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peculiar distinction, that his negligence is | alliances. A man who is but a mere Specunaffected.

He that can work himself into a pleasure in considering this being as an uncertain one, and think to reap an advantage by its discontinuance, is in a fair way of doing all things with a graceful unconcern, and a gentleman-like ease. Such a one does not behold his life as a short, transient, perplexing state, made up of trifling pleasures and great anxieties; but sees it in quite another light; his griefs are momentary and his joys immortal. Reflection upon death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning every thing that he delights in, but it is a short night followed by an endless day. What I would here contend for is, that the more virtuous a man is, the nearer he will naturally be to the character of genteel and agreeable. A man whose fortune is plentiful, shows an ease in his countenance, and confidence in his behaviour, which he that is under wants and difficulties cannot assume. It is thus with the state of the mind; he that governs his thoughts with the everlasting rules of reason and sense, must have something so inexpressibly graceful in his words and actions, that every circumstance must become him. The change of persons or things around him does not alter his situation, but he looks disinterested in the occurrences with which others are distracted, because the greatest purpose of his life is to maintain an indifference both to it and all its enjoyments. In a word, to be a fine gentleman, is to be a generous and a brave man. What can make a man so much in constant good humour, and shine, as we call it, than to be supported by what can never fail him, and to believe that whatever happens to him was the best thing that could possibly befal him, or else he on whom it depends, would not have permitted it to have befallen him at all.

R.

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THERE is nothing so common as to find a man whom in the general observation of nis carriage you take to be of a uniform temper, subject to such unaccountable starts of humour and passion, that he is as much unlike himself, and differs as much from the man you at first thought him, as any two distinct persons can differ from each other. This proceeds from the want of forming some law of life to ourselves, or fixing some notion of things in general, which may affect us in such a manner as to create proper habits both in our minds and bodies. The negligence of this, leaves us exposed, not only to an unbecoming levity in our usual conversation, but also to the same instability in our friendships, interests, and

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tator of what passes around him, and not engaged in commerces of any consideration, is but an ill judge of the secret motions of the heart of man, and by what degrees it is actuated to make such visible alterations in the same person: but at the same time, when a man is no way concerned in the effect of such inconsistencies in the behaviour of men of the world, the speculation must be in the utmost degree both diverting and instructive; yet to enjoy such observations in the highest relish, he ought to be placed in a post of direction, and have the dealings of their fortunes to them. I have therefore been wonderfully diverted with some pieces of secret history, which an antiquary, my very good friend, lent me as a curiosity. They are memoirs of the private life of Pharamond of France. 'Pharamond,' says my author, was a prince of infinite humanity and generosity, and at the same time the most pleasant and facetious companion of his time. He had a peculiar taste in him, which would have been unlucky in any prince but himself; he thought there could be no exquisite pleasure in conversation, but among equals; and would pleasantly bewail himself that he always lived in a crowd, but was the only man in France that could never get into company, This turn of mind made him delight in midnight rambles, attended only with one person of his bed-chamber. He would in these excursions get acquainted with men (whose temper he had a mind to try) and recommend them privately to the particular observation of his first minister. He generally found himself neglected by his new acquaintance as soon as they had hopes of growing great; and used on such occasions to remark, that it was a great injustice to tax princes of forgetting themselves in their high fortunes, when there were so few that could with constancy bear the favour of their very creatures.' 'My author in these loose hints has one passage that gives us a very lively idea of the uncommon genius of Pharamond. He met with one man whom he had put to all the usual proofs he made of those he had a mind to know thoroughly, and found him for his purpose. In discourse with him one day, he gave him an opportunity of saying how much would satisfy all his wishes. The prince immediately revealed himself, doubled the sum, and spoke to him in this manner: Sir, you have twice what you desired, by the favour of Pharamond; but look to it, that you are satisfied with it, for it is the last you shall ever receive. I from this moment consider you as mine; and to make you truly so, I give you my royal word you shall never be greater or less than you are at present. Answer me not (concluded the prince smiling,) but enjoy the fortune I have put you in, which is above my own condition; for you have hereafter nothing to hope or fear."

