much concerned at the obstinate refusal of his daughter; and did not find it very difficult to excuse himself upon that account to his intended fon-in-law, who had all along regarded this alliance rather as a marriage of convenience than of love. Constantia had now no relief but in her devotions and exercises of religion, to which her affictions had so entirely subjected her mind, that after some years had abated the violence of her forrows, and settled her thoughts in a kind of tranquillity, she resolved to pass the remainder of her days in a convent. Her father was not displeased with a resolution, which would save money in his family, and readily complied with his daughter's intentions. Accordingly in the twenty-fifth year of her age, while her beauty was yet in all its height and bloom, he carried her to a neighbouring city, in order to look out a sisterhood of nuns among whom to place his daughter. There was in this place a father of a convent who was very much renowned for his piety and exemplary life; and as it is usual in the Romish church for those who are under any great affliction, or trouble of mind, to apply themselves to the most eminent confeffors for pardon and confolation, our beautiful votary took the opportunity of confeffing herself to this celebrated father. We must now return to Theodofius, who, the very morning that the above-mentioned inquiries had been made after him, arrived at a religious house in the city, where now Constantia resided; and defiring that fecrecy and concealment of the fathers of the convent, which is very usual upon any extraordinary occasion, he made himself one of the order, with a private vow never to enquire after Constantia; whom he looked upon as given away to his rival upon the day on which, according to common fame, their marriage was to have been folemnized. Having in his youth made a good progress in learning, that he might dedicate himself more entirely to religion, he entered into holy orders, and in a few years became renowned for his fanctity of life, and those pious sentiments which he inspired into all who conversed with him. It was this holy man to whom Conftantia had determined to apply herself in confeffion, though neither the nor any other, besides the prior of the convent, knew any thing of his name or family.. The gay, the amiable Theodofius had now taken upon him the name of Father Francis, and was so far concealed in a long beard, a shaven head, and a religious habit, that it was impossible to discover the man of the world in the venerable conventual. As he was one morning shut up in his confeffional, Conftantia kneeling by him, opened the state of her foul to him; and after having given him the hiftory of a life full of innocence, she burst out in tears, and entered upon that part of her story in which he himself had fo great a share. My behaviour, fays she, has I fear been the death of a man who had no other fault but that of loving me too much. Heaven only knows how dear he was to me whilft he lived, and how bitter the remembrance of hirm has been to me fince his death. She here paused and lifted up her eyes that streamed with tears towards the father; who was so moved with the sense of her forrows, that he could only command his voice, which was broke with fighs and fobbings, fo far as to bid her proceed. She followed his direc tions, and in a flood of tears poured out her heart before him. The father could not forbear weeping aloud, infomuch that in the agonies of his grief the feat shook under him. Conftantia, who thought the good man was thus moved by his compaffion towards her, and by the horror of her guilt, proceeded with the utmost contrition to acquaint him with that vow of virginity in which the was going to engage herself, as the proper atonement for her fins, and the only facrifice she could make to the memory of Theodosius. The father, who by this time had pretty well compofed himself, burst out again in tears upon hearing that name to which he had been so long disused, and upon receiving this instance of an unparalleled fidelity from one who he thought had feveral years fince given herself up to the poffeffion of another. Amidst the interruptions of his forrow, feeing his penitent overwhelmed with grief, he was only able to bid her from time to time be comforted to tell her that her fins were forgiven her that her guilt was not fo great as the apprehended that she should not fuffer herself to be afflicted above measure. After which he recovered himself enough to give her the absolution in form; directing her at the same time to repair to him again the next day, that he might encourage her in the pious resolutions she had taken, and give her fuitable exhortations for her behaviour in it. Constantia retired, and the next morning renewed her applications. Theodofius having manned his foul with proper thoughts and reflections, exerted himself on this occafion in the best manner he could to animate his penitent in the course of life the was entered upon, and wear out of her mind those groundless fears and apprehenfions which had taken possession of it; concluding, with a promise to her, that he would from time to time continue his admonitions when she should have taken upon her the holy veil. The rules of our respective orders, fays he, will not permit that I should fee you, but you may affure yourself not only of having a place in my prayers, but of receiving such frequent instructions as I can convey to you by letters. Go on chearfully in the glorious course you have undertaken, and you will quickly find such a peace and fatisfaction in your mind, which it is not in the power of the world to give. Conftantia's heart was so elevated with the discourse of father Francis, that the very next day she entered upon her vow. As foon as the folemnities of her