Tulip's colour changed at the reading of this epiftle; for which reason his mistress snatched it to read the contents. While she was doing so, Tulip went away, and the ladies now agreeing in a common calamity, bewailed together the dangers of their lovers. They immediately un dressed to go out, and took hackneys to prevent mifchief: but, after alarming all parts of the town, Craftin was found by his widow in his pumps at Hide-Park, which appointment Tulip never kept, but made his escape into the country. Flavia tears her hair for his inglorious safety, curses and despises her charmer, is fallen in love with Craftin: which is the first part of the hiftory of the Rival Mother. commends to me Mr. Mede upon the Revelations. A fourth lays it down as an unquestionable truth, that a lady cannot be thoroughly accomplished who has not read The fecret Treaties and Negociations of Marshal D'Estrades. Mr. Jacob Tonson, jun. is of opinion, that Bayle's Dictionary might be of very great use to the ladies, in order to make them general scholars. Another, whose name I have forgotten, thinks it highly proper that every woman with child should read Mr. Wall's History of Infant Baptifm; as another is very importunate with me to recommend to all my female readers The finishing Stroke; being a Vindication of the Patriarchal Scheme, &c. In the second class I shall mention books which are recommended by husbands, if I may believe the writers of them. Whether or no they are real husbands or personated ones I cannot tell, but the books they recommend are as follow. A Paraphrafe on the History of Susannah. Rules to keep Lent. The Christian's Overthrow pres HOR. Ep. 2. 1. 2. v. 61. vented. A Dissuasive from the Play-house. The IMITATED. No 92. FRIDAY, JUNE 15. Y QUR paper is a part of my tea-equipage; and my fervant knows my humour so * well, that calling for my breakfast this morn*ing, it being paft my usual hour, she answered, the Spectator was not yet come in; but that the * tea kettle boiled, and the expected it every moment. Having thus in part fignified to you the esteem and veneration which I have for you, I must now put you in mind of the catalogue of * books which you have promised to recommend to our sex; for I have deferred furnithing my closet with authors, until I receive your advice in this particular, being your daily difciple and humble servant, 'Leonora. In answer to my fair difciple, whom I am very proud of, I must acquaint her and the rest of my feaders, that fince I have called out for help in my catalogue of a lady's libraty, I have received many letters upon that head, some of which I shall give an account of. In the first class 1 shall take notice of those which come to me from eminent bookfellers, who every one of them mention with refpect the authors they have printed, and confequently have an eye to their own advantage more than to that of the ladies. One tells me, that he thinks it abfolutely neceffary for women to have true notions of right and equity, and that therefore they cannot peruse a better book than Dalton's Country Justice: another thinks they cannot be without The Complete Jockey. A third obferving the curifity and defire of prying into fecrets, which he tells me is natural to the fair sex, is of opinion this female inclination, if well directed, might turn very much to their advantage, and therefore re 4 Virtues of Camphire, with Directions to make Camphire Tea, The pleasures of a country life, The Government of the Tongue. A letter dated from Cheapside defires me that I would advise all young wives to make themselves mistresses of Wingate's Arithmetic, and concludes with a postscript, that he hopes I will not forget The Countess of Kent's Receipts. I may reckon the ladies themselves as a third class among these my correspondent and privycounsellors. In a letter from one of them, I am advifed to place Pharamond at the head of my catalogue, and, if I think proper, to give the fecond place to Cassandra. Coquetilla begs me not to think of nailing women upon their knees with manuals of devotion, nor of scorching their faces with books of housewifery. Florella defires to know if there are anybooks written against prudes, and intreats me, if there are, to give them a place in my library. Plays of all forts have their several advocates. All for Love is mentioned in above fifteen letters; Sophonisba, or Hannibal's Overthrow, in a dozen; the Innocent Adultery is likewife highly approved of: Mithridates King of Pontus has many friends; Alexander the Great and Aurengzebe have the same num ber of voices; but Theodofius, or the Force of Love, carries it from all the rest. I should, in the last place, mention fuch books as have been proposed by men of learning, and those who appear competent judges of this matter, and must here take occafion to thank A. B. whoever it is that conceals himself under those two letters, for his advice upon this fubject: but as I find the work I have undertaken, to be very difficult, I shall defer the executing of it until I am further acquainted with