innovation he was reduced to a starving condition, and could not live upon his office. Chremylus, who in the beginning of the play was religious in his poverty, concludes it with a proposal, which was relished by all the good men who were now grown rich as well as himself, that they should carry Plutus in a solemn procession to the temple, and instal him in the place of Jupiter. This allegory instructed the Athenians in two points: first, as it vindicated the conduct of Providence in its ordinary distributions of wealth; and in the next place, as it showed the great tendency of riches to corrupt the morals of those who possessed them.

Qua ratione queas traducere leniter æcum;
Ne te semper inops agitet veretque cupido;
Ne
et rerum mediveriter utilium spes.
HOR. Ep. xviii. 1. 1. ver. 97.
How thou may'st live, how spend thine age in peace,
Lest avarice, still poor, disturb thine ease:
Or fears should shake, or cares thy mind abuse,
Or ardent hope for things of little use.

CREECH.

This venerable old man, knowing how his abil tes
were impaired by age, and that it was imposa
for him to recollect all those reasons which to:
directed him in the choice of his religion, let a
companions, who were in the full possession of ter
parts and learning, to baille and confound t
antagonists by the force of reason.
As for
self, he only repeated to his adversaries the ar
cles in which he firmly believed, and in the pro-
fession of which he was determined to die.
in this manner that the mathematician process
upon propositions which he has once demonstrated
and, though the demonstration may have slip-
out of his memor, he builds upon the truth,
cause he knows it was demonstrated. This rai
absolutely necessary for weaker minds, and in se ze
measure for men of the greatest abilities; bɛ 1
these last I would propose, in the second plus
that they should lay up in their memories, and e
ways keep by them in readiness, those arguns
which appear to them of the greatest strength, añ
which cannot be got over by all the doubts
cavils of infidelity.

There is still another method, which is more pr suasive than any of the former; and that is an bitual adoration of the Supreme Being, as wel e constant acts of mental worship, as in out." forms. The devout man does not only believe, feels there is a Deity. He has actual sensatie» him; his experience concurs with his reason; 2 sees him more and more in all his interca_ze with him, and even in this life almost loses his inin conviction.

But, in the third place, there is nothing we strengthens faith more than morality. Farta an morality naturally produce each other. A quickly convinced of the truth of religion, wh HAVING endeavoured in my last Saturday's paper* finds it is not against his interest that it sbr. to show the great excellency of faith, I shall here be true. The pleasure he receives at present, a consider what are the proper means of strengthen the happiness which he promises himself from ing and confirming it in the mind of man. Those hereafter, will both dispose him very powerf who delight in reading books of controversy, which to give credit to it, according to the ordinary are written on both sides of the question on points servation, that we are easy to believe what ♥ of faith, do very seldom arrive at a fixed and settled wish. It is very certain, that a man of sound habit of it. They are one day entirely convinced son cannot forbear closing with religion opon z of its important truths, and the next meet with impartial examination of it; but at the same t ** something that shakes and disturbs them. The it is certain, that faith is kept alive in us, 25 doubt which was laid revives again, and shows it-gathers strength from practice more than fr. self in new difficulties, and that generally for this speculation. reason, because the mind, which is perpetually tossed in controversies and disputes, is apt to forget the reasons which had once set it at rest, and to be disquieted with any former perplexity, when it appears in a new shape, or is started by a different hand. As nothing is more laudable than an inquiry after truth, so nothing is more irrational than to pass away our whole lives, without determining ourselves one way or other in those points which are of the last importance to us. There are indeed many things from which we may withhold our assent; but in cases by which we are to regulate our lives, it is the greatest absurdity to be wavering and unsettled, without closing with that side which appears the most safe and the most probable. The first rule, therefore, which I shall lay down, is this, that when by reading or discourse we find ourselves thoroughly convinced of the truth of any article, and of the reasonableness of our belief in it, we should never after suffer ourselves to call it into question. We may perhaps forget the arguments which occasioned our conviction; but we ought to remember the strength they had with us, and therefore still to retain the conviction which they once produced. This is no more than what we do in every common art or science; nor is it possible to act otherwise, considering the weakness and limitation of our intellectual faculties. It was thus Latimer, one of the glorious army of martyrs, who introduced the reformation in England, behaved himself in that great conference which was managed between the most learned among the protestants and papists in the reign of Queen Mary.

