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for them to add any thing that can be ornamental to what is already the master piece of nature. The head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station, in a human figure, Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face: she has touched it with vermillion, planted in it a double row of ivory made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable light: in short, she seems to have designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works; and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beauties, to childish gew-gaws, ribbons, and bone-lace.


No. 99. SATURDAY, JUNE 23.

-Turpi secernis honestum.

HOR. 1. Sat. vi. 63.

You know to fix the bounds of right and wrong.

THE club, of which I have often declared myself a member, were last night engaged in a discourse upon that which passes for the chief point of honour among men and women; and started a great many hints upon the subject, which I thought were entirely new. I shall, therefore, methodize the several reflections that arose upon this occasion, and present my reader with them for the speculation of this day; after having premised, that if there is any thing in this paper which seems to differ with any

passage of last Thursday's,' the reader will consider this a sentiments of the club, and the other as my own private thou or rather those of Pharamond.

The great point of honour in men is courage, and in wo chastity. If a man loses his honour in one rencounter, it is impossible for him to regain it in another; a slip in a wom honour is irrecoverable. I can give no reason for fixing the P of honour to these two qualities, unless it be that each sex the greatest value on the qualification which renders them most amiable in the eyes of the contrary sex. Had men cho for themselves, without regard to the opinions of the fair se should believe the choice would have fallen on wisdom or virt or had women determined their own point of honour, it is pr able that wit or good-nature would have carried it aga chastity.

Nothing recommends a man more to the female sex t courage; whether it be that they are pleased to see one who terror to others fall like a slave at their feet, or that this qual supplies their own principal defect, in guarding them from insu and avenging their quarrels, or that courage is a natural indicat of a strong and sprightly constitution. On the other side, no ing makes a woman more esteemed by the opposite sex th chastity; whether it be that we always prize those most who hardest to come at, or that nothing besides chastity, with its o lateral attendants, truth, fidelity, and constancy, gives the ma property in the person he loves, and consequently endears her him above all things.

I am very much pleased with a passage in the inscription a monument erected in Westminster Abby to the late Duke a Duchess of Newcastle: "Her name was Margaret Lucas, your

IV. No. 97.-C.

est sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester: a noble family; for all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous.”

In books of chivalry, where the point of honour is strained to madness, the whole story runs on chastity and courage. The damsel is mounted on a white palfrey, as an emblem of her inno cence: and, to avoid scandal, must have a dwarf for her page She is not to think of a man, till some misfortune has brought a knight-errant to her relief. The knight falls in love; and did

murdering her deliverer, would However, he must waste many

not gratitude restrain her from die at her feet by her disdain. years in the desert, before her virgin-heart can think of a surrender. The knight goes off, attacks every thing he meets that is bigger and stronger than himself, seeks all opportunities of being knocked on the head, and after seven years rambling returns to his mistress, whose chastity has been attacked in the mean time by giants and tyrants, and undergone as many trials as her lover's valour.

In Spain, where there are still great remains of this romantic humour, it is a transporting favour for a lady to cast an accidental glance on her lover from a window, though it be two or three stories high; as it is usual for a lover to assert his passion for his mistress, in single combat with a mad bull.

The great violation of the point of honour from man to man, is giving the lie. One may tell another he whores, drinks, blasphemes, and it may pass unresented; but to say he lies, though but in jest, is an affront that nothing but blood can expiate. The reason perhaps may be, because no other vice implies a want of courage so much as the making of a lie; and, therefore, telling a man he lies, is touching him in the most sensible part of honour, and indirectly calling him a coward. I cannot omit under this head what Herodotus tells us of the ancient Persians, that from the age of five years to twenty, they instruct their sons only in VOL. V.-12*

three things, to manage the horse, to make use of the bow, and to speak truth.

The placing the point of honour in this false kind of courage, has given occasion to the very refuse of mankind, who have neither virtue nor common sense, to set up for men of honour. An English peer, who has not been long dead,' used to tell a pleasant story of a French gentleman that visited him early one morning at Paris, and, after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him; which in short amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his lordship the person's name who justled him as he came out from the opera; but, before he would proceed, he begged his lordship that he would not deny him the honour of making him his second. The English lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish affair, told him that he was under engagements for his two next duels to a couple of particular friends. Upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his lordship would not take it ill, if he meddled no farther in an affair from whence he himself was to receive no advantage.

The beating down this false notion of honour, in so vain and lively a people as those of France, is deservedly looked upon as one of the most glorious parts of their present king's reign. It is pity but the punishment of these mischievous notions should have in it some particular circumstances of shame and infamy; that those who are slaves to them may see, that instead of advancing their reputations, they lead them to ignominy and dis


Death is not sufficient to deter men, who make it their glory to despise it; but if every one that fought a duel were to stand in the pillory, it would quickly lessen the number of these imaginary men of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice.

1 Said to have been William Cavendish, first Duke of Devonshire, who died Aug. 18, 1709.-C.

When honour is a support to virtuous principles, and runs parallel with the laws of God and our country, it cannot be too much cherished and encouraged; but when the dictates of hon our are contrary to those of religion and equity, they are the greatest depravations of human nature, by giving wrong ambitions and false ideas of what is good and laudable; and should, therefore, be exploded by all governments, and driven out as the bane and plague of human society. L.

No. 101. TUESDAY, JUNE 26.

Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux,
Post ingentia, facta, deorum in templa recepti;
Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella
Componunt, agros assignant, oppida condunt;
Ploravere suis non respondere favorem

Speratum meritis:

HOR. 2. Ep. 1. 5.


Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name.
After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd,
The Gauls subdued, or property secur'd,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Our laws establish'd, and the world reform'd,
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind.

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CENSURE, says a late ingenious author, is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent.' It is a folly for an eminent man to think of escaping it, and a weakness to be affected with it. All the illustrious persons of antiquity, and, indeed, of every age in the world, have passed through this fiery persecu

1 Bishop Hoadley, in one of his political pamphlets, calls censure, the perquisite of great offices; but the quotation is quoted from Swift. V. his works vol iii. p. 277—ed. in 8vo, 1766, 24 vols.—C. *

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