the thoughts of my judicious contemporaries, and have time to examine the several books they offer to me; being refolved, in an affair of this moment, to proceed with the greatest caution. In the mean while, as I have taken the ladies under my particular care, I shall make it my bufiness to find out in the best authors, ancient and modern, such passages as may be for their use, and endeavour to accommodate them as well as I can to their taste; not questioning but the valuable part of the sex will easily pardon me, if from time to time I laugh at those little vanities and follies which appear in the behaviour of fome of them, and which are more proper for ridicule than a serious censure. Most books being calculated for male readers, and generally written with an eye to men of learning, makes a work of this nature the more necessary; besides I am the more encouraged, because I flatter my self that I fee the sex daily improving by these my speculations. My fair readers are already deeper scholars than the beaux; I could name fome of them who talk much better than several gentlemen that make a figure at Will's; and as I frequently receive letters from the fine Ladies and pretty Fellows, I cannot but observe that the former are fuperior to the others, not only in the fenfe but the spelling. This cannot but but have a good effect upon the female world, and keep them from being charmed by those empty coxcombs that have hitherto been admired among the women, though laughed at among the men. fome be - I am credibly informed that Tom Tattle passes for an impertinent fellow, that Will Trippet gins to be smoked, and that Frank Smoothly himself is within a month of a coxcomb, in cafe I think fit to continue this paper. For my part, ás it is my business in some measure to detect fuch as would lead aftray weak minds by their false pretences to wit and judgment, humour and gallantry, I shall not fail to lend the best lights I am able to the fair fex for the continuation of these their discoveries. W L 6. CREECH. contented to lose three years in his life, could he place things in the posture which he fancies they will stand in after fuch a revolution of time.. The lover would be glad to strike out of his existence all the moments that are to pass away before the happy meeting. Thus, as fast as our t'me runs, we should be very glad in most parts of our lives that it ran much faster than it does. Several hours of the day hang upon our hands, nay we with away whole years; and travel through time as through a country filled with many wild and. empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, that we may arrive at those several little fettlements or imaginary points of rest which are dif persed up and down in it. If we divide the life of most men into twenty parts, we shall find that at least nineteen of them are mere gaps and chasms, which are neither filled with pleasure nor business. I do not however include in this calculation the life of those men whol are in a perpetual hurry of affairs, but of those only who are not always engaged in scenes of action; and I hope I shalt not do an unacceptable piece of service to these persons if I point out to them certain methods for the the filling up their empthe ty spaces of life. The methods I shall propofe to them are as follow.. The first is the exercise of virtue, in the most ge. neral acceptation of the word. That particular scheme which comprehends the social virtues, may give employment to the most industrious temper, and find a man in business more than the most active station of life. To advise the ignorant, re lieve the needy, comfort the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives. A man has frequent opportunities of mitigating the fiercenefs of a party; of doing justice to the character of a deserving man; of softening the en vious, quieting the angry, and rectifying the pre judiced; which are all of them employments: suited to a reasonable nature, and bring great fatisfaction to the perfon who can bufy himself in them with difcretion. از هم E all of us complain of the shortness of time, faith Seneca, and yet have much more than we know what to do with. Our lives, fays he, are spent either in doing nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in doing no thing that we ought to do we are always complaining our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end of them. That noble phi lofopher has described our inconfiftency with our felves in this particular, by all those various turns of expreffion and thought which are peculiar to his writings. I often confider mankind as wholly inconsistent with itself in a point that bears some affinity to the former. Though we feem grieved at the short nefs of life in general, we are wishing every period of it 'at an end. The minor longs to be at age, then to be a man of bufiness, then to make up an eftate, then to arrive at honours, then to retire. Thus although the whole of life is allowed by every one to be short, the several divisions of it appear long and tedious. We