text is given us by one set of writers, and the comment by another. a voracious appetite, but no taste. Now, sir' since the great fountain of news, I mean the war, But notwithstanding we have the same tale told is very near being dried up; and since these gentleus in so many different papers, and, if occasion men have contracted such an inextinguishable requires, in so many articles of the same paper, thirst after it; I have taken their case and my notwithstanding in a scarcity of foreign posts we own into consideration, and have thought of a prohear the same story repeated by different advices ject which may turn to the advantage of us both, from Paris, Brussels, the Hague, and from every I have thoughts of publishing a daily paper, which great town in Europe; notwithstanding the multi-shall comprehend in it all the most remarkable octude of annotations, explanations, reflections, and currences in every little town, village, and hamlet, various readings which it passes through, our time that lie within ten miles of London, or, in other lies heavy on our hands till the arrival of a fresh words, within the verge of the penny-post. I have mail: we long to receive further particulars, to pitched upon this scene of intelligence for two hear what will be the next step, or what will be reasons; first, because the carriage of letters will the consequences of that which has been already be very cheap; and secondly, because I may retaken. A westerly wind keeps the whole town in ceive them every day. By this means my readers suspense, and puts a stop to conversation. will have their news fresh and fresh, and many in-worthy citizens, who cannot sleep with any satisfaction at present, for want of being informed how the world goes, may go to bed contentedly, it being my design to put out my paper every night at nine o'clock precisely. I have already established correspondences in these several places, and received very good intelligence. "By my last advices from Knightsbridge I hear, that a horse was clapped into the pound on the third instant, and that he was not released when the letters came away. This general curiosity has been raised and flamed by our late wars, and, if rightly directed, might be of good use to a person who has such a thirst awakened in him. Why should not a man, who takes delight in reading every thing that is new, apply himself to history, travels, and other writings of the same kind, where he will find perpetual fuel for his curiosity, and meet with much more pleasure and improvement than in these papers of the week? An honest tradesman, who languishes a whole summer in expectation of a battle, and perhaps is balked at last, may here meet with half a dozen in a day. He may read the news of a whole campaign in less time than he now bestows upon the productions of a single post. Fights, conquests, and revolutions, lie thick together. The reader's curiosity is raised and satisfied every moment, and his passions disappointed or gratified, without being detained in a state of uncertainty from day to day, or lying at the mercy of sea and wind; in short, the mind is not here kept in a By a fisherman who lately touched at Hammerperpetual gape after knowledge, nor punished smith, there is advice from Putney, that a certain with that eternal thirst which is the portion of all person, well known in that place, is like to lose his our modern news-mongers and coffee-house politi-election for church-warden; but this being boatcians. All matters of fact, which a man did not know before, are news to him; and I do not see how any haberdasher in Cheapside is more concerned in the present quarrel of the Cantons, than he was in that of the League. At least, I believe every one will allow me, it is of more importance to an Englishman to know the history of his ancestors, than that of his contemporaries who live upon the banks of the Danube or the Boristhenes. As for those who are of another mind, I shall recommend to them the following letter from a projector who is willing to turn a penny by this remarkable curiosity of his countrymen. 6 MR. SPECTATOR, You must have observed, that men who frequent coffee-houses, and delight in news, are pleased with every thing that is matter of fact, so it be what they have not heard before. A victory, or a defeat, are equally agreeable to them. The shutting of a cardinal's mouth pleases them one post, and the opening of it another. They are glad to hear the French court is removed to Marli, and are af terwards as much delighted with its return to Versailles. They read the advertisements with the same curiosity as the articles of public news; and are as pleased to hear of a piebald horse that is strayed out of a field near Islington, as of a whole troop that have been engaged in any foreign adventure. In short, they have a relish for every thing that is news, let the matter of it be what it will; or, to speak more properly, they are men of 'We are informed from Pankridge*, that a dozen weddings were lately celebrated in the mother church of that place, but are referred to their next letters for the names of the parties concerned. 'Letters from Brumpton advise, that the widow Blight had received several visits from John Milldew, which affords great matter of speculation in those parts. 6 news, we cannot give entire credit to it. 'Letters from Paddington bring little more, than that William Squeak, the sow-gelder, passed through that place the fifth instant. They advise from Fulham, that things remained there in the same state they were. They had intelligence, just as the letters came away, of a tub of excellent ale just set abroach at Parson's Green; but this wanted confirmation. 