SPECTATOR, No. 93.
18.I was yesterday busy in comparing together the industry of man with that of other creatures; in which I could not but observe, that notwithstanding we are obliged by duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, after the same manner as inferior animals are prompted to it by instinct, we fell very short of them in this particular.
19.We are the more inexcusable, because there is a greater variety of business to which we may apply ourselves. Reason opens to us a large field of affairs, which other creatures are not capable of. Beasts of prey, and I believe all other kinds, in their natural state of being, divide their time between action and rest. They are always at work or asleep. In short, their awaking hours are wholly taken up in seeking after their food, or in consuming it.
20.The human species only, to the great reproach of our natures, are filled with complaints—That the day hangs heavy on them, that they do not know what to do with themselves, that they are at a loss how to pass away their time, with many of the like shameful murmurs, which we often find in the mouth of those who are styled reasonable beings.
21.How monstrous are such expressions among creatures who have the labours of the mind as well as those of the body to furnish them with proper employments; who, besides the business of their proper callings and professions, can apply themselves to the duties of religion, to meditation, to the reading of useful books, to discourse; in a word, who may exercise themselves in the unbounded pursuits of knowledge and virtue, and every hour of their lives make themselves wiser or better than they were before.
22.After having been taken up for some time in this course of thought, I diverted myself with a book, according to my usual custom, in order to unbend my mind before I went to sleep. The book I made use of on this occasion wasLucianwhere I amused my thoughts for about an hour among the dialogues of the dead, which in all probability produced the following dream:
23.I was conveyed, methought, into the entrance of the infernal regions, where I sawRhadamanthus, one of the judges of the dead, seated in his tribunal. On his left hand stood the keeper ofErebus, on his right the keeper ofElysium. I was told he sat upon women that day, there being several of the sex lately arrived, who had not yet their mansions assigned them.
24.I was surprised to hear him ask every one of them the same question, namely, What they had been doing? Upon this question being proposed to the whole assembly they stared upon one another, as not knowing what to answer. He then interrogated each of them separately. Madam, says he to the first of them, you have been upon the earth about fifty years: What have you been doing there all this while? Doing, says she, really I do not know what I have been doing: I desire I may have time given me to recollect.
25.After about half an hour's pause, she told him that she had been playing at crimp: upon whichRhadamanthusbeckoned to the keeper on his left hand, to take her into custody. And you, Madam, says the judge, that look with such a soft and languishing air; I think you set out for this place in your nine and twentieth year; what have you been doing all this while? I had a great deal of business on my hands, says she, being taken up the first twelve years of my life, in dressing a jointed baby, and all the remaining part of it in reading plays and romances.
26.Very well, says he, you have employed your time to good purpose. Away with her. The next was a plain country woman: Well, mistress, saysRhadamanthus, and what have you been doing? An't please your worship, says she, I did not live quite forty years; and in that time brought my husband seven daughters, made him nine thousand cheeses, and left my eldest girl with him to look after his house in my absence, and who, I may venture to say, is us pretty a housewife as any in the country.
27.Rhadamanthussmiled at the simplicity of the good woman, and ordered the keeper ofElysium, to take her into his care. And you, fair lady, says he, what have you been doing these five and thirty years? I have been doing no hurt, I assure you sir, said she. That is well, says he, but what good have you been doing? The lady was in great confusion at this question, and not knowing what to answer, the two keepers leaped out to seize her at the same time; the one took her by the hand to convey her toElysium; the other caught hold of her to carry her away toErebus.
28.ButRhadamanthusobserving an ingenuous modesty in her countenance and behaviour, bid them both let her loose, and set her aside for a re-examination when he was more at leisure. An old woman, of a proud and sour look, presented herself next at the bar, and being asked what she had been doing? Truly, says she, I lived three score and ten years in a very wicked world, and was so angry at the behaviour of a parcel of young flirts, that I past most of my last years in condemning the follies of the times.
29.I was every day blaming the silly conduct of people about me, in order to deter those I conversed with from falling into the like errors and miscarriages. Very well, saysRhadamanthus, but did you keep the same watchful eye over your own actions? Why truly, says she, I was so taken up with publishing the faults of others, that I had no time to consider my own.