No 459.

The last method which I shall me:tion for giving life to a man's faith, is frequent retires " from the world, accompanied with religious S tation. When a man thinks of any thing in darkness of the night, whatever deep impres it may make in his mind, they are apt to van a soon as the day breaks about him. The lig noise of the day, which are perpetually solicis his senses, and calling of his attention, well • of his mind the thoughts that imprinted themes in it, with so much strength, during the silence *** darkness of the night. A man finds the same ference as to himself in a crowd and in a wait.! the mind is stunned and dazzled arrest tett riety of objects which press upon ber in a ge city. She cannot apply herself to the consider t of those things which are of the utmost concers her. The cares or pleasures of the world strana with every thought, and a multitude of vicious"> amples give a kind of justification to oer in In our retirements every thing di-poses txtile serious. In courts and cities we are entert: ank with the works of men; in the country, with Car of God. One is the province of art, the adve Faith and devotion naturally growin

nature.

mind of every reasonable man, who sees the im-
pressions of divine power and wisdom in every
object on which he casts his eye. The Supreme
Being has made the best arguments for his own
existence, in the formation of the heavens and the
earth: and these are arguments which a man of
sense cannot forbear attending to, who is out of
the noise and hurry of human affairs. Aristotle
says, that should a man live under ground, and
there converse with works of art and mechanism,
and should afterwards be brought up into the
open day, and see the several glories of the heaven
and earth, he would immediately pronounce them
the works of such a being as we define God to be.
The Psalmist has very beautiful strokes of poetry
to this purpose, in that exalted strain: The hea-
vens declare the glory of God; and the firmament
showeth his handy work. One day telleth another;
and one night certifieth another. There is neither
speech nor language; but their voices are heard
among them. Their sound is gone out into all
lands; and their words into the ends of the world,'
As such a bold and sublime manner of thinking
furnishes very noble matter for an ode, the reader
may see it wrought into the following one:

"The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim:

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land

The works of an almighty band.

Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the list'ning earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though nor real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine."

ADDISON.

N° 466. MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 1712.

Vera incessu patuit den.

C.

VIRG. Æn. i. ver 409. And by her graceful walk the queen of love is known. DRYDEN.

feature appears with its respective grace. It is from this observation that I cannot help being so passionate an admirer as I am of good dancing *. As all art is an imitation of nature, this is an imitation of nature in its highest excellence, and at a time when she is most agreeable. The business of dancing is to display beauty; and for that reason all distortions and mimicries, as such, are what raise aversion instead of pleasure: but things that are in themselves excellent, are ever attended with imposture and false imitation. Thus, as in poetry, there are labouring fools who write anagrams and acrostics, there are pretenders in dancing, who think merely to do what others cannot, is to excel. Such creatures should be rewarded like him who had acquired a knack of throwing a grain of corn through the eye of a needle, with a bushel to keep his hands in use. The dancers on our stages are very faulty in this kind; and what they mean by writhing themselves into such postures, as it would be a pain for any of the spectators to stand in, and yet hope to please those spectators, is unintelligible. Mr. Prince has a genius, if he were encouraged, would prompt him to better things. In all the dances he invents, you see he keeps close to the characters he represents. He does not hope to please by making his performers move in a manner in which no one else ever did, but by motions proper to the characters he represents. He gives to clowns and lubbards clumsy graces; that is, he makes them practise what they would think graces: and I have seen dances of his, which might give hints that would be useful to a comic writer. These performances have pleased the taste of such as have not reflection enough to know their excellence, because they are in nature; and the distorted motions of others have offended those who could not form reasons to themselves for their displeasure, from their being a contradiction to

nature.

When one considers the inexpressible advantage there is in arriving at some excellence in this art, it is monstrous to behold it so much neglected. The following letter has in it something very natural on this subject.