'I have here, sir, given you a specimen of the news with which I intend to entertain the town, and which, when drawn up regularly in the form of a newspaper, will, I doubt not, be very acceptable to many of those public-spirited readers, who take more delight in acquainting themselves with other people's business than their own. I hope a paper of this kind, which lets us know what is done near home, may be more useful to us than those which are filled with advices from Zug and Bender, and make some amends for that dearth of intelligence, which we may justly apprehend from times of peace. If I find that you receive this project favourably, I will shortly trouble you with one or two more; and in the mean time am, most worthy sir, with all due respect, "Your most obedient, ADDISON. ' and most humble servant.' C. THERE is not a more pleasing exercise of the mind than gratitude. It is accompanied with such an inward satisfaction, that the duty is sufficiently rewarded by the performance. It is not, like the practice of many other virtues, difficult and painful, but attended with so much pleasure, that were there no positive command which enjoined it, nor any recompence laid up for it hereafter, a generous mind would indulge in it, for the natural gratification that accompanies it. If gratitude is due from man to man, how much more from man to his Maker! The Supreme Being does not only confer upon us these bounties which proceed more immediately from his hand, but even those benefits which are conveyed to us by others. Every blessing we enjoy, by what means soever it may be derived upon us, is the gift of Him who is the great Author of good, and Father of mercies. If gratitude, when exerted towards one another, naturally produces a very pleasing sensation in the mind of a grateful man; it exalts the soul into rapture, when it is employed on this great object of gratitude, on this beneficent Being who has given us every thing we already possess, and from whom we expect every thing we yet hope for. Most of the works of the pagan poets were either direct hymns to their deities, or tended indirectly to the celebration of their respective attributes and perfections. Those who are acquainted with the works of the Greek and Latin poets which are still extant, will upon reflection find this observation so true, that I shall not enlarge upon it. One would wonder that more of our Christian poets have not turned their thoughts this way, especially if we consider, that our idea of the Supreme Being is not only infinitely more great and noble than what could possibly enter into the heart of an heathen, but filled with every thing that can raise the imagination, and give an opportunity for the sublimest thoughts and conceptions. Plutarch tells us of a heathen who was singing an hymn to Diana, in which he celebrated her for her delight in human sacrifices, and other instances of cruelty and revenge; upon which a poet, who was present at this piece of devotion, and seems to have had a truer idea of the divine nature, told the votary, by way of reproof, that, in recompence for his hymn, he heartily wished he might have a daughter of the same temper with the goddess he celebrated. It was indeed impossible to write the praises of one of those false deities, according to the pagan creed, without a mixture of impertinence and absurdity. The Jews, who before the time of Christianity were the only people that had the knowledge of the true God, have set the Christian world an example how they ought to employ this divine talent of which I am speaking. As that nation produced men of great genius, without considering them as inspired writers, they have transmitted to us many hymus and divine odes, which excel those that are delivered down to us by the ancient Greeks and Romans, in the poetry, as much as in the subject to which it was consecrated. This I think might easily be shown, if there were occasion for it. I have already communicated to the public some pieces of divine poetry*; and, as they have met with a very favourable reception, I shall frem time to time publish any work of the saine nature, which has not yet appeared in print, and may be acceptable to my readers. When all thy mercies, O my God, "O how shall words with equal warmth That glows within my ravish'd heart? Thy providence my life sustain'd, And all my wants redress'd, When in the silent womb I lay, And hung upon the breast. To all my weak complaints and cries, Thy mercy lent an ear, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt Unnumber'd comforts to my soul When in the slipp'ry paths of youth 'Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, And through the pleasing snares of vice, "When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss And in a kind and faithful friend Tep thousand thousand precious gifts Nor is the least a cheerful heart, Through every period of my life "When nature fails, and day and night My ever grateful heart, O Lord, "Through all eternity to Thee N° 454. MONDAY, AUGUST 11, 1712. Sine me vacioum tempus ne quod dem mihi TER. Heaut. Act. 1. &c. 1. Give me leave to allow myself no respite from labour. IT is an inexpressible pleasure to know a little of the world, and be of no character or significancy in it. • See Nos 378, 388, 410, and 441. To be ever unconcerned, and ever looking on new objects with an endless curiosity, is a delight known only to those who are turned for speculation; nay, they who enjoy it must value things only as they are the objects of speculation, without drawing any worldly advantage to themselves from them, but just as they are what co tribute to their amusement, or the improvement of the mind. I lay one night last week at Richmond; and being restless, not out of dissatisfaction, but a certain busy inclination one sometimes has, I rose at four in the morning and took boat for London, with a resolution to rove by boat and coach for the next four-and-twenty hours *, till the many different