30.Madam, saysRhadamanthus, be pleased to file off to the left, and make room for the venerable matron that stands behind you. Old gentlewoman, says he, I think you are fourscore? You have heard the question, what have you been doing so long in the world? Ah! sir, says she, I have been doing what I should not have done, but I had made a firm resolution to have changed my life, if I had not been snatched off by an untimely end.
31.Madam, says he, you will please to follow your leader, and spying another of the same age, interrogated her in the same form. To which the matron replied, I have been the wife of a husband who was as dear to me in his old age as in his youth. I have been a mother, and very happy in my children, whom I endeavoured to bring up in every thing that is good.
32.My eldest son is blest by the poor, and beloved by every one that knows him. I lived within my own family, and left it much more wealthy than I found it.Rhadamanthus, who knew the value of the old lady smiled upon her in such a manner, that the keeper ofElysium, who knew his office, reached out his hand to her. He no sooner touched her but her wrinkles vanished, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed with blushes, and she appeared in full bloom and beauty.
33.A young woman observing that this officer, who conducted the happy toElysium, was so great abeautifier, longed to be in his hands, so that, pressing through the croud, she was the next that appeared at the bar, and being asked what she had been doing the five and twenty years that she had passed in the world, I have endeavoured, says she, ever since I came to the years of discretion, to make myself lovely, and gain admirers.
34.In order to do it I past my time in bottling up Maydew, inventing white-washes, mixing colours, cutting out patches, consulting my glass, suiting my complexion, tearing off my tucker, sinking my stays—Rhadamanthus, without hearing her out, gave the sign to take her off. Upon the approach of the keeper ofErebusher colour faded, her face was puckered up with wrinkles, and her whole person lost in deformity.
35.I was then surprised with a distant sound of a whole troop of females that came forward laughing, singing, and dancing. I was very desirous to know the reception they would meet with, and withal was very apprehensive thatRhadamanthuswould spoil their mirth; but at their nearer approach the noise grew so very great that it awakened me.
36.Employment of time is a subject that, from its importance, deserves your best attention. Most young gentlemen have a great deal of time before them, and one hour well employed, in the early part of life, is more valuable and will be of greater use to you, than perhaps four and twenty, some years to come.
37.What ever time you can steal from company and from the study of the world (I say company, for a knowledge of life is best learned in various companies) employ it in serious reading. Take up some valuable book, and continue the reading of that book till you have got through it; never burden your mind with more than one thing at a time: and in reading this book do not run it over superficially, but read every passage twice over, at least do not pass on to a second till you thoroughly understand the first, nor quit the book till you are master of the subject; for unless you do this, you may read it through, and not remember the contents of it for a week.
38.The books I would particularly recommend, are Cardinal Retz's maxims, Rochefoucault's moral reflections, Bruyere's characters, Fontenelle's plurality of worlds, Sir Josiah Child on trade, Bollinbroke's works; for style, his remarks on the history of England, under the name of Sir John Oldcastle; Puffendorff's Jus Gentium, and Grotius de Jure Belli et Pacis: the last two are well translated byBarbeyrac. For occasional half hours or less, read the best works of invention, wit and humor; but never waste your minutes on trifling authors, either ancient or modern.
39.Any business you may have to transact, should be done the first opportunity, and finished, if possible, without interruption; for by deferring it we may probably finish it too late, or execute it indifferently. Now, business of any kind should never be done by halves, but every part of it should be well attended to: for he that does business ill, had better not do it at all. And in any point which discretion bids you pursue, and which has a manifest utility to recommend it, let not difficulties deter you; rather let them animate your industry. If one method fails, try a second and a third. Be active, persevere, and you will certainly conquer.
40.Never indulge a lazy disposition, there are few things but are attended with some difficulties, and if you are frightened at those difficulties, you will not complete any thing. Indolent minds prefer ignorance to trouble; they look upon most things as impossible, because perhaps they are difficult. Even an hour's attention is too laborious for them, and they would rather content themselves with the first view of things than take the trouble to look any farther into them. Thus, when they come to talk upon subjects to those who have studied them, they betray an unpardonable ignorance, and lay themselves open to answers that confuse them. Be careful then, that you do not get the appellation of indolent, and, if possible, avoid the character of frivolous.