His majesty having thus well chosen and

bought a friend and companion, he enjoyed which no man else can ever have an opalternately all the pleasures of an agreeable portunity of enjoying. He gave fortune to private man, and a great and powerful mo- none but those whom he knew could renarch. He gave himself, with his compa-ceive it without transport. He made a nonion, the name of the merry tyrant; for he ble and generous use of his observations, punished his courtiers for their insolence and did not regard his ministers as they and folly, not by any act of public disfavour, were agreeable to himself, but as they were but by humorously practising upon their useful to his kingdom. By this means, the imaginations. If he observed a man un- king appeared in every officer of state; and tractable to his inferiors, he would find an no man had a participation of the power, opportunity to take some favourable notice who had not a similitude of the virtue of of him, and render him insupportable. He Pharamond. R. knew all his own looks, words, and actions, had their interpretations; and his friend Monsieur Eucrate (for so he was called) having a great soul without ambition, he No. 77.] Tuesday, May 29, 1711. could communicate all his thoughts to him, and fear no artful use would be made of that freedom. It was no small delight when they were in private, to reflect upon all which had passed in public.

Pharamond would often, to satisfy a vain fool of power in his country, talk to him in a full court, and with one whisper make him despise all his old friends and acquaintance. He was come to that knowledge of men by long observation, that he would profess altering the whole mass of blood in some tempers, by thrice speaking to them. As fortune was in his power, he gave himself constant entertainment in managing the mere followers of it with the treatment they deserved. He would, by a skilful cast of his eye, and half a smile, make two fellows who hated, embrace, and fall upon each other's necks with as much eagerness, as if they followed their real inclinations, and intended to stifle one another. When he was in high good humour, he would lay the scene with Eucrate, and on a public night exercise the passions of his whole court. He was pleased to see a haughty beauty watch the looks of the man she had long despised, from observation of his being taken notice of by Pharamond; and the lover conceive higher hopes, than to follow the woman he was dying for the day before. In a court, where men speak affection in the strongest terms, and dislike in the faintest, it was a comical mixture of incidents to see disguises thrown aside in one case, and increased on the other, according as favour or disgrace attended the respective objects of men's approbation or disesteem. Pharamond, in his mirth upon the meanness of mankind, used to say, As he could take away a man's five senses, he could give him a hundred. The man in disgrace shall immediately lose all his natural endowments, and he that finds favour have the attributes of an angel.' He would carry it so far as to say, 'It should not be only so in the opinion of the lower part of his court, but the men themselves shall think thus meanly or greatly of themselves, as they are out or in the good graces of a court."

A monarch, who had wit and humour like Pharamond, must have pleasures

Non convivere licet, nec urbe tota Quisquam est tam prope tam proculque nobis. Mart. Epig. 87. I. i. What correspondence can I hold with you, Who are so near, and yet so distant too? My friend Will Honeycomb is one of those sort of men who are very often absent in conversation, and what the French call a reveur and a distrait. A little before our club-time last night, we were walking together in Somerset-gardens, where Will had picked up a small pebble of so odd a make, that he said he would present it to a friend of his, an eminent virtuoso. After we had walked some time, I made a full stop with my face towards the west, which Will knowing to be my usual method of asking what's o'clock, in an afternoon, immediately pulled out his watch, and told me we had seven minutes good. We took a turn or two more, when to my great surprise, I saw him squir away his watch a considerable way into the Thames, and with great sedateness in his looks put up the pebble, he had before found, in his fob. As I have naturally an aversion to much speaking, and do not love to be the messenger of ill news, especially when it comes too late to be useful, I left him to be convinced of his mistake in due time, and continued my walk, reflecting on these little absences and distractions in mankind, and resolving to make them the subject of a future speculation.

I was the more confirmed in my design, when I considered that they were very often blemishes in the characters of men of excellent sense; and helped to keep up the reputation of that Latin proverb, which Mr. Dryden has translated in the following

lines:

'Great wit to madness sure is near ally'd, And thin partitions do their bounds divide.'* My reader does, I hope, perceive, that I distinguish a man who is absent, because he thinks of something else, from one who is absent, because he thinks of nothing at all. The latter is too innocent a creature to be taken notice of; but the distractions of the

* Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ. Seneca De Tranquil. Anim. cap. xv.

former may, I believe, be generally ac- | house about 'Change. I was his bail in counted for from one of these reasons.