are for lengthening qur span in general, but would fain contract the parts of which' it was composed. The ufarer, would be very well fatisfied to have all the time annihilated that lies between the present moment and next quarter-day, The politician would be A There is another kind of virtue that may find employment for those retired hours in which we are altogether left to ourselves, and destitute of company and conversation; I mean that inter, course and communication which every reasonable creature ought to maintain with the great Author of his being. The man who lives under ant habitual sense of the divine presence keeps up a perpetual chearfulness of temper, and enjoys every moment the fatisfaction of thinking himfelf in company with his dearest and best of. friends. The time never lies heavy upon him; it is impossible for him to be alone. His thoughts and paffions are the most busied at fuch hours when those of other men are the most inactive;> he no fooner steps out of the world but his heart burns with devotion, swells with hope, and triumphs in the consciousness of that presence which every where furrounds him; or, on the contrary, pours out its fears, its forrows, its apprehenfions, to the great fupporter of its existence. I have here only confidered the neceffity of a man's being virtuous, that he may have fomething to do; but if we confider further, that the exercise of virtue is not only an amusement for the time it lasts, but that its influence extends to those parts of our exiftence which lie beyond the grave, and that our whole Eternity is to take its colour from those hours, which we here employ in virtue or in vice, the argument redoubles upon us, for putting in practice this method of passing away our time. When a man has but a little stock to improve, and has opportunities of turning it all to good account, what thall we think of him if he suffers nineteen parts of it to lie dead, and perhaps em ploys even the twentieth to his ruin or disadvan tage? But because the mind cannot be always in its fervors, nor ftrained up to a pitch of virtue, it is necessary to find out proper employments for it in its relaxations. The next method therefore that I would propose to fill up our time, should be useful and in nocent diversions. I must confefs I think it is below reasonable creatures to be altogether converfant in such diversions as are merely innocent, and have nothing else to recommend them, but that there is no hurt in them. Whether any kind of gaming has even thus much to say for itself, I shall not determine; but I think it is very wonderful to fee perfons of the best sense passing away a dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a pack of cards, with no other conversation but what is made up of a few game phrases, and no other ideas but those of black or red spots ranged together in different figures. Would not a man laugh to hear any one of this species complaining that life is short? The stage might be made a perpetual fource of the most noble and useful entertainments, were it under proper regulations. But the mind never unbends itfelf so agreeably as in the conversation of a well-chofen friend. There is indeed no blessing of life that is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a difcreet and vir tuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, animates virtue and good resolution, fooths and allays the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life. 1 Next to such an intimacy with a particular perfon, one would endeavour after a more general conversation with fuch as are able to entertain and improve those with whom they converse, which are qualifications that feldom go afunder. • There are many other useful amusements of life, which one would endeavour to multiply, that one might on all occafions have recourse to something rather than fuffer the mind to lie idle, or run adrift with any paffion that chances to rife in it, A man that has a taste in music, painting, or architecture, is like one that has another fenfe when compared with such as have no relish of those arts. The florist, the planter, the gardener, the busbandman, when they are only as accomplishments to the man of fortune, are great reliefs to a country life, and many ways useful to those who are poffefsed of them. But of all the diverfions of life, there is none fo proper to fill up its empty spaces, as the read ing of useful and entertaining authors. But this I shall only touch upon, because it in fome meafare interferes with the third method, which I shall propofe in another paper, for the employment of our dead unactive bodies, and which I shall only mention in general to be the pursuit of knowledge. T HE last method which I proposed in my Saturday's paper, for filling up those empty spaces of life which are so tedious and burden-. some to idle people, is the employing ourselves in the pursuit of knowledge. I remember Mr. Boyle, fpeaking of a certain mineral, tells us, that a man may confume his whole life in the study of it, without arriving at