41.For the frivolous mind is busied always upon nothing. It mistakes trifling objects for important ones, and spends that time upon little matters, that should only be bestowed upon great ones. Knick-knacks, butterflies, shells, and such like, engross the attention of the frivolous man, and fill up all his time. He studies the dress and not the characters of men, and his subjects of conversation are no other than the weather, his own domestic affairs, his servants, his method of managing his family, the little anecdotes of the neighborhood, and the fiddle-faddle stories of the day; void of information, void of improvement. These he relates with emphasis, as interesting matters; in short, he is a male gossip. I appeal to your own feelings now, whether such things do not lessen a man in the opinion, of his acquaintance, and instead of attracting esteem, create disgust.
Modesty is the citidel of beauty and virtue. The first of all virtues is innocence; the second is modesty.
1.Modesty is both in its source, and in its consequence, a very great happiness to the fair possessor of it; it arises from a fear of dishonor, and a good conscience, and is followed immediately, upon its first appearance, with the reward of honor and esteem, paid by all those who discover it in any body living.
2.It is indeed a virtue in a woman (that might otherwise be very disagreeable to one) so exquisitely delicate, that it excites in any beholder, of a generous and manly disposition, almost all the passions that he would be apt to conceive for the mistress of his heart, in variety of circumstances.
3.A woman that is modest creates in us an awe in her company, a wish for her welfare, a joy in her being actually happy, a sore and painful sorrow if distress should come upon her, a ready and willing heart to give her consolation, and a compassionate temper towards her, in every little accident of life she undergoes; and to sum up all in one word, it causes such a kind of angelical love, even to a stranger, as good natured brothers and sisters usually bear towards one another.
4.It adds wonderfully to the make of a face, and I have seen a pretty well turned forehead, fine set eyes, and what your poets call, a row of pearl set in coral, shewn by a pretty expansion of two velvet lips that covered them (that would have tempted any sober man living of my own age, to have been a little loose in his thoughts, and to have enjoyed a painful pleasure amidst his impotency) lose all their virtue, all their force and efficacy, by having an ugly cast of boldness very discernibly spread out at large over all those alluring features.
5.At the same time modesty will fill up the wrinkles of old age with glory; make sixty blush itself into sixteen; and help a green sick girl to defeat the satyr of a false waggish lover, who might compare her colour, when she looked like a ghost, to the blowing of the rose-bud, by blushing herself into a bloom of beauty; and might make what he meant a reflection, a real compliment, at any hour of the day, in spite of his teeth. It has a prevailing power with me, whenever I find it in the sex.
6.I who have the common fault of old men, to be very sour and humoursome, when I drink my water-gruel in a morning, fell into a more than ordinary pet with a maid whom I call my nurse, from a constant tenderness, that I have observed her to exercise towards me beyond all my other servants; I perceived her flush and glow in the face, in a manner which I could plainly discern proceeded not from anger or resentment of my correction, but from a good natured regret, upon a fear that she had offended her grave old master.
7.I was so heartily pleased, that I eased her of the honest trouble she underwent inwardly far my sake; and giving her half a crown, I told her it was a forfeit due to her because I was out of humour with her without any reason at all. And as she is so gentle-hearted, I have diligently avoided giving her one harsh word ever since: and I find my own reward in it: for not being so testy as I used, has made me much haler and stronger than I was before.
8.The pretty, and witty, and virtuousSimplicia, was, the other day, visiting with an old aunt of her's, that I verily believe has read theAtalantis; she took a story out there, and dressed up an old honest neighbour in the second hand clothes of scandal. The young creature hid her face with her fan at every burst and peal of laughter, and blushed for her guilty parent; by which she atoned, methought, for every scandal that ran round the beautiful circle.
9.As I was going home to bed that evening, I could not help thinking of her all the way I went. I represented her to myself as shedding holy blood every time she blushed, and as being a martyr in the cause of virtue. And afterwards, when I was putting on my night-cap, I could not drive the thought out of my head, but that I was young enough to be married to her; and that it would be an addition to the reputation I have in the study of wisdom, to marry to so much youth and modesty, even in my old age.
10.I know there have not been wanting many wicked objections against this virtue; one is grown insufferably common. The fellow blushes, he is guilty. I should say rather, He blushes, therefore he is innocent. I believe the same man, that first had that wicked imagination of a blush being the sign of guilt, represented good nature to be folly; and that he himself, was the most inhuman and impudent wretch alive.