reception were over, she retired, as it is usual, with the abbess into her own apartment. The abbess had been informed the night before of all that had pafied between her noviciate and father Francis: from whom she now delivered to her the following letter: A S the first-fruits of those joys and confolations which you may expect from the 'life you are now engaged in, I must acquaint 'you that Theodofius, whose death fits so heavy upon your thoughts, is still alive: and that the father, to whom you have confefsed yourself, ' was once that Theodofius whom you so much 'lament. The love which we have had for one ' another will make us more happy in its difappointment than it could have done in its fuccess. Providence has disposed of us for our Dd2 advantage, Constantia faw that the hand-writing agreed with the contents of the letter: and upon reflecting on the voice of the perfon, the behaviour, and above all the extreme forrow of the father during her confeffion, the discovered Theodofius in every particular. After having wept with tears of joy, It is enough, fays the, Theodofius is still in being: I shall live with comfort and die in peacr. The letters which the father fent her afterwards are yet extant in the nunnery where the refided; and are often read to the young religious, in order to inspire them with good refolutions and fentiments of virtue. It fo happened, that after Conftantia had lived about ten years in the cloifter, a violent fever broke out in the place, which swept away great multitudes, and among others Theodofius. Upon his death-bed he fent his benediction in a very moving mannor to Conftantia, who at that time was herself fo far gone in the fame fatal distemper, that she lay delirious. Upon the interval which generally precedes death in ficknesses of this nature, the Abbefs, finding that the physicians had given her over, told her that Theodofius was just gone befcre hor, and that he had fent her his benediction in his last moments, Conftantia received it with pleafure: and now, fays the, if I do not ask any thing improper, let me be buried by Theodofius. My vow reaches no farther than the grave. What I afk is, I hope, no violation of it-She died foon after, and was interred according to her request. Their tombs are still to be seen, with a short Latin infcription over them to the following purpose. Here lie the bodies of father Francis and "fifter Conftance. "They were lovely in their "lives, and in their deaths they were not divi "ded." C Have often wished, that as in our conftitution there are several perfons whose buriness it is to watch over our laws, our liberties and commerce, certain men might be fet apart as fuperintendents of our language, to hinder any words of a foreign coin from paffing among us; and in particular to prohibit any French phrases from becoming current in this kingdom, when those of our own stamp are altogether as valuable. The present war has fo adulterated our tongue with ftrange words, that it would be impoffible for one of our great grandfathers to know what his pofterity have been doing, were he to read their exploits in a modern news-paper. Our warriors are very industrious in pro Pagating the French language, at the fame time that they are so gloriously fuccessful in beating down their power. Our foldiers are men of ftrong heads for action, and perform such feats as they are not able to express. They want words in their own tongue to tell us what it is they atchieve, and therefore fend us over accounts of their performance in a jargon of phrases, which they learn among their conquered enemies. They ought however to be provided with secretaries, and afssisted by our foreign minifters, to tell their story for them in plain English, and to let us know in our mother-tongue what it is our brave countrymen are about. The French would indeed be in the right to publish the news of the present war in English phrafes, and make their campaigns unintelligible. Their people might flatter themselves that things are not fo bad as they really are, were they thus palliated with foreign terms and thrown into shades and obscurity: but the English cannot be too clear in their narrative of those actions, which have raised their country to a higher pitch of glory than it ever yet arrived at, and which will be ftill the more admired the better they are explained. For my part, by that time a fiege is carried on two or three days, I am altogether loft and bewildered in it, and meet with so many inexplicable difficulties, that I fcarce know which fide has the better of it, until I am informed by the Tower-guns that the place is furrendered. I do indeed make fome allowances for this part of the war, fortifications having been foreign inventions, and upon that account abounding in foreign terms. But when we have won battles which may be defcribed in our own language, why are our papers filled with so many unintelligible exploits, and the French obliged to lend us a part of their tongue before we can know how they are conquered? They must be made accessary to their own disgrace, as the Britons were formerly so artificially wrought in the curtain of the Roman theatre, that they seemed to draw it up in order to give the spectators an opportunity of feeing their own defeat celebrated upon the stage: for fo Mr. Dryden has translated that verte in Virgil. Purpurea intexti tollunt aulea Britanni. Georg. 