Either their minds are wholly fixed on some particular science, which is often the case of mathematicians and other learned men; or are wholly taken up with some violent passion, such as anger, fear or love, which ties the mind to some distant object, or, lastly, these distractions proceed from a certain vivacity and fickleness in a man's temper, which while it raises up infinite numbers of ideas in the mind, is continually pushing it on, without allowing it to rest on any particular image. Nothing therefore is more unnatural than the thoughts and conceptions of such a man, which are seldom occasioned either by the company he is in, or any of those objects which are placed before him. While you fancy he is admiring a beautiful woman, it is an even wager that he is solving a proposition in Euclid; and while you may imagine he is reading the Paris Gazette, it is far from being impossible, that he is pulling down and rebuilding the front of his countryhouse.

At the same time that I am endeavouring to expose this weakness in others, I shall readily confess that I once laboured under the same infirmity myself. The method I took to conquer it was a firm resolution to learn something from whatever I was obliged to see or hear. There is a way of thinking, if a man can attain to it, by which he may strike somewhat out of any thing. I can at present observe those starts of good sense, and struggles of unimproved reason in the conversation of a clown, with as much satisfaction as the most shining periods of the most finished orator; and can make a shift to command my attention at a puppet-show or an opera, as well as at Hamlet or Othello. I always make one of the company I am in; for though I say little myself, my attention to others, and those nods of approbation which I never bestow unmerited, sufficiently show that I am among them. Whereas Will Honeycomb, though a fellow of good sense, is every day doing and saying a hundred things, which he afterwards confesses, with a well-bred frankness, were somewhat mal à propos, and undesigned.

the time of the Popish plot, when he was taken up for a Jesuit.' If he had looked on me a little longer, he had certainly described me so particularly, without ever considering what led him into it, that the whole company must necessarily have found me out; for which reason, remembering the old proverb, 'Out of sight out of mind,' I left the room; and upon meeting him an hour afterwards, was asked by him, with a great deal of good humour, in what part of the world I lived, that he had not seen me these three days.

Monsieur Bruyere has given us the character of an absent man, with a great deal of humour, which he has pushed to an agreeable extravagance: with the heads of it I shall conclude my present paper.

'Menalcas,' says that excellent author, comes down in a morning, opens his door to go out, but shuts it again, because he perceives that he has his night-capon: and examining himself further, finds that he is but half shaved, that he has stuck his sword on his right side, that his stockings are about his heels, and that his shirt is over his breeches. When he is dressed, he goes to court, comes into the drawingroom, and walking bolt-upright under a branch of candlesticks, his wig is caught up by one of them, and hangs dangling in the air. All the courtiers fall a-laughing, but Menalcas laughs louder than any of them and looks about for the person that is the jest of the company. Coming down to the courtgate he finds a coach, which taking for his own, he whips into it; and the coachman drives off, not doubting but he carries his master. As soon as he stops, Menalcas throws himself out of the coach, crosses the court, ascends the stair-case, and runs through all the chambers with the greatest familiarity; reposes himself on a couch, and fancies himself at home. The master of the house at last comes in; Menalcas rises to receive him, and desires him to sit down; he talks, muses, and then talks again. The gentleman of the house is tired and amazed; Menalcas is no less so, but is every moment in hopes that his impertinent guest will at last end his tedious visit. Night comes on, when Menalcas is hardly undeceived.

I chanced the other day to go into a coffee-house, where Will was standing in the When he is playing at backgammon, midst of several auditors, whom he had he calls for a full glass of wine and water. gathered round him, and was giving them it is his turn to throw, he has the box in an account of the person and character of one hand, and his glass in the other; and Moll Hinton. My appearance before him being extremely dry, and unwilling to lose just put him in mind of me, without making time, he swallows down both the dice, and him reflect that I was actually present. at the same time throws his wine into the So that, keeping his eyes full upon me, to tables. He writes a letter, and flings the the great surprise of his audience, he sand into the ink-bottle; he writes a second broke off his first harangue, and proceed- and mistakes the superscription. A nobleed thus: Why now there's my friend,' man receives one of them, and upon openmentioning me by my name, he is a fel- ing it reads as follows: I would have you, low that thinks a great deal, but never honest Jack, immediately upon the receipt opens his mouth; I warrant you he is now of this, take in hay enough to serve me the thrusting his short face into some coffee-winter.' His farmer receives the other,