11.The author ofCato, who is known to be one of the most modest, and most ingenious persons of the age we now live in, has given this virtue a delicate name in the tragedy ofCato, where the character ofMarciais first opened to us. I would have all ladies who have a mind to be thought well-bred, to think seriously on this virtue, which he so beautifully calls the sanctity of manners.
12.Modesty is a polite accomplishment, and generally an attendant upon merit. It is engaging to the highest degree, and wins the hearts of all our acquaintance. On the contrary, none are more disgustful in company than the impudent and presuming.
The man who is, on all occasions, commending and speaking well of himself, we naturally dislike. On the other hand, he who studies to conceal his own deserts, who does justice to the merit of others, who talks but little of himself, and that with modesty, makes a favourable impression on the persons he is conversing with, captivates their minds, and gains their esteem.
13.Modesty, however, widely differs from an aukward bashfulness; which is as much to be condemned as the other is to be applauded. To appear simple is as ill-bred as to be impudent. A young man ought to be able to come into a room and address the company without the least embarrassment. To be out of countenance when spoken to, and not to have an answer ready, is ridiculous to the last degree.
14.An aukward country fellow, when he comes into company better than himself, is exceedingly disconcerted. He knows not what to do with his hands or his hat, but either puts one of them in his pocket, and dangles the other by his side: or perhaps twirls his hat on his fingers, or perhaps fumbles with the button. If spoken to he is in a much worse situation; he answers with the utmost difficulty, and nearly stammers; whereas a gentleman who is acquainted with life, enters a room with gracefulness and a modest assurance; addresses even persons he does not know, in an easy and natural manner, and without the least embarrassment.
15.This is the characteristic of good-breeding, a very necessary knowledge in our intercourse with men; for one of inferior parts, with the behaviour of a gentleman, is frequently better received than a man of sense, with the address and manners of a clown. Ignorance and vice are the only things we need be ashamed of; steer clear of these, and you may go into any company you will; not that I would have a young man throw off all dread of appearing abroad; as a fear of offending, or being disesteemed, will make him preserve a proper decorum.
16.Some persons, from experiencing the bad effects of false modesty, have run into the other extreme, and acquired the character of impudent. This is as great a fault as the other. A well-bred man keeps himself within the two, and steers the middle way. He is easy and firm in every company; is modest, but not bashful; steady, but not impudent. He copies the manners of the better people, and conforms to their customs with ease and attention.
17.Till we can present ourselves in all companies with coolness and unconcern, we can never present ourselves well; nor will man ever be supposed to have kept good company, or ever be acceptable in such company, if he cannot appear there easy and unembarrassed. A modest assurance in every part of life, is the most advantageous qualification we can possibly acquire.
18.Instead of becoming insolent, a man of sense, under a consciousness of merit, is more modest. He behaves himself indeed with firmness, but without the least presumption. The man who is ignorant of his own merit is no less a fool than he who is constantly displaying it. A man of understanding avails himself of his abilities but never boasts of them; whereas the timid and bashful can never push himself in life, be his merit as great as it will; he will be always kept behind by the forward and the bustling.
19.A man of abilities, and acquainted with life, will stand as firm in defence of his own rights, and pursue his plans as steadily and unmoved as the most impudent man alive; but then he does it with a seeming modesty. Thus, manner is every thing; what is impudence in one is proper assurance only in another: for firmness is commendable, but an overbearing conduct is disgustful.
20.Forwardness being the very reverse of modesty, follow rather than lead the company; that is, join in discourse upon their subjects rather than start one of your own; if you have parts, you will have opportunities enough of shewing them on every topic of conversation; and if you have none, it is better to expose yourself upon a subject of other people's, than on one of your own.
21.But be particularly careful not to speak of yourself if you can help it. An impudent fellow lugs in himself abruptly upon all occasions, and is ever the here of his own story. Others will colour their arrogance with, "It may seem strange indeed, that I should talk in this manner of myself; it is what I by no means like, and should never do, if I had not been cruelly and unjustly accused; but when my character is attacked, it is a justice I owe to myself to defend it." This veil is too thin not to be seen through on the first inspection.