3. v. 25 "Which interwoven Britons seem to raise, "And shew the triumph that their shame dif" plays." The histories of all our former wars are tranfmitted to us in our vernacular idiom, to use the phrafe of a great modern critic. I do not find in any of the chronicles, that Edward the third ever reconnoitred our enemy, though he often difcovered the posture of the French, and as often vanquished them in battle. The Black Prince passed many a river without the help of pontoons, and filled a ditch with faggots as fuccefsfully as the generals of our times do it with fafcines. Our commanders lose half their praise, and our people half the joy, by means of those hard words and dark expressions in which our news papers do so much abound. I have feen many a prudent citizen, after having read every article, enquire of his next neighbour what news the mail had brought. I remem I remember in that remarkable year when our country was delivered from the greatest fears and apprehenfions, and raised to the greatest height of gladness it had ever felt fince it was a nation, I mean the year of Blenheim, I had the copy of a letter fent me out of the country, which was written from a young gentleman in the army to his father, a man of a good eftate and plain sense: as the letter was very modishly chequered with this modern military eloquence, I shall prefent my reader with a copy of it. ، ، 'SIR, U PON the junction of the French and Bavarian armies they took poft behind a great morass which they thought impracticfable. Our general the next day fent a party of horfe to reconnoitre them from a little hauteur, at about a quarter of an hour's distance ' from the army, who returned again to the camp unobserved through feveral defiles, in ⚫ one of which they met with a party of French that had been marauding, and made them all prifoners at difcretion. The day after a drum ⚫ arrived at our camp, with a message which he ⚫ would communicate to none but the general; ⚫ he was followed by a trumpet, who they say • behaved himself very faucily, with a message • from the Duke of Bavaria. The next morning ' our army being divided into two corps, made ⚫ a movement towards the enemy, you will hear in the public prints how we treated them, ' with the other circumstances of that glorious day. I had the good-fortune to be in that ' regiment that pushed the Gens d'Armes. Se' veral French battalions, whom some say were a corps de referve, made a shew of refiftance; but it only proved a gasconade, for upon our ' preparing to fill up a little foffé, in order to attack them, they beat the chamade, and fent us carte blanche. Their commandant, with a great many other general officers, and troops ' without number, are made prifonerr of war, and will, I believe, give you a visit in England, the cartel not being yet settled. Not question⚫ing.but these particulars will be very welcome ' to you, I congratulate you upon them, and am • your most dutiful fon, &c.' The father of the young gentleman upon the perusal of the letter found it contained great news, but could not guess what it was. He immediately communicated it to the curate of the parish, who upon the reading of it, being vexed to fee any thing he could not understand, fell into a kind of paffion, and told him, that his son had fent him a letter that was neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring. I wish, says he, the captain may be compos mentis, he talks of a faucy trumpet, and a drum that carries messages; then who is this carte blanche? He must either banter us or he is out of his fenfes. The father, who always looked upon the curate as a learned man, began to fret inwardly at his fon's ufage, and producing a letter which he had written to him about three posts before, you fee here, fays he, when he writes for money he knows how to speak intelligibly enough; there is no man in England can express himself clearer, when he wants a new furniture for his horfe. In short, the old man was so puzzled upon the point, that it might have fared ill with his fon, had he not A WELSTED. RISTOTLE tells us that the world is a copy or tranfcript of those ideas which are in the mind of the first Being; and that those ideas, which are in the mind of man, are a transcript of the world: to this we may add, that words are the tranfcript of those ideas which are in the mind of man, and that writing or printing are the transcript of words. As the Supreme Being has expressed, and as it were printed his ideas in the creation, men express their ideas in books, which by this great invention of these latter ages may laft as long as the fun and moon, and perish only in the general wreck of nature. Thus Cowley in his Poem on the Refurrection, mentioning the destruction of the universe, has those admirable lines. "Now all the wide extended sky, There is no other method of fixing those thoughts which arife and disappear in the mind of man, and tranfmitting them to the last periods of time; no other method of giving a permanency to our ideas, and preferving the knowledge of any particular person, when his body is mixed with the common mass of matter, and his foul retired into the world of fpirits. Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind, which are delivered down from generation to generation, as presents to the pofterity of those who are yet unborn, All other arts of perpetuating our ideas continue but a fhort time: ftatues can last but a few thousands of years, edifices fewer, and colours still fewer than edifices. Michael Angelc, Fontana, and Raphael, will hereafter be what Phidias, Vitruvius, and Apelles are at profent; the names of great ftatuaries, architects and painters, whose works are loft. The several arts are expreffed in mouldering materials: nature finks under them, and is not able to fupport the ideas which are imprest upon it. The circumftance which gives authors an advantage above all these great masters, is this, that they can multiply their originals; or rather can make copies of their works, to what number they please, which shall be as valuable as the originals themselves. This gives a great author something like a profpect of eternity, but at the fame time deprives him of those other advantages which artists meet with. The