Presbyterian minister, who kept school at Taunton. He was born there in 1683, became a teacher at the age of 23 (already married), and worked for the next 18 years in the Taunton Academy, his department Ethics and Pneumatology. He spent his leisure in religious controversy, writing an
Essay on the Terms of Christian Communion
, a
Discourse on Saving Faith
, an
Essay on the Soul's Immortality
, and miscellanies in prose and verse, including Nos.
588
,
601
,
626
, and
635
, of the
Spectator.
He received also £20 a year for ministering to two small congregations in the neighbourhood of Taunton. His wife died in 1736, and he in the year following. His works appeared in 1740 in 4 vols. 8vo.
return to footnote mark
Contents
Persequitur scelus ille suum: labefactaque tandemIctibus innumeris adductaque funibus arborCorruit.Ovid.translationSir,'I am so great an Admirer of Trees, that the Spot of Ground I have chosen to build a small Seat upon, in the Country, is almost in the midst of a large Wood. I was obliged, much against my Will, to cut down several Trees, that I might have any such thing as a Walk in my Gardens; but then I have taken Care to leave the Space, between every Walk, as much a Wood as I found it. The Moment you turn either to the Right or Left, you are in a Forest, where Nature presents you with a much more beautiful Scene than could have been raised by Art.'Instead ofTulipsorCarnations, I can shew youOakesin my Gardens of four hundred Years standing, and a Knot ofElmsthat might shelter a Troop of Horse from the Rain.'It is not without the utmost Indignation, that I observe several prodigal young Heirs in the Neighbourhood, felling down the most glorious Monuments of their Ancestors Industry, and ruining, in a Day, the Product of Ages.'I am mightily pleased with your Discourse upon Planting, which put me upon looking into my Books to give you some Account of the Veneration the Ancients had for Trees. There is an old Tradition, thatAbrahamplanted aCypress, aPine, and aCedar, and that these three incorporated into one Tree, which was cut down for the building of the Temple ofSolomon.'Isidorus, who lived in the Reign ofConstantius, assures us, that he saw, even in his Time, that famousOakin the Plains ofMambré, under whichAbrahamis reported to have dwelt, and adds, that the People looked upon it with a great Veneration, and preserved it as a Sacred Tree.'The Heathens still went farther, and regarded it as the highest Piece of Sacrilege to injure certain Trees which they took to be protected by some Deity. The Story ofErisicthon, the Grove ofDodona, and that atDelphi, are all Instances of this Kind.'If we consider the Machine inVirgil, so much blamed by several Criticks, in this Light, we shall hardly think it too violent.'Æneas, when he built his Fleet, in order to sail forItaly, was obliged to cut down the Grove on MountIda, which however he durst not do till he had obtained leave fromCybele, to whom it was dedicated. The Goddess could not but think her self obliged to protect these Ships, which were made of Consecrated Timber, after a very extraordinary Manner, and therefore deSiredJupiter, that they might not be obnoxious to the Power of Waves or Winds.Jupiterwould not grant this, but promised her, that as many as came safe toItalyshould be transformed into Goddesses of the Sea; which the Poet tells us was accordingly executed.And now at length the number'd Hours were come,Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable Doom,When the great Mother of the Gods was freeTo save her Ships, and finishJove'sDecree.First, from the Quarter of the Morn, there sprungA Light that sign'd the Heavens, and shot along:Then from a Cloud, fring'd round with Golden Fires,Were Timbrels heard, andBerecynthianQuires:And last a Voice, with more than Mortal Sounds,Both Hosts in Arms oppos'd, with equal Horror wounds.OTrojanRace, your needless Aid forbear;And know my Ships are my peculiar Care.With greater Ease the boldRutulianmay,With hissing Brands, attempt to burn the Sea,Than singe my sacred Pines. But you my Charge,Loos'd from your crooked Anchors launch at large,Exalted each a Nymph: Forsake the Sand,And swim the Seas, atCybele'sCommand.No sooner had the Goddess ceas'd to speak,When lo, th' obedient Ships their Haulsers break;And, strange to tell, like Dolphins in the Main,They plunge their Prows, and dive, and spring again:As many beauteous Maids the Billows sweep,As rode before tall Vessels on the Deep.(Dryden's Virg.)'The common Opinion concerning the Nymphs, whom the Ancients calledHamadryads, is more to the Honour of Trees than any thing yet mentioned. It was thought the Fate of these Nymphs had so near a Dependance on some Trees, more especially Oaks, that they lived and died together. For this Reason they were extremely grateful to such Persons who preserved those Trees with which their Being subsisted.Apolloniustells us a very remarkable Story to this Purpose, with which I shall conclude my Letter.'A certain Man, calledRhœcus, observing an old Oak ready to fall, and being moved with a sort of Compassion towards the Tree, ordered his Servants to pour in fresh Earth at the Roots of it, and set it upright. TheHamadryador Nymph who must necessarily have perished with the Tree, appeared to him the next Day, and after having returned him her Thanks, told him, she was ready to grant whatever he should ask. As she was extreamly Beautiful,RhœcusdeSired he might be entertained as her Lover. TheHamadryad, not much displeased with the Request, promis'd to give him a Meeting, but commanded him for some Days to abstain from the Embraces of all other Women, adding that she would send a Bee to him, to let him know when he was to be Happy.Rhœcuswas, it seems, too much addicted to Gaming, and happened to be in a Run of ill Luck when the faithful Bee came buzzing about him; so that instead of minding his kind Invitation, he had like to have killed him for his Pains. TheHamadryadwas so provoked at her own Disappointment, and the ill Usage of her Messenger, that she deprivedRhœcusof the Use of his Limbs. However, says the Story, he was not so much a Criple, but he made a shift to cut down the Tree, and consequently to fell his Mistress.
And now at length the number'd Hours were come,Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable Doom,When the great Mother of the Gods was freeTo save her Ships, and finishJove'sDecree.First, from the Quarter of the Morn, there sprungA Light that sign'd the Heavens, and shot along:Then from a Cloud, fring'd round with Golden Fires,Were Timbrels heard, andBerecynthianQuires:And last a Voice, with more than Mortal Sounds,Both Hosts in Arms oppos'd, with equal Horror wounds.OTrojanRace, your needless Aid forbear;And know my Ships are my peculiar Care.With greater Ease the boldRutulianmay,With hissing Brands, attempt to burn the Sea,Than singe my sacred Pines. But you my Charge,Loos'd from your crooked Anchors launch at large,Exalted each a Nymph: Forsake the Sand,And swim the Seas, atCybele'sCommand.No sooner had the Goddess ceas'd to speak,When lo, th' obedient Ships their Haulsers break;And, strange to tell, like Dolphins in the Main,They plunge their Prows, and dive, and spring again:As many beauteous Maids the Billows sweep,As rode before tall Vessels on the Deep.(Dryden's Virg.)