22.Others again, with more art, willmodestlyboast of all the principal virtues, by calling these virtues weaknesses, and saying, they are so unfortunate as to fall into those weaknesses. "I cannot see persons suffer," says one of his cast, "without relieving them; though my circumstances are very unable to afford it—I cannot avoid speaking truth; though it is often very imprudent;" and so on.
23.This angling for praise is so prevailing a principle, that it frequently stoops to the lowest object. Men will often boast of doing that, which, if true, would be rather a disgrace to them than otherwise. One man affirms that he rode twenty miles within the hour: 'tis probably a lie; but suppose he did, what then? He had a good horse under him, and is a good jockey. Another swears he has often at a sitting, drank five or six bottles to his own share. Out of respect to him, I will believehima liar; for I would not wish to think him a beast.
24.These and many more are the follies of idle people, which, while they think they procure them esteem, in reality make them despised.
To avoid this contempt, therefore, never speak of yourself at all, unless necessity obliges you; and even then, take care to do it in such a manner, that it may not be construed into fishing for applause. Whatever perfections you may have, be assured, people will find them out; but whether they do or not, nobody will take them upon your own word. The less you say of yourself, the more the world will give you credit for; and the more you say, the less they will believe you.
1.A late conversation which I fell into, gave me an opportunity of observing a great deal of beauty in a very handsome woman, and as much wit in an ingenious man, turned into deformity in the one, and absurdity in the other, by the mere force of affectation. The fair one had something in her person upon which her thoughts were fixed, that she attempted to shew to advantage in every look, word and gesture.
2.The gentleman was as diligent to do justice to his fine parts, as the lady to her beauteous form: you might see his imagination on the stretch to find out something uncommon, and what they call bright, to entertain her: while she writhed herself into as many different postures to engage him. When she laughed, her lips were to sever at a greater distance than ordinary to shew her teeth.
3.Her fan was to point to somewhat at a distance, that in the reach she may discover the roundness of her arm; then she is utterly mistaken in what she saw, falls back, smiles at her own folly, and is so wholly discomposed, that her tucker is to be adjusted, her bosom exposed, and the whole woman put into new airs and graces.
4.While she was doing all this, the gallant had time to think of something very pleasant to say next to her, or make some unkind observation on some other lady to feed her vanity. These unhappy effects of affectation naturally led me to look into that strange state of mind, which so generally discolours the behaviour of most people we meet with.
5.The learned Dr.Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth, takes occasion to observe, that every thought is attended with consciousness and representativeness; the mind has nothing presented to it, but what is immediately followed by a reflection of conscience, which tells you whether that which was so presented is graceful or unbecoming.
6.This act of the mind discovers itself in the gesture, by a proper behaviour in those whose consciousness goes no farther than to direct them in the just progress of their present thought or action; but betrays an interruption in every second thought, when the consciousness is employed in too fondly approving a man's own conceptions; which sort of consciousness is what we call affectation.
7.As the love of praise is implanted in our bosoms as a strong incentive to worthy actions; it is a very difficult task to get above a desire of it for things that should be wholly indifferent. Women, whose hearts are fixed upon the pleasure they have in the consciousness that they are the objects of love and admiration, are ever changing the air of their countenances, and altering the attitude of their bodies, to strike the hearts of their beholders with a new sense of their beauty.
8.The dressing part of our sex, whose minds are the same with the sillier part of the other, are exactly in the like uneasy condition to be regarded for a well tied cravat, an hat cocked with an unusual briskness, a very well chosen coat, or other instances of merit, which they are impatient to see unobserved.
9.But this apparent affectation, arising from an ill governed consciousness, is not so much to be wondered at in such loose and trivial minds as these. But when you see it reign in characters of worth and distinction, it is what you cannot but lament, nor without some indignation. It creeps into the heart of the wise man, as well as that of the coxcomb.
10.When you see a man of sense look about for applause, and discover an itching inclination to be commended; lay traps for a little incense, even from those whose opinion he values in nothing but his own favour; who is safe against this weakness? or who knows whether he is guilty of it or not? The best way to get clear of such a light fondness for applause is, to take all possible care to throw off the love of it upon occasions that are not in themselves laudable; but, as it appears, we hope for no praise from them.
11.Of this nature are all graces in men's persons, dress, and bodily deportment; which will naturally be winning and attractive if we think not of them, but lose their force in proportion to our endeavour to make them such.
