No. 374. FRIDAY, MAY 0, 1712.

Nil actum credens, dum quid superessct agendum.

Li.o. II. 6S7.

He reckons not the past, while aught rcnrain'd

Great to be done, or mighty to be gain'd. no We.

There is a fault, which, though common, wants a name. It is the very contrary to procrastination. As we lose the present hour by delaying from day to day to execute what we ought to do immediately, so most of us take occasion to sit still and throw away the time in our possession, by retrospect on what is past, imagining we hare already acquitted ourselves and established our characters in the sight of mankind. But when we thus put a value upon ourselves for what we have already done, any farther than to explain ourselves in order to assist our future conduct, that will give us an overweening opinion of our merit, to the prejudice of our present industry. The great rule, methinks, should be, to manage the instant in which we stand, with fortitude, equanimity, and moderation, according to men's respective circumstances. If our past actions reproach us, they cannot be atoned for by our own severe reflections so effectually as by a contrary behaviour. If they are praiseworthy, the memory of them is of no use but to act suitably to them. Thus a good present behaviour is an implicit repentance for any miscarriage in what is past; but present slackness will not make up for past activity. Time has swallowed up all that we contemporaries did yesterday, as irrevocably as it has the actions of the antediluvians. But we are again awake, and what shall we do to-day, to-day which passes while we are yet speaking ? Shall we remember the folly of last night, or resolve upon the exercise of virtue to-morrow ? Last night is oertainly gone, and to-morrow may never arrive. This instant make use of. Can you oblige any man of honour and virtue ? Do it immediately. Can you visit a sick friend? Will it revive him to see you enter, and suspend your own ease and pleasure to comfort his weakness, and hear the impertinences of a wretch in pain? Do not stay to take coach, but begone. Your mistress will bring sorrow, and your bottle madness. Go to neither.—Such virtues and diversions as these are mentioned because they occur to all men. But every man is sufficiently convinced that to suspend the use of the present moment, and resolve better for the future only, is an unpardonable folly- What I attempted to consider, was the mischief of setting such a value upon •hat is past, as to think we have done enough. Let a man have filled all the offices of life with the highest dignity till yesterday, and begin to live only to himself to-day, he must expect he will in the effects upon his reputation be considered as the man who died yesterday. The man who distinguishes himself from the rest, stands In a press of people; those before him intercept his progress, and those behind him, if he does not urge on, will tread him down. Cffisar, of whom it was said, that he thought nothing done while there was anything left for him to do, went on in performing the greatest exploits, without assuming to himself a privilege of taking rest upon the foundation of the merit of his former actions. It was the manner of that glorious captain, to write down what scenes he had passed through; but it was rather to keep his affairs in method, and capable of a clear review, in case they should be examined by others, than that he built a renown upon anything that was past. I shall produce two fragments of his to demonstrate that it was his rule of life to support himself rather by what he should perform, than what he had done already. In the tablet which he wore about him the same year in which he obtained the battle of Pharsalia, there were found these loose notes of his own conduct. It is supposed, by the circumstances they alluded to, that they might be set down the evening of the same night.

" My part is now but begun, and my glory must be sustained by the use I make of this victory; otherwise my loss will be greater than that of Pompey. Our personal reputation will rise or fall as we bear our respective fortunes. All my private enemies among the prisoners shall be spared. I will forget this, in order to obtain such another day. Trebutius is ashamed to see me : I will go to his tent, and be reconciled in private. Give all the men of honour, who take part with me, the terms I offered before the battle. Let them owe this to their friends who have been long in my interests. Power is weakened by the full use of it, but extended by moderation. Oalbinius is proud, and will be servile in his present fortune : let him wait Send for Stertinius: he is modest, and his virtue is worth gaining. I have cooled my heart with reflection, and am fit to rejoice with the army to-morrow. He is a popular general who can expose himself like a private man during a battle ; but he is more popular who can rejoice but like a private man after a victory."

What is particularly proper for the example of all who pretend to industry in the pursuit of honour and virtue is, that this hero was more than ordinarily solicitous about his reputation, when a common mind would have thought itself in security, and given itself a loose to joy and triumph. But though this is a very great instance of his temper, I must confess I am more taken with his reflections when he retired to his closet in some disturbance upon the repeated ill omens of Calpbumia's dream, the night before his death. The literal translation of that fragment shall conclude this paper.

" Be it so then. If I am to die to-morrow, that is what I am to do to-morrow. It will not be then, because I am willing it should be then: nor shall I escape it, because I am unwilling. It is in the gods when, but in myself how I shall die. If Calphurnia's dreams are fumes of indigestion, how shall I behold the day after to-morrow ? If they are from the gods, their admonition is not to prepare me to escape from their decree, but to meet it. I have lived to a fulness of days and of glory; what is there that Caesar has not done with as much honour as ancient heroes ? Caesar has not yet died; Caesar is prepared to die."

STEELE. T.

We barbarously call those bless'd,

Who are of largest tenements possess'd,

While swelling coffers break their owner's rest.