No. 78.1

THE SPECTATOR.

and is amazed to see in it, My lord, I received your grace's commands, with an entire submission to. If he is at an entertainment, you may see the pieces of bread continually multiplying round his plate. It is true, the rest of the company want it as well as their knives and forks, which Menalcas does not let them keep long. Some-intention of dining together, that the hall times in a morning he puts his whole family in a hurry, and at last goes out without being able to stay for his coach or dinner, and for that day you may see him in every part of the town, except the very place where he had appointed to be upon a business of importance. You would often take him for every thing that he is not; for a fellow quite stupid, for he hears nothing; for a fool, for he talks to himself, and has an hundred grimaces and motions with his head, which are altogether involuntary; for a proud man, for he looks full upon you, and takes no notice of your saluting him. The truth of it is, his eyes are open, but he makes no use of them, and neither sees you, nor any man, nor any thing else. He came once from his country-house, and his own footmen undertook to rob him, and succeeded. They held a flambeau to his throat, and bid him deliver his purse; he did so, and coming home told his friends he had been robbed; they desired to know the particulars, Ask my servants,' says Menalcas, for they were with me.

per season; on which account this is to as sure you that the club of Ugly Faces was instituted originally at Cambridge, in the merry reign of King Charles II. As in great bodies of men it is not difficult to find members enough for such a club, so (I remember) it was then feared, upon their belonging to Clare-hall, the ugliest then in the town (though now the neatest) would not be large enough handsomely to hold the company. Invitations were made to great numbers, but very few accepted them without much difficulty. One pleaded, that being at London, in a bookseller's shop, a lady going by with a great belly longed to kiss him. He had certainly been excused, but that evidence appeared, that indeed one in London did pretend she longed to kiss him, but that it was only a pickpocket, who during his kissing her stole away all his money. Another would have got off by a dimple in his chin; but it was proved upon him, that he had, by coming into a room, made a woman miscarry, and frightened two children into fits. A third alleged, that he was taken by a lady for another gentleman, who was one of the handsomest in the university: but upon inquiry it was found that the lady had actually lost one eye, and the other was very much upon the decline. A fourth produced letters out of the country in his vindication, in which a gentleman offered him his daughter, who had lately fallen in love with him, with a good fortune; but it was made appear, that the young lady was amorous, and had like to have run away with her father's coachman, so that it was supposed, that her pretence of falling in love with him, was only in order to be well married. It was pleasant to hear the several excuses which were made, insomuch that some made as much interest to be excused, as they would from serving sheriff; however, at last the society was formed, and proper officers were appointed; and the day was fixed for the entertainment, which was in venison season. A pleasant fellow of King's-college (commonly called Crab, from his sour look, and the only man who did not pretend to get off) was nominated for chaplain; and nothing was wanting but some one to sit in the elbow-chair, by way of president, at the upper end of As to the Cambridge affair, the hu- the table; and there the business stuck, for mour was really carried on in the way I there was no contention for superiority describe it. However, you have a full there. This affair made so great a noise, commission to put out or in, and to do that the King, who was then at Newmarwhatever you think fit with it. I have al-ket, heard of it, and was pleased merrily ready had the satisfaction of seeing you take that liberty with some things I have before sent you. Go on, sir, and prosper. You have the best wishes of, sir, your very affectionate and obliged humble servant.' Cambridge.

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MR. SPECTATOR,-You well know it is of great consequence to clear titles, and it is of importance that it be done in the pro

and graciously to say, 'He could not be there himself, but he would send them a brace of bucks.'

"I would desire you, sir, to set this affair in a true light, that posterity may not be misled in so important a point; for when the wise man who shall write your true history,' shall acquaint the world, that you had a diploma sent from the Ugly Club at

Oxford, and that by virtue of it you were admitted into it, what a learned war will there be among future critics about the original of that club, which both universities will contend so warmly for? And pernaps some hardy Cantabrigian author may then boldly affirm, that the word Oxford was an interpolation of some Oxonian instead of Cambridge. This affair will be best adjusted in your life-time; but I hope your affection to your mother will not make you partial to your aunt.