artist finds greater returns in profit, as the author in fame. What an ineftimable price would a Virgil or a Homer, a Cicero or an Ariftotle bear, were their works like a statue, a building, or a picture, or to be confined confined only in one place and made the property of a fingle perfon? If writings are thus durable, and may pass from age to age throughout the whole course of time, how careful should an author be of committing any thing to print that may corrupt posterity, and poifon the minds of men with vice and error? Writers of great talents, who employ their parts in propagating immorality, and feafoning vicious fentiments with wit and humour, are to be looked upon as the pests of fociety, and the enemies of mankind: they leave books behind them, as it is faid of those who die in distempers which breed an ill-will towards their own species, to scatter infection and destroy their pofterity. They act the counterparts of a Confucius or a Socrates; and feem to have been sent into the world to deprave human nature, and fink it into the condition of brutality. I have feen fome Roman-catholic authors, who tells that vicious writers continue in purgatory so long as the influence of their writings continues upon pofterity: for purgatory, say they, is nothing else but a cleanfing us of our fins, which cannot be faid to be done away, fo long as they continue to operate and corrupt manLind. The vicious author, say they, fins after death, and so long as he continues to fin, so long must he expect to be punished. Though the Roman-catholic notion of purgatory be indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think that if the foul after death has any knowledge ef what paffes in this world, that of an immoral writer would receive much more regret from the sense of corrupting, than fatisfaction from the thought of pleasing his surviving admirers. To take off from the severity of this speculation, I small conclude this paper with a story of an atheistical author, who at a time when he lay dangerously fick, and had defired the assistance of a neighbouring curate, confeffed to him with great contrition, that nothing fat more heavy at his heart than the fenfe of his having feduced the age by his writings, and that their evil influence was likely to continue even after his death. The curate upon farther examination, finding the penitent in the utin ft agonies of despair, and being himself a man of learning, told him, that he hoped his cafe was not so defperate as he apprehended, fince he found that he was so very fenfüble of his fault, and so fincerely repented of it. The penitent ftill urged the evil tendency of his book to fubvert all religion, and the little ground of hope there could be for one whose writings would continue to do mischief when his body was laid in ashes. The curate, finding no other way to comfort him, told him, that he did well in being amicted for the evil design with which he published his book; but that he ought to be very thankful that there was no danger of its doing any hurt: that his caufe was so very bad, and his arguments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill effects of it: in short, that he might reft fatisfied his book could do no more mischief after his death, than it had done whilst he was living. To which he added, for his farther fatisfaction, that he did not believe any befides his particular friends and acquaintance had ever been at the pains of reading it, or that any body after his death would ever inquire after it. The dying man had still fo much the frailty of an author in him, as to be cut to the heart with these conselations; and without answering the good man, asked his friends about him, with a peevishness that is natural to a fick perfon, where they had picked up such a blockhead? And whether they thought him a proper person to attend one in his condition? The curate finding that the author did not expect to be dealt with as a real and fincere penitent, but as a penitent of importance, after a short admonition withdrew; not questioning but he should be again sent for if the fickness grew desperate. The author however recovered, and has fince written two or three other tracts with the same spirit, and very luckily for his poor foul with the same success. N° 167. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER II. -Fuit baud ignobilis argis, HOR. Ep. 2. 1. 2. V. 128, IMITATED. T POPE THE unhappy force of an imagination, unguided by the check of reason and judgment, was the fubject of a former speculation. My reader may remember that he has feen in one of my papers a complaint of an unfortunate gentleman, who was unable to contain himself, when any ordinary matter was laid before him, from adding a few circumstances to enliven plain narrative. That correspondent was a person of tou warm a complexion to be fatisfied with things merely as they stood in nature, and therefore formed incidents which should have happened to have pleased him in the story, The fame ungoverned fancy which pushed that correfpondent on, in spite of himself, to relate public and notorious falfhoods, makes the author of the fol lowing letter do the fame in private; one is a prating, the other a filent liar. There is little pursued in the errors of either of these worthies, but mere present amusement: but the folly of him who lets his fancy place him in diftant scenes untroubled and uninterrupted, is very much preferable to that of him who is ever forcing a belief, and defending his untruths same moment I have been pulled by the fleeve, with new inventions. Lut I shall haften to let my crown has fallen from my head. The ill this liar in foliloquy, who calls himself a Castle-confequence of these reveries is inconceivably Builder, describe himself with the fame unreservedness as formerly appeared in my correfpondent abovementioned. If a man were to be ferious on this subject, he might give very grave admonitions to those who are following any thing in this life, on which they think to place their hearts, and tell them that they are really Castle-Builders. Fame, glory, wealth, honour have in the prospect pleasing illusions; but they who come to possess any of them will find they are ingredients towards happiness, to be regarded only in the fecond place; and that when they are valued in the first degree they are as difappointing as any of the phantoms in the following letter. I Mr. Spectator, Sept, 6. 