When our consciousness turns upon the main design of life, and our thoughts are employed upon the chief purpose either in business or pleasure, we should never betray an affectation, for we cannot be guilty of it, but when we give the passion for praise an unbridled liberty, our pleasure in little perfections robs us of what is due to us for great virtues and worthy qualities.
12.How many excellent speeches and honest actions are lost, for want of being indifferent where we ought! Men are oppressed with regard to their way of speaking and acting, instead of having their thoughts bent upon what they should do or say; and by that means bury a capacity for great things, by their fear of failing in indifferent things. This, perhaps, cannot be called affectation; but it has some tincture of it, at least so far, as that their fear of erring in a thing of no consequence argues they would be too much pleased in performing it.
13.It is only from a thorough disregard to himself in such particulars, that a man can act with a laudable sufficiency; his heart is fixed upon one point in view; and he commits no errors, because he thinks nothing an error but what deviates from that intention.
The wild havock affectation makes in that part of the world which should be most polite, is visible wherever we turn our eyes; it pushes men not only into impertinences in conversation, but also in their premeditated speeches.
14.At the bar it torments the bench, whose business it is to cut off all superfluities in what is spoken before it by the practitioner; as well as several little pieces of injustice which arise from the law itself. I have seen it make a man run from the purpose before a judge, who at the bar himself, so close and logical a pleader, that with all the pomp of eloquence in his power, he never spoke a word too much.
15.It might be borne even here, but it often ascends the pulpit itself; and the declaimer, in that sacred place, is frequently so impertinently witty, speaks of the last day itself with so many quaint phrases, that there is no man who understands raillery, but must resolve to sin no more; nay, you may behold him sometimes in prayer, for a proper delivery of the great truths he is to utter, humble himself with a very well turned phrase, and mention his unworthiness in a way so very becoming, that the air of the pretty gentleman is preserved, under the lowliness of the preacher.
16.I shall end this with a short letter I wrote the other day to a very witty man, over-run with the fault I am now speaking of.
'DEAR SIR,
I spent some time with you the other day, and must take the liberty of a friend to tell you of the insufferable affectation you are guilty of in all you say and do.
17.When I gave you a hint of it, you asked me whether a man is to be cold to what his friends think of him? No, but praise is not to be the entertainment of every moment: he that hopes for it must be able to suspend the possession of it till proper periods of life, or death itself. If you would not rather be commended than be praiseworthy, contemn little merits; and allow no man to be so free with you, as to praise you to your face.
18.Your vanity by this means will want its food. At the same time your passion for esteem will be more fully gratified; men will praise you in their actions: where you now receive one compliment you will then receive twenty civilities. Till then you will never have of either, further than,
SIR,Your humble servant.'SPECTATOR, Vol. 1. No. 38.
19.Nature does nothing in vain; the Creator of the Universe has appointed every thing to a certain use and purpose, and determined it to a settled course and sphere of action, from which, if it in the least deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those ends for which it was designed.
20.In like manner it is in the disposition of society: the civil œconomy is formed in a chain as well as the natural; and in either case the breach but of one link puts the whole in some disorder. It is, I think, pretty plain, that most of the absurdity and ridicule we meet with in the world, is generally owing to the impertinent affectation of excelling in characters men are not fit for, and for which nature never designed them.
21.Every man has one or more qualities which may make him useful both to himself and others: Nature never fails of pointing them out, and while the infant continues under her guardianship, she brings him on in his way, and then offers herself for a guide in what remains of the journey; if he proceeds in that course, he can hardly miscarry: Nature makes good her engagements; for as she never promises what she is not able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises.
22.But the misfortune is, men despise what they may be masters of, and affect what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of what their genius inclines them to, and so bend all their ambition to excel in what is out of their reach; thus they destroy the use of their natural talents, in the same manner as covetous men do their quiet and repose; they can enjoy no satisfaction in what they have, because of the absurd inclination they are possessed with for what they have not.
23.Cleantheshad good sense, a great memory, and a constitution capable of the closest application: in a word, there was no profession in whichCleanthesmight not have made a very good figure; but this won't satisfy him; he takes up an unaccountable fondness for the character of a line gentleman; all his thoughts are bent upon this, instead of attending a dissection, frequenting the courts of justice, or studying the Fathers.