objects I must needs meet with should tire my imagination, and give me an inclination to a repose more profound than I was at that time capable of. I beg people's pardon for an odd humour I am guilty of, and was often that day, which is saluting any person whom I like, whether I know him or not. This is a particularity would be tolerated in me, if they considered that the greatest pleasure I know I receive at my eyes, and that I am obliged to an agreeable person for coming abroad into my view, as another is for a visit of conversation at their own houses. The hours of the day and night are taken up in the cities of London and Westminster, by people as different from each other as those who are born in different centuries. Men of six o'clock give way to those of nine, they of nine to the generation of twelve; and they of twelve disappear, and make room for the fashionable world, who have made two o'clock the noon of the day. When we first put off from shore, we soon fell in with a fleet of gardeners, bound for the several market-ports of London; and it was the most pleasing scene imaginable to see the cheerfulness with which those industrious people plyed their way to a certain sale of their goods. The banks on each side are as well peopled, and beautified with as agreeable plantations, as any spot on the earth; but the Thames itself, loaded with the product of each shore, added very much to the landscape. It was very easy to observe by their sailing, and the countenances of the ruddy virgins who were supercargoes, the part of the town to which they were bound. There was an air in the purveyors for Covent-garden, who frequently converse with mor, ing rakes, very unlike the seeming sobriety of those bound for Stocks-market. Nothing remarkable happened in our voyage; but I lauded with ten sail of apricot boats, at Strand-bridge, after having put in at Nine Elms, and taken in melons, consigned by Mr. Cuife, of that place, to Sarah Sewell and compan, at their stall in Covent-garden. We arrived at Strandbridge at six of the clock, and were unloading; when the hackney-coachmen of the foregoing night took their leave of each other at the Dark-house, to go to bed befor the day was too far spent. Chimney-sweepers passed by us as we made up to the market, and some raillery happened between one of the fruit wenches and those black men, about the Devil and Eve, with allusion to their several profession I could not believe any place more entertaining than Covent-garden; where I strolled from one fruit-shop to another, with crowds of agreeable young women around me, who were purchasing fruit for their respective families. It was almost eight of the clock before I could leave that variety of objects. I took coach and followed * See No 403. a young lady, who tripped into another just before me, attended by her maid. I saw immediately she was of the family of the Vainloves. There are a set of these who, of all things, affect the play of blindman's-buff, and leading men into love for they know not whom, who are fled they know not where. This sort of woman is usually a janty slattern: she hangs on her clothes, plays her head, varies her posture, and changes place incessantly, and all with the appearance of striving at the same time to hide herself, and yet give you to understand she is in humour to laugh at you. You must have often seen the coachmen make signs with their fingers, as they drive by each other, to intimate how much they have got that day. They can carry on that language to give intelligence where they are driving. In an instant my coachman took the wink to pursue; and the lady's driver gave the hint that he was going through Long-acre towards St. James's: while he whipped up James-street, we drove for King-street, to save the pass at St. Martin's-lane. The coachmen took care to meet, jostle, and threaten each other for way, and be entangled at the end of Newport-street and Long-acre. The fright, you must believe, brought down the lady's coach-door, and obliged her, with her mask off, to inquire into the bustle, when she sees the man she would avoid. The tackle of the coach-window is so bad she cannot draw it up again, and she drives on sometimes wholly discovered, and sometimes half escaped, according to the accident of carriages in her way. One of these ladies keeps her seat in a hackney-coach, as well as the best rider does on a managed horse. The laced shoe on her left foot, with a careless gesture, just appearing on the opposite cushion, held her both firm, and in a proper attitude to receive the next jolt. As she was an excellent coach-woman, manyTM were the glances at each other which we had for an hour and an half, in all parts of the town, by the skill of our drivers; till at last my lady was conveniently lost, with notice from her coachman to ours to make off, and he should hear where she went, This chase was now at an end; and the fellow who drove her came to us, and discovered that he was ordered to come again in an hour, for that she was a Silk-worm. I was surprised with this phrase, but found it was a cant among the hackney fraternity for their best customers, women who ramble twice or thrice a week from shop to shop, to turn over all the goods in town without buying any thing. The Silk-worms are, it seems, indulged by the tradesmen; for though they never buy, they are ever talking of new silks, laces, and ribbons, and serve the owners in getting them customers, as their common dunners do in making them pay. The day of people of fashion began now to break, and carts and hacks were mingled with equipages of show and vanity; when I resolved to walk it, out of cheapness: but my unhappy curiosity is such, that I find it always my interest to take coach; for some odd adventure among beggars, ballad-singers, or the like, detains and throws me into