the knowledge of all its qualities. The truth of it is, there is not a single science, or any branch of it, that might not furnish a man with business for life, though it were much longer than it is. I shall not here engage on those beaten subjects of the usefulness of knowledge, nor of the pleasure and perfection it gives the mind, nor on the me thods of attaining it, nor recommend any particular branch of it, all which have been the topics of many other writers; but shall indulge myself in a speculation that is more uncommon, and may therefore perhaps be more entertaining. I have before shewn how the unemployed parts of life appear long and tedious, and shall here endeavour to shew how those parts of life which are exercised in study, reading, and the pursuits of knowledge, are long but not tedious, and by that means discover a method of lengthening our lives, and at the fame time of turning all the parts of them to our advantage. Mr. Locke observes, " That we get the idea " of time, or duration, by reflecting on that "train of ideas which succeed one another in " our minds: That for this reason when we "fsleep foundly without dreaming, we have no "perception of time, or the length of it, whilst "we fleep; and that the moment wherein we "leave off to think, until that moment we be"gin to think again, seems to have no distance." To which the author adds, " and so I doubt not " but it would be to a waking man, if it were "poffible for him to keep only one idea in his " mind, without variation, and the fucceffion of " others; and we fee, that one who fixes his "thoughts very intently on one thing, so as to "take but little notice of the fuccession of ideas " that pass in his mind whilft he is taken up " with that earnest contemplation, lets flip out " of his account a good part of that duration, "and thinks that time shorter than it is." We might carry this thought further, and confider a man as, on one fide, shortening his time by thinking on nothing, or but a few things; so, on the other, as lengthening it, by employing his thoughts on many fubjects, or by entertaining a quick and conftant fucceffion of ideas. Accordingly Monfieur Mallebranche, in his Inquiry af ter Truth, which was published several years before Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding, tells us, that it is possible some creatures may think half an hour as long as we do a thousand years; or look upon that space of *duration which we call a minute, as an hour, a week, a month, or a whole age, This notion of Monfieur Mallebranche, is ca pable of fome little explanation from what I have quoted out of Mr. Locke; for if our notion a dream and delufion; that he had not stirred from of time is produced by our reflecting on the fucceffion of ideas in our mind, and this succession may be infinitely accelerated or retarded, it will follow, that different beings may have different notions of the fame parts of duration, according as their ideas, which we suppose are equally diftinct in each of them, follow one another in a greater or less degree of rapidity. There is a famous passage in the Alcoran, which looks as if Mahomet had been possessed of the notion we are now speaking of. It is there faid, that the angel Gabriel took Mahomet out of his bed one morning to give him a fight of all things in the seven heavens, in paradise, and in hell, which the prophet took a distinct view of; and after having held ninety thousand conferences with God, was brought back again to his bed. All this, fays the Alcoran, was transacted in so small a space of time, that Mahomet at his return found his bed still warm, and took up an earthen pitcher, which was thrown down at the very instant that the an gel Gabriel carried him away, before the water was all spilt. the place where he then stood; and that he had only dipped his head into the water, and immediately taken it out again. The Mahometan Doctor took this occafion of instructing the fuitan, that nothing was impossible with God; and that He, with whom a thousand years are but as one day, can, if he pleases, make a fingle day, nay a single moment, appear to any of his creatures as a thousand years. I shall leave my reader to compare these Eastern fables with the notions of those two great Philosophers whom I have quoted in this paper; and shall only by way of application, defire him to confider how we may extend life beyond its natural dimensions, by applying ourselves diligently to the pursuits of knowledge. The hours of a wife man are lengthened by his ideas, as those of a fool are by his passions, the time of the one is long, because he does not know what to do with it; so is that of the other, because he distinguishes every moment of it with useful or amusing thoughts; or in other words, because the one is always wishing it away, and and the other always enjoying it. How different is the view of past life, in the man who is grown old in knowledge and wisdom, from that of him who is grown old in ignorance and folly? The latter is like the owner of a barren country that