MR. SPECTATOR,

'I Am a widower with but one daughter: she was by nature much inclined to be a romp; and I had no way of educating her, but commanding a young woman, whom I entertained to take care of her, to be very watchful in her care and attendance about her. I am a man of business, and obliged to be much abroad. The neighbours have told me, that in my absence our maid has let in the spruce servants in the neighbourhood to junketings, while my girl played and romped even in the street. To tell you the plain truth, I catched her once, at eleven years old, at chuck-farthing among the boys. This put me upon new thoughts about my child, and I determined to place her at a boarding-school: and at the same time gave a very discreet young

WHEN Eneas, the hero of Virgil, is lost in the Wood, and a perfect stranger in the place on which he is landed, he is accosted by a lady in an habit for the chase. She inquires of him, whether he has seen pass by that way any young woman dressed as she was? whether she were following the sport in the wood, or any other way employed, accord-gentlewoman her maintenance at the same place ing to the custom of huntresses? The hero answers with the respect due to the beautiful appearance she made; tells her, he saw no such person as she inquired for; but intimates that he knows her to be of the deities, and desires she would conduct a stranger. Her form from her first appearance manifested she was more than mortal; but, though she was certainly a goddess, the poet does not make her known to be the goddess of beauty till she moved. All the charms of an agreeable person are then in their highest exertion, every limb and

and rate, to be her companion. I took little notice of my girl from time to time, but saw her now and then in good health, out of harm's way, and was satisfied. But by much importunity, I was lately prevailed with to go to one of their balls. I cannot express to you the anxiety my silly heart was in, when I saw my romp, now fifteen, taken out: never felt the pangs of a father upon me so strongly in my whole life before; and I could not

*See Nos. 66, 67, 334, 370, and 376. Tat. Nos. 34 and 68.

have suffered more had my whole fortune been at stake. My girl came on with the most becoming modesty I had ever seen, and casting a respectful eye, as if she feared me more than all the audience, I gave a nod, which I think gave her all the spirit she assumed upon it; but she rose properly to that dignity of aspect. My romp, now the most graceful person of her sex, assumed a majesty, which commanded the highest respect; and when she turned to me, and saw my face in rapture, she fell into the prettiest smile, and I saw in all her motions that she exulted in her father's satisfaction. You, Mr. Spectator, will, better than I can tell you, imagine to yourfelf all the different beauties and changes of aspect in an accomplished young woman setting forth all her beauties with a design to please no one so much as her father. My girl's lover can never know half the satisfaction that I did in her that day. I could not possibly have imagined, that so great improvement. could have been wrought by an art that I always held in itself ridiculous and contemptible. There is, I am convinced, no method like this, to give young women a sense of their own value and dignity; and I am sure there can be none so expeditious to communicate that value to others. As for the flippant insipidly gay, and wantonly forward, whom you behold among dancers, that carriage is more to be attributed to the perverse genius of the performers, than imputed to the art itself. For my part, my child has danced herself into my esteem; and I have as great an honour for her as ever I had for her mother, from whom she derived those latent good qualities which appeared in her countenance when she was dancing; for my girl, though I say it myself, showed in one quarter of an hour the innate principles of a modest virgin, a tender wife, a generous friend, a kind mother, and an indulgent mistress. I will strain hard but I will purchase for her an husband suitable to her merit. I am your convert in the admiration of what I thought you jested when you recommended; and if you please to be at my house on Thursday next, I make a ball for my daughter, and you shall see her dance, or, if you will do her that honour, dance with her.

agreeable shape; but the folly of the thag is t
that it smiles so impertinently, and affects to pira
so sillily, that while she dances you see the
pleton from head to foot. For you must know
trivial as this art is thought to be) no one ever
a good dancer, that had not a good understand a
If this be a truth, I shall leave the reader to judge
from that maxim, what esteem they ought to ha
for such impertinents as fly, hop, caper, tuch
twirl, turn round, and jump over their heads;
in a word, play a thousand pranks which
animals can do better than a man, instead of pr-
forming to perfection what the human figure «,
is capable of performing.
It may perhaps appear odd, that I, who n
for a mighty lover at least of virtue, should tis
so much pains to recommend what the soberer jur
of mankind look upon to be a trite; bat, ur-
favour of the soberer part of mankind, I 12:04
they have not enough considered this matter, w
for that reason only disesteem it. I must also, a
my own justification, say, that I attempt to be
into the service of honour and virtue every thi;
in nature that can pretend to give elegant dele
It may possibly be proved, that vice is in itsel. Us
structive of pleasure, and virtue in itself condere
to it. If the delights of a free fortune were u
proper regulations, this truth would not want an
argument to support it; but it would be obv
to every man, that there is a strict affinity betw~
all things that are truly laudable and beas
from the highest sentiment of the soul to the m
indifferent gesture of the body.