24.Cleanthesreads plays, dances, dresses, and spends his time in drawing rooms, instead of being a good lawyer, divine, or physician;Cleanthesis a down-right coxcomb, and will remain to all that knew him a contemptible example of talents misapplied. It is to this affectation the world owes its whole race of coxcombs; Nature in her whole drama never drew such a part; she has sometimes made a fool, but a coxcomb is always of a man's own making, by applying his talents otherwise than nature designed, who ever bears an high resentment for being put out of her course, and never fails of taking revenge on those that do so.
25.Opposing her tendency in the application of a man's parts, has the same success as declining from her course in the production of vegetables; by the assistance of art and an hot bed, we may possibly extort an unwilling plant, or an untimely sallad; but how weak, how tasteless, and insipid! Just as insipid as the poetry ofValerio.
26.Valeriohad an universal character, was genteel, had learning, thought justly, spoke correctly; 'twas believed there was nothing in whichValeriodid not excel; and 'twas so far true, that there was but one:Valeriohad no genius for poetry, yet was resolved to be a poet; he writes verses, and takes great pains to convince the town, thatValeriois not that extraordinary person he was taken for.
27.If men would be content to graft upon nature, and assist her operations, what mighty effects might we expect?Tullywould not stand so much alone in oratory,Virgilin poetry, orCæsarin war. To build upon nature, is laying the foundation upon a rock; every thing disposes itself into order as it were of course, and the whole work is half done as soon as undertaken.Cicero'sgenius inclined him to oratory,Virgil's to follow the train of the muses; they piously obeyed the admonition, and were rewarded.
28.HadVirgilattended the bar, his modest and ingenuous virtue would surely have made but a very indifferent figure: andTully's declamatory inclination would have been as useless in poetry. Nature, if left to herself, leads us on in the best course, but will do nothing by compulsion and constraint; and if we are not satisfied to go her way, we are always the greatest sufferers by it.
29.Wherever nature designs a production, she always disposes seeds proper for it, which are as absolutely necessary to the formation of any moral or intellectual existence, as they are to the being and growth of plants; and I know not by what fate and folly it is, that men are taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write verses in spite of nature, with that gardener that should undertake to raise a jonquil or tulip, without the help of their respective seeds.
30.As there is no good or bad quality that does not affect both sexes, so it is not to be imagined but the fair sex must have suffered by an affectation of this nature, at least as much as the other: the ill effect of it is in none so conspicuous as in the two opposite characters ofCæliaandIras.Cæliahas all the charms of person, together with an abundant sweetness of nature, but wants wit, and has a very ill voice:Irasis ugly and ungenteel, but has wit and good sense.
31.IfCæliawould be silent, her beholders would adore her; ifIraswould talk, her hearers would admire her; butCælia's tongue runs incessantly, whileIrasgives herself silent airs and soft languors; so that 'tis difficult to persuade one's self thatCæliahas beauty, andIraswit: each neglects her own excellence, and is ambitious of the other's character:Iraswould be thought to have as much beauty asCælia, andCæliaas much wit asIras.
32.The great misfortune of this affectation is, that men not only lose a good quality, but also contract a bad one: they not only are unfit for what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not fit for; and instead of making a very good, figure one way, make a very ridiculous one in another.
33.IfSemanthewould have been satisfied with her natural complexion, she might still have been celebrated by the name of the olive beauty; butSemanthehas taken up an affectation to white and red, and is now distinguished by the character of the lady that paints so well.
34.In a word, could the world be reformed to the obedience of that famed dictate,follow nature, which the oracle ofDelphospronounced toCicerowhen he consulted what course of studies he should pursue, we should see almost every man as eminent in his proper sphere asTullywas in his, and should in a very short time find impertinence and affectation banished from among the women, and coxcombs and false characters from among the men.
35.For my part I could never consider this preposterous repugnancy to nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest folly, but also one of the most heinous crimes, since it is a direct opposition to the disposition of providence, and (asTullyexpresses it) like the sin of the giants, an actual rebellion against heaven.
SPECTATOR, Vol. VI. No. 404.
1.A man advanced in years that thinks fit to look back upon his former life, and calls that only life which was passed with satisfaction and enjoyment, excluding all parts which were not pleasant to him, will find himself very young, if not in his infancy. Sickness, ill-humour, and idleness, will have robbed him of a great share of that space we ordinarily call our life.