To tell you, sir, my own opinion: though I cannot find any ancient records of any acts of the society of the Ugly Faces, considered in a public capacity; yet, in a private one, they have certainly antiquity on their side. I am persuaded they will hardly give place to the Loungers, and the Loungers are of the same standing with the university itself.

WHO confess their faults.' What hopes then have we of having justice done us, when the makers of our very prayers and laws, and the most learned in all faculties, seem to be in a confederacy against us, and our enemies themselves must be our judges.

The Spanish proverb says, El sabio muda consejo, el necio no; i. e. “A wise man changes his mind, a fool never will.' So that we think you, sir, a very proper person to address to, since we know you to be capable of being convinced, and changing your judgment. You are well able to settle this affair, and to you we submit our cause. We desire you to assign the butts and bounds of each of us; and that for the future we may both enjoy our own. would desire to be heard by our counsel, but that we fear in their very pleadings they would betray our cause: besides, we Though we well know, sir, you want no have been oppressed so many years, that motives to do justice, yet I am commission-we can appear no other way but in forma ed to tell you, that you are invited to be ad- pauperis. All which considered, we hope mitted ad eundem at Cambridge; and I you will be pleased to do that which to believe I may venture safely to deliver this right and justice shall appertain. And your as the wish of our whole university.' petitioners,' &c.

"To Mr. Spectator.

"The humble Petition of WHO and WHICH, showeth,

No. 79.] Thursday, May 31, 1711.
Oderunt peccare boni virtutis amore.

We

R.

Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xvi. 52. The good, for virtue's sake, abhor to sin.-Creech. I HAVE received very many letters of late whom are very angry with me for abridgfrom my female correspondents, most of

'That your petitioners being in a forlorn and destitute condition, know not to whom we should apply ourselves for relief, because there is hardly any man alive who hath not injured us. Nay, we speak it with sorrow, even you yourself, whom we should suspect of such a practice the lasting their pleasures, and looking severely of all mankind, can hardly acquit yourself upon things in themselves indifferent. But of having given us some cause of com- this imputation. All I contend for is, that I think they are extremely unjust to me in plaint. We are descended of ancient families, and kept up our dignity and honour those excellencies, which are to be regarded but in the second place, should not precede many years, till the jack-sprat THAT sup- more weighty considerations. The heart of planted us. How often have we found ourselves slighted by the clergy in their pul- half a life spent in discourses on the subjecman deceives him in spite of the lectures of pits, and the lawyers at the bar? Nay, how tion of passion; and I do not know why one often have we heard, in one of the most polite and august assemblies in the uni- may not think the heart of woman as unfaithful to itself. If we grant an equality in verse, to our great mortification, these the faculties of both sexes, the minds of words, That THAT that noble lord urged;' which if one of us had had justice done, and consequently may, without disrespect women are less cultivated with precepts, would have sounded nobler thus, 'That WHICH that noble lord urged.' Senators to them, be accounted more liable to illuthemselves, the guardians of British liber- sion, in cases wherein natural inclination is ty, have degraded us, and preferred THAT out of the interests of virtue. I shall take to us; and yet no decree was ever given up my present time in commenting upon a against us. In the very acts of parliament, in which the utmost right should be done to every body, word, and thing, we find ourselves often either not used, or used one instead of another. In the first and best prayer children are taught, they learn to misuse us: Our Father WHICH art in heaven,' should be Our Father, wнO 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I am young, and art in heaven;' and even a Convocation, very much inclined to follow the paths of after long debates, refused to consent to an innocence; but at the same time, as I have alteration of it. In our General Confession a plentiful fortune, and am of quality, I am we say, 'Spare thou them, O God, WHICH unwilling to resign the pleasures of distincconfess their faults,' which ought to be tion, some little satisfaction in being ad

from thence leave the reader to judge whebillet or two which came from ladies, and is possible fine women may be mistaken. ther I am in the right or not, in thinking it The following address seems to have no other design in it, but to tell me the writer will do what she pleases for all me.

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