THE love of praise is a passion deeply fixed in the mind of every extraordinary person; and the who are most affected with it, seem most to par take of that particle of the divinity whica dar guishes mankind from the inferior creation.

I have some time ago spoken of a treatise written by Mr. Weaver on this subject, which is now, I understand, ready to be published. This work sets this matter in a very plain and advan-Supreme Being itself is most pleased with praw tageous light; and I am convinced from it, that if the art was under proper regulations, it would be a mechanic way of implanting insensibly, in minds not capable of receiving it so well by any other rules, a sense of good-breeding and virtue.

Were any one to see Mariamne + dance, let him be never so sensual a brute, I defy him to entertain any thoughts but of the highest respect and esteem towards her. I was showed last week a picture in a lady's closet, for which she had an hundred different dresses, that she could clap on round the face on purpose to demonstrate the force of habits in the diversity of the same countenance. Motion, and change of posture and aspect, has an eflect no less surprising on the person of Mariamne when she dances.

Chloe is extremely pretty, and as silly as she is pretty. This idiot has a very good ear, and a most

No 3.4. + Perhaps Mrs. Bicknell, see N'570.

and thanksgiving: the other part of our dus »
but an acknowledgment of our faults, whilst the "
the immediate adoration of his perfections. Tw
an excellent observation, that we then only despise
commendation when we cease to deserve it:
we have still extant two orations of Telly and
Pliny, spoken to the greatest and best prices.
all the Roman emperors, who, no doubt, heard w*1
the greatest satisfaction, what even the most d«>>
terested persons, and at so large a distance of i
cannot read without admiration. Cassar ti
his life consisted in the breath of praise, when se
professed he had lived long enough for hire
when he had for his glory. Others have sarria ·
themselves for a name which was not to be el
they were dead, giving away themselves to san
chase a sound which was not to comence till 4**
were out of hearing. But by merit atal wapend
excellencies, not only to gain, but, whis, liv
to enjoy a great and universal reputation is r

last degree of happiness which we can hope for here. Bad characters are dispersed abroad with profusion, I hope for example sake, and (as punishments are designed by the civil power) more for the deterring the innocent, than the chastising the guilty. The good are less frequent, whether it be that there are indeed fewer originals of this kind to copy after, or that, through the malignity of our nature, we rather delight in the ridicule than the virtues we find in others. However, it is but just, as well as pleasing, even for variety, sometimes to give the world a representation of the bright side of human nature, as well as the dark and gloomy. The desire of imitation may, perhaps, be a greater incentive to the practice of what is good, than the aversion we may conceive at what is blameable: the one immediately directs you what you should do, whilst the other only shows you what you should avoid; and I cannot at present do this with more satisfaction, than by endeavouring to do some justice to the character of Manilius.

Swear that none ever had such a graceful art,
Fortune's free gifts as freely to impart,
With an unenvious hand, and an unbounded heart.'

Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the universal love and esteem of all men; nor steer with more success between the extremes of two contending parties. 'Tis his peculiar happiness, that, while he espouses neither with an intemperate zeal, he is not only admired, but, what is a more rare and unusual felicity, he is beloved and ca ressed by both; and I never yet saw any person, of whatever age or sex, but was immediately struck with the merit of Manilius. There are many who are acceptable to some particular persons, whilst the rest of mankind look upon them with coolness and indifference; but he is the first whose entire good fortune it is, ever to please and to be pleased; where he comes, to be admired; and wherever he is absent, to be lamented. His merit fares like the pictures of Raphael, which are either seen with admiration by all, or at least no one dare own he has no taste for a composition which has received so universal an applause. Envy and malice find it against their interest to indulge slander and obloquy. 'Tis as hard for an enemy to detract from, as for a friend to add to his praise. An attempt. upon his reputation is a sure lessening of one's own; and there is but one way to injure him, which is to refuse him his just commendations, and be obstinately silent.