2.It is therefore the duty of every man that would be true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a disposition to be pleased, and place himself in a constant aptitude for the satisfaction of his being. Instead of this, you hardly see a man who is not uneasy in proportion to his advancement in the arts of life.
3.An affected delicacy is the common improvement we meet with in these who pretend to be refined above others: they do not aim at true pleasure themselves, but turn their thoughts upon observing the false pleasures of other men. Such people are valetudinarians in society, and they should no more come into company than a sick man should come into the air.
4.If a man is too weak to bear what is a refreshment to men in health, he must still keep his chamber. When any one in SirRoger's company complains he is out of order, he immediately calls for some posset drink for him; for which reason that sort of people, who are ever bewailing their constitutions in other places, are the cheerfulest imaginable when he is present.
5.It is a wonderful thing that so many, and they not reckoned absurd, shall entertain those with whom they converse, by giving them the history of their pains and aches; and imagine such narrations their quota of the conversation. This is, of all others, the-meanest help to discourse, and a man must not think at all, or think himself very insignificant, when he finds an account of his head ache answered by another asking, what news in the last mail?
6.Mutual good humour is a dress we ought to appear in wherever we meet, and we should make no mention of what concerns ourselves, without it be of matters wherein our friends ought to rejoice: but indeed there are crowds of people who put themselves in no method of pleasing themselves or others; such are those whom we usually call indolent persons.
7.Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate state between pleasure and pain, and very much unbecoming any part of our life after we are out of the nurse's arms. Such an aversion to labour creates a constant weariness, and one would think should make existence itself a burden.
8.The indolent man descends from the dignity of his nature, and makes that being which was rational, merely vegetative; his life consists only in the mere increase and decay of a body, which, with relation to the rest of the world, might as well have been uninformed, as the habitation of a reasonable mind.
9.Of this kind is the life of that extraordinary couple,Harry Tersettand his lady.Harrywas, in the days of his celibacy, one of those pert creatures who have much vivacity and little understanding; Mrs.Rebecca Quickly, whom he married, had all that the fire of youth and a lively manner could do towards making an agreeable woman.
10.These two people of seeming merit fell into each other's arms; and passion being sated, and no reason or good sense in either to succeed it, their life is now at a stand; their meals are insipid, and time tedious; their fortune has placed them above care, and their loss of taste reduced them below diversion.
11.When we talk of these as instances of inexistence, we do not mean, that in order to live it is necessary we should always be in jovial crews, or crowned with chaplets of roses, as the merry fellows among the ancients are described; but it is intended by considering these contraries to pleasure, indolence and too much delicacy, to shew that it is prudent to preserve a disposition in ourselves, to receive a certain delight in all we hear and see.
12.This portable quality of good-humour seasons all the parts and occurrences we meet with; in such a manner, that there are no moments lost; but they all pass with so much satisfaction, that the heaviest of loads (when it is a load) that of time, is never felt by us.
13.Varilashas this quality to the highest perfection, and communicates it wherever he appears: the sad, the merry, the severe, the melancholy, shew a new cheerfulness when he comes amongst them. At the same time no one can repeat any thing thatVarilashas ever said that deserves repetition; but the man has that innate goodness of temper, that he is welcome to every body, because every man thinks he is so to him.
14.He does not seem to contribute any thing to the mirth of the company; and yet upon reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thought it was whimsically said of a gentleman, That ifVarilashad wit, it would be the best wit in the world. It is certain when a well corrected lively imagination and good-breeding are added to a sweet disposition, they qualify it to be one of the greatest blessings, as well as pleasures of life.
15.Men would come into company with ten times the pleasure they do, if they were sure of bearing nothing which should shock them, as well as expected what would please them. When we know every person that is spoken of is represented by one who has no ill-will, and every thing that is mentioned described by one that is apt to set it in the best light, the entertainment must be delicate, because the cook has nothing bought to his hand, but what is the most excellent in its kind.
16.Beautiful pictures are the entertainments of pure minds, and deformities of the corrupted. It is a degree towards the life of angels, when we enjoy conversation wherein there is nothing present but in its excellence; and a degree towards that of demons, wherein nothing is shewn but in its degeneracy.