More truly happy those who can

Govern that little empire, man;

• •••••

Who spend their treasure freely, as 'twas giv'n

By the large bounty of indulgent heav'n;

Who, in a fix'd, unalterable state,

Smile at the doubtful tide of rate,

And scorn alike her friendship and her hate;

Who poison less than falsehood fear,

Loth to purchase life so dear. Stepney.

I Have more than once had occasion to mention a noble saying of Seneca the philosopher, that a virtuous person struggling with misfortunes, and rising above them, is an object on which the gods themselves may look down with delight. I shall therefore, set before my reader a scene of this kind of distress in private life, for the speculation of this day.

An eminent citizen, who had lived in good fashion and credit, was by a train of accidents, and by an unavoidable perplexity in his affairs, reduced to a low condition. There is a modesty usually attending faultless poverty, which made him rather choose to reduce his manner of living to his present circumstances, than solicit his friends in order to support the show of an estate when the substance was gone. His wife, who was a woman of sense and virtue, behaved herself on this occasion with uncommon decency, and never appeared so amiable in his eyes as now. Instead of upbraiding him with the ample fortune she had brought, or the many great offers she had refused for his sake, she redoubled all the instances of her affection, while her husband was continually pouring out his heart to her in complaints that he had ruined the best woman in the world. He sometimes came home at a time when she did not expect him, and surprised her in tears, which she endeavoured to conceal, and always put on an air of cheerfulness to receive him. To lessen their expense, their eldest daughter (whom I shall call Amanda) was sent into the country, to the house of an honest farmer, who had married a servant of the family. This young woman was apprehensive of the ruin which was approaching, and had privately engaged a friend in the neighbourhood to give her an account of what passed from time to time in her father's affairs. Amanda was in the bloom of her youth and beauty; when the lord of the manor, who often called in at the farmer's house as he followed his country sports, fell passionately in love with her. He was a man of great generosity, but from a loose education had contracted a hearty aversion to marriage. He therefore entertained a design upon Amanda's virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private. The innocent creature, who never suspected his intentions, was pleased with his person; and having observed his growing passion for her, hoped by so advantageous a match she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting her impoverished relations. One day as he called to see her, he found her in tears over a letter she had just received from her friend, which gave an account that her father had lately been stripped of everything by an execution, The lover, who with some difficulty found out the cause of her grief, took this occasion to make her a proposal. Tt is impossible to express Amanda's confusion, when she found his pretensions were not honourable. She was now deserted of all her hopes, and had no power to speak; but rushing from him in the utmost disturbance, locked herself up in her chamber. He immediately dispatched a messenger to her father with the following letter—. " Sir, " I Have heard of your misfortunes, and have offered your daughter, if she will live with me, to settle on her four hundred pounds a year, and to lay down the sum for which you are now distressed. I will be so ingenuous as to tell ymi that I do not intend marriage: but if you are wise, you will use your authority with her not to be too nice, when she has an opportunity of saving vou and your family, and of making herself happy.

J "I am, &c."

This letter came to the hands of Amanda's mother; she ojtened and read it with great surprise and concern. She did not think it proper to explain herself to the messenger, but desiring him to call again the next morning, she wrote to her daughter as follows:—

" Dearest Child,

" Yocb father and I have just now received a letter from a gentleman, who pretends love to you, with a proposal that insults our misfortunes, and would throw us to a lower degree of misery than anything which is come upon us. How could this barbarous man think that the tenderest of parents would be tempted to supply their want by giving up the best of children to infamy and ruin ? It is a mean and cruel artifice to make this proposal at a time when he thinks our necessities might compel us to anything: but we will not eat the bread of shame; and therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid the snare which is laid for thy virtue. Beware of pitying us; it is not so bad as you perhaps have been told. All things will yet be well, and 1 shall write my child better news.

" I have been interrupted; I know not how I was moved to say things would mend. As I was going on, I was startled by a noise of one that knocked at the door, and hath brought us an unexpected supply of a debt which has long been owing. Oh! I will now tell thee all. It is some days I have lived almost without support, having conveyed what little money I could raise to your poor rather. Thou wilt weep to think where he is, yet be assured be will soon be at liberty. That cruel letter would have broke his heart, but I have concealed it from him. I have no companion at present besides little Fanny, who stands watching my looks as I write, and is crying for her sister. She says she is sure you are not well, having discovered that my present trouble is about you. But do not think I would thus repeat my sorrows to grieve thee. So, it is to entreat thee not to make them insupportable by adding what would be worst than all. Let us bear cheerfully an affliction, which we have not brought on ourselves, and remember there is a Power who can better deliver us out of it, than by the loss of thy innocence. Heaven preserve my dear child !

" Thy affectionate mother,

The messenger, notwithstanding he promised to deliver this letter to Amanda, carried it first to his master, who he imagined would be glad to have an opportunity of giving it into her hands himself. His master was impatient to know the success of his proP03*!, and therefore broke open the letter privately to see the con"Bts. He was not a little moved at so true a picture of virtue in 'listress; but at the same time was infinitely surprised to find his "Hers rejected. However, be resolved not to suppress the letter.