It would far exceed my present design, to give 1 particular description of Manilius through all the parts of his excellent life. I shall now only draw him in his retirement, and pass over in silence the various arts, the courtly manners, and the undeigning honesty, by which he attained the honours te has enjoyed, and which now give a dignity and eneration to the case he does enjoy. "Tis here hat he looks back with pleasure on the waves and It is below him to catch the sight with any care illows through which he has steered to so fair an of dress; his outward garb is but the emblem of aven: he is now intent upon the practice of his mind. It is genteel, plain, and unaffected; he very virtue, which a great knowledge and use of knows that gold and embroidery can add nothing nankind has discovered to be the most useful to to the opinion which all have of his merit, and hem. Thus in his private domestic employments that he gives a lustre to the plainest dress, whilst e is no less glorious than in his public; for it is 'tis impossible the richest should communicate any n reality a more difficult task to be conspicuous in to him. He is still the principal figure in the room. I sedentary inactive life, than in one that spent He first engages your eye, as if there were some n hurry and business: persons engaged in the lat-point of light which shone stronger upon him than er, like bodies violently agitated, from the swiftless of their motion have a brightness added to hem, which often vanishes when they are at rest; ut if it then still remain, it must be the seeds of ntrinsic worth that thus shine out without any foeign aid or assistance.

His liberality in another might almost bear the (ame of profusion: he seems to think it laudable ven in the excess, like that river which most priches when it overflows. But Manilius has too rerfect a taste of the pleasure of doing good, ever o let it be out of his power; and for that reason e will have a just economy, and a splendid fruality at home, the fountain from whence those treams should flow which he disperses abroad. He looks with disdain on those who propose their leath, as the time when they are to begin their nunificence: he will both see and enjoy (which he hen does in the highest degree) what he bestows imself; he will be the living executor of his own ounty, whilst they who have the happiness to be within his care and patronage, at once pray for the continuation of his life, and their own good forune. No one is out of the reach of his obligaions; he knows how, by proper and becoming methods, to raise himself to a level with those of he highest rank; and his good-nature is a sufficient warrant against the want of those who are so unhappy as to be in the very lowest. One may say of him, as Pindar bids his muse say of Theron,

Swear, that Theron sure has sworn, No one near him should be poor.

The Nile, in Egypt.

on any other person.

He puts me in mind of a story of the famous Bussy d'Amboise, who, at an assembly at court, where every one appeared with the utmost magnificence, relying upon his own superior behaviour, instead of adorning himself like the rest, put on that day a plain suit of clothes, and dressed all his servants in the most costly gay habits he could procure. The event was, that the eyes of the whole court were fixed upon him; all the rest looked like bis attendants, while he alone had the air of a person of quality and distinction.

Like Aristippus, whatever shape or condition he appears in, it still sits free and easy upon him; but in some part of his character, 'tis true, he differs from him; for as he is altogether equal to the largeness of his present circumstances, the rectitude of his judgment has so far corrected the inclinations of his ambition, that he will not trouble himself with either the desires or pursuits of any thing beyond his present enjoyments.

A thousand obliging things flow from him upon every occasion; and they are always so just and natural, that it is impossible to think he was at the least pains to look for them. One would think it was the demon of good thoughts that discovered to him those treasures, which he must have blinded others from seeing, they lay so directly in their way. Nothing can equal the pleasure is taken in hearing him speak, but the satisfaction one receives in the civility and attention he pays to the discourse of others. His looks are a silent commendation of what is good and praise-worthy, and a secret reproof to what is licentious and extrava

Erat homo ingeniosus, acutus, acer, et qui plurimum et inoffensive behaviour, could not raise this ar salis haberet et fellis, nec candoris minus.

above being received only upon the foot of coatrbuting to mirth and diversion. But he was as cars under that condition, as a man of so excris great deal of wit and satire, with an equal share of good-talents was capable; and since they would me