expense. It happened so im pediately; for at the corner of Warwick-street, as I was listening to a new ballad, a ragged rascal, a beggar who knew me, came up to me, and began to turn the eyes of the good company upon me, by telling me he was extreme poor, and should die in the street for want of drink, except I immediately would have the charity to give him sixpence to go into the next ale-house and save his life. He urged, with a melancholy face, that all his family had STEFLE. T. No 455. TUESDAY, AUGUST 12, 1712. Ego apis matina Grata carpentis thyma per laborem HOR. Od. ii. L. 4. ver. 2oa My timorous muse Like the laborious bee, For little drops of honey fly, And there with humble sweets contents her industry. died of thirst. All the mob have humour, and two | This one circumstance will make every face you or three began to take the jest; by which Mr. see give you the satisfaction you now take to be Sturdy carried his point, and let me sneak off to a holding that of a friend; will make every object a coach. As I drove along it was a pleasing re-pleasing one; will make all the good which arrives flection to see the world so prettily checquered to any man, an increase of happiness to yourself. since I left Richmond, and the scene still filling with children of a new hour. This satisfaction increased as I moved towards the city; and gay signs, well-disposed streets, magnificent public structures, and wealthy shops, adorned with contented faces, made the joy still rising till we came into the centre of the city, and centre of the world of trade, the Exchange of London. As other men in the crowds about me were pleased with their hopes and bargains, I found my account in observing them, in attention to their several interests. I, indeed, looked upon myself as the richest man that walked the Exchange that day; for my benevolence made me share the gains of every bargain that was made. It was not the least of my satisfactions in my survey, to go up stairs, and pass the shops of agreeable females: to observe so many pretty hands busy in the folding of ribbons, and the utmost eagerness of agreeable faces in the sale of patches, pins, and wires, on each side the counters, was an amusement in which I could longer have indulged myself, had not the dear creatures called to me, to ask what I wanted, when I could not answer, only ‘To look at you.' I went to one of the windows which opened to the area below, where all the several voices lost their distinction, and rose up in a confused humming; which created in me a reflection that could not come into the mind of any but of one a little too studious; for I said to myself, with a kind of pun in thought, 'What nonsense is all the hurry of this world to those who are above it? In these, or not much wiser thoughts, I had liked to have lost my place at the chop-house, where every man, according to the natural bashfulness or sullenness of our nation, eats in a public room a mess of broth, or chop of meat, in dumb silence, as if they had no pretence to speak to each other on the foot of being men, except they were of each other's acquaintance. THE following letters have in them reflect which will seem of importance both to the learnes world, and to domestic life. There is in the firs an allegory so well carried on, that it cannot be be very pleasing to those who have a taste of goo writing; and the other billets may have their as in common life. MR. SPECTATOR, As I walked the other day in a fine garden, and observed the great variety of improvements a plants and flowers, beyond what they otherwise would have been, I was naturally led into a re flection upon the advantages of education, or ma dern* culture: how many good qualities in the mind are lost, for want of the like due care a nursing and skilfully managing them; how many virtues are choked by the multitude of weeds what are suffered to grow among them; how excellent parts are often starved and useless, by being plan ed in a wrong soil; and how very seldom do thee I went afterwards to Robin's, and saw people, moral seeds produce the noble fruits which might who had dined with me at the five-penny ordinary be expected from them, by a neglect of proper just before, give bills for the value of large estates; manuring, necessary pruning, and an artful me and could not but behold with great pleasure, pro- nagement of our tender inclinations and first sprig perty lodged in, and transferred in a moment from of life. These obvious speculations made me a such as would never be masters of half as much as length conclude, that there is a sort of vegetake is seemingly in them, and given from them every principle in the mind of every man when he co day they live. But before five in the afternoon I into the world. In infants, the seeds lie binet left the city, came to my common scene of Covent- and undiscovered, till after a while they sprost garden, and passed the evening at Will's in attend-forth in a kind of rational leaves, which are words, ing the discourses of several sets of people, who and in due season the flowers begin to appear it relieved each other within my hearing on the sub- variety of beautiful colours, and all the gay poi jects of cards, dice, love, learning, and politics. tures of youthful fancy and imagination; at al The last subject kept me till I heard the streets in the fruit knits and is formed, which is green per the possession of the bell-man, who had now the haps first, and sour, unpleasant to the taste, and world to himself, and cried, Past two o'clock.' not fit to be gathered; till, ripened by due care This roused me from my seat; and I went to my and application, it discovers itself in all the nons lodging, led by a light, whom I put into the dis- productions of philosophy, mathematics, close re course of his private economy, and made him give