1711. great, seeing the lofs of imaginary poffeffions 'makes impreffions of real woe. Besides, bad economy is visible and apparent in builders of 'invisible manfions. My tenants advertisements ' of ruins and dilapidations often cast a damp ' on my spirits, even in the instant when the fun, ' in all its splendor, gilds my eastern palaces. Add to this the penfive drudgery in building, ' and conftant grafping aerial trowels, diftracts and shatters the mind, and the fond builder of Babels is often curfed with an incoherent di'versity and confufion of thoughts. I do not 'know to whom I can more properly apply my' felf for relief from this fantastical evil, than to 'yourself; whom I earnestly implore to accom'modate me with a method how to fettle my ' head and cool my brain-pan. A dissertation on 'Castle-building may not only be serviceable to 6 myself, but all architects, who display their skill ' in the thin element. Such a favour would 'oblige me to make my next foliloquy not con'tain the praises of my dear felf but of the Spetators who shall, by complying with this, make His obliged, humble servant, AM a fellow of a very odd frame of mind, as you will find by the sequel; and think myself fool enough to deserve a place in your paper. I am unhappily far gone in building, and am one of that species of men who are • properly denominated Castle-builders, who scorn to be beholden to the earth for a founda' tion, or dig in the bowels of it for materials; T but erect their structures in the most unstable of elements, the air, fancy alonelaying the line, marking the extent, and shaping the model. It ' me Vitruvius. ⚫ would be difficult to enumerate what august No 168. WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 12. palaces and stately porticos have grown under my forming imagination, or what verdant meadows and shady groves have started into being ⚫ by the powerful feat of a warm fancy. A castle⚫ builder is even just what he pleases, and as such • I have grafped imaginary fceptres, and delivered ⚫ uncontroulable edicts, from a throne to which conquered nations yielded obeisance. I have • made I know not how many inroads into • France, and ravaged the very heart of that king• dom; I have dined in the Louvre, and drank champagne at Versailles; and I would have you take notice, I am not only able to vanquish a people already cowed and accustomed to flight, • but I could, Almonzor-like, drive the British • general from the field, were I less a protestant, or had ever been affronted by the confederates. • There is no art or profession, whose most celebrated masters I have not eclipsed. Wherever I have afforded my falutary presence, fevers have ceased to burn, and agues to shake the human fabric. When an eloquent fit has been upon me, an apt gesture and proper cadence has animated each fentence, and gazing crowds have found their passions worked up into rage, 'or foothed into a calm. I am short, and not ' yery well made; yet upon fight of a fine woman, I have ftretched into a proper stature, and killed ' with a good air and mein. These are the gay phantoms that dance before my waking eyes • and compose my day-dreams. I should be the moft contented happy man alive, were the chimerical happiness which springs from the paintings of fancy less fleeting and transitory. But alas! it is with grief of mind I tell you, the least breath of wind has often demolished my magnificent edifices, swept away my groves, and left no more trace of them than if they had never been. My exchequer has funk and vanished by a rap on my door, the falutation of a friend has cost me a whole continent, and in the --Pectus præceptis format amicis. HOR. Ep. 1. 1. 2. v. 128. Forms the foft bosom with the gentleft art. POPE. TT would be arrogance to neglect the appli cation of my correfpondents so far, as not sometimes to infert their animadverfions upon my paper; that of this day shall be therefore wholly composed of the hints which they have fent me. ، 6 I Mr. Spectator, Send you this to congratulate your late choice of a fubject, for treating on which you deferve public thanks; I mean that on those licensed tyrants the school-masters. If you can difarm them of their rods, you will certainly have your old age reverenced by all ' the young gentlemen of Great-Britain who are ' now between seven and seventeen years. You may boast that the incomparably wife Quinti lian and you are of one mind in this particular. "Si cui est," says he, "mens tam illiberalis ut "objurgatione non corrigatur, is etiam ad pla gas, ut peffima quæque mancipia durabitur:" i. e. "If any child be of so difingenuous a nature, as not to stand corrected by reproof, he, "like the very worst of slaves, will be hardened " even against blows themselves." And after'wards, "Pudet dicere in quæ probra nefandi "homines ifto cædendi jure abutantur:" i e. "I blush to say how shamefully those wicked " men abuse the power of correction." " " 'I was bred myself, Sir, in a very great school, of which the mafter was a Weisnman, but certainly defcended from a Spanish family, as plainly appeared from his temper as well as < his name. I leave you to judge what a fort of a fchool-mafter a Welshinan ingrafted on a Spaniard |