soning, and handsome argumentation. These fruits, me an account of the charge, hazard, profit, and when they arrive at just maturity, and are of a loss of a family that depended upon a link, with a good kind, afford the most vigorous nourishment to design to end my trivial day with the generosity the minds of men. I reflected further on the latel of sixpence, instead of a third part of that sum. lectual leaves before mentioned, and found almos When I came to my chambers, I writ down these as great a variety among them, as in the vegeta minutes; but was at a loss what instruction I should world. I could easily observe the -mooth shing propose to my reader from the enumeration of so Italian leaves, the nimble French aspen alway many insignificant matters and occurrences; and I motion, the Greek and Latin evergrecus, the dye thought it of great use, if they could learn with me to keep their minds open to gratification, and ready to receive it from any thing it meets with. This word seems to be erroneously used, tostawc moral, which the meaning obviously requi ra 1 nish myrtle, the English oak, the Scotch thistle, the Irish shambrogue, the prickly German and Dutch holly, the Polish and Russian nettle, besides a vast number of exotics imported from Asia, Africa, and America. I saw several barren plants, which bore only leaves, without any hopes of flower or fruit. The leaves of some were fragrant and well-shaped, and others ill-scented and irregular. I wondered at a set of old whimsical botanists, who spent their whole lives in the contemplation of some withered Egyptian, Coptic, Armenian, or Chinese leaves; while others made it their business to collect, in voluminous herbals, all the several leaves of some one tree. The flowers afford a most diverting entertainment, in a wonderful variety of figures, colours, and scents; however, most of them withered soon, or at best are but annuals. Some professed florists make them their constant study and employment, and despise all fruit; and now and then a few fanciful people spend all their time in the cultivation of a single tulip, or a carnation. But the most agreeable amusement seems to be the well choosing, mixing, and binding together these flowers in pleasing nosegays, to present to ladies. The scent of Italian flowers is observed, like their other perfumes, to be too strong, and to hurt the brain; that of the French with glaring gaudy colours, yet faint and languid: German and northern flowers have little or no smell, or sometimes an unpleasant one. The ancients had a secret to give a lasting beauty, colour, and sweetness, to some of their choice flowers, which flourish to this day, and which few of the moderns can effect. These are becoming enough and agreeable in their season, and do often handsomely adorn an entertainment; but an over-fondness of them seems to be a disease. It rarely happens to find a plant vigorous enough to have (like an orange-tree) at once beautiful and shining leaves, fragrant flowers, and delicious, nourishing fruit. SIR, 'Yours, &c.' 'DEAR SPEC, August 6, 1712. 'You have given us, in your Spectator of Saturday last*, a very excellent discourse upon the force of custom, and its wonderful efficacy in making every thing pleasant to us. I cannot deny but that I received above twopenny-worth of instruction from your paper, and in the general was very well pleased with it; but I am, without a compliment, sincerely troubled that I cannot exactly be of your opinion, that it makes every thing pleasing to us. In short, I have the honour to be yoked to a young lady, who is, in plain English, for her standing, a very eminent scold. She began to break her mind very freely both to me and to her servants, about two months after our nuptials; and, though I have been accustomed to this humour of hers these three years, yet I do not know what's the matter with me, but I am no more delighted with it than I was at the very first. I have advised with her relations about her, and they all tell me that her mother and ber grandmother before her were both taken much after the same manner; so that, since it runs in the blood, I have but small hopes of her recovery. I should be glad to have a little of your advice in this matter. I would not willingly trouble you to contrive how it may be a pleasure to me; if you will but put me in a way that I may bear it with indifference, I shall rest satisfied. N° 447. 6 DEAR SPEC, + See N° 445. 'P. S. I must do the poor girl the justice to let you know, that this match was none of her own choosing (or indeed of mine either); in consideration of which I avoid giving her the least provocation; and indeed we live better together than usually folks do who hated one another when they were first joined. To evade the sin against ́parents, or at least to extenuate it, my dear rails at my father and mother, and I curse hers for making the match.' MR. SPECTATOR, PILL GARLICK.' I DESIRE you would print this in italic, so as it may be generally taken notice of. It is designed only to admonish all persons, who speak either at the bar, pulpit, or any public assembly whatsoever, how they discover their ignorance in the use of similies. There are, in the pulpit itself, as well as in other places, such gross abuses in this kind, that I give this warning to all I know. I shall bring them for the future before your spectatorial authority. On Sunday last, one, who shall be nameless, reproving several of his congregation for standing at prayers, was pleased to say, "One would think, like the elephant, you had no knees." Now I myself saw an elephant, in Bartholomew-fair, kneel down to take on his back the ingenious Mr. William Penkethman+. STEELE. "Your most humble servant,' T. OTWAY, in his tragedy of Venice Preserved, has 'I pass'd this very moment by thy doors, * See Nos. 442 and 450. |