fills his eye with the profpect of naked hills and plains, which produce nothing either profitable or ornamental; the other beholds a beautiful and spacious landscape divided into de. lightful gardens, green meadows, fruitful fields, and can scarce cast his eye on a single fpot of his possessions, that is not covered with fome beautiful plant or flower. No 95. TUESDAY, JUNE 19. Light forrows speak, great grief is dumb. There is a very pretty story in the Turkish Tales which relates to this passage of that famous impostor, aad bears some affinity to the subject we are now upon. A fultan of Egypt, who was an infidel, used to laugh at this circumstance in Mahomet's life, as what was altogether impossible and absurd: but converfing one day with a great doctor in the law, who had the gift of working miracles, the doctor told him he would quickly convince him of the truth of this passage in the hif tory of Mahomet, if he would confent to do what he should defire of him. Upon this the sultan was directed to place himself by an huge tub of water, which he did accordingly; and as he stood by the tub amidst a circle of his great men, the holy man bid him plunge his head into the water, and draw it up again: the king accordingly thrust his head into the water, and at the fame time found him- Curæ leves lequuntur, ingentes ftupent. self at the foot of a mountain on a fea-fhore. The king immediately began to rage against his doctor for this piece of treachery and witchcraft; but at length, knowing it was in vain to be angry, he fet himself to think on proper methods for getting a livelihood in this strange country: accordingly he applied himself to some people whom he saw at work in a neighbouring wood: these people conducted him to a town that stood at a little distance from the wood, where, after some adventures, he married a woman of great beauty and fortune. He lived with this woman so long until he had by her seven fons and seven daughters; he was afterwards reduced to great want, and forced to think of plying in the streets as a porter for his livelihood. One day as he was walking alone by the fea-fide, being feized with many me, lancholy reflections upon his former and his present state of life, which had raised a fit of devotion in him, he threw off his clothes with a design to wash himself, according to the custom of the Mahometans, before he said his prayers. After his first plunge into the fea, he no fooner raised his head above the water but he found himself standing by the fide of the tub, with the great men of his court about him, and the holy man at his fide. He immediately upbraided his teacher for having fent him on such a course of adventures, and betrayed him into fo long a state of miscry, and fervitude; but was wonderfully furprised when he heard that the state he talked of was only H L AVING read the two following letters with much pleasure, I cannot but think the good sense of them will be as agreeable to the town as any thing I could say either on the topics they treat of, or any others. They both allude to former papers of mine, and I do not question but the first, which is upon inward mourning, will be thotight the production of a man who is well acquainted with the generous yearnings of distress in a manly temper, which is above the relief of tears. A fpeculation of my own on that subject I shall defer until another occafion. The fecond letter is from a lady of a mind as great as her understanding. There is perhaps fomething in the beginning of it which I ought in modesty to conceal; but I have so much estcem for this correspondent, that I will not alter a tittle of what the writes, though I am thus fcrupulous at the price of being ridiculous. I Mr. Spectator, Was very well pleased with your discourse upon general mourning, and thould be obli'ged to you if you would enter into the matter more deeply, and give us your thoughits upon the common fenfe the ordinary poople hate of the demonftrations of grief, who prescribe rules and fashions to the most folemn afligion; fuch as the lofs of the nearest relations and dearest friends. R ८ ، ८ ، 6 ، ، ، friends. You cannot go to visit a fick friend, but fome impertinent waiter about him obforves the mufcles of your face, as strictly as if they were prognostics of his death or recovery. If he happens to be taken from you, you are immediately furrounded with numbers of these spectators, who expect a melancholy shrug of your shoulders, a pathetical shake of your head, and an expressive distortion of your face, to meafure your affection and value for the deceased: but there is nothing, on these occafions, fo much in their favour as immoderate weeping. As all their passions are fuperficial, they imagine the feat of love and friendsnip to be placed visibly in the eyes: they judge what stock of kindness you had for the living, by the quantity of tears you pour out for the dead: fo that if one body wants that quantity of falt - water another abounds with, he is in great danger of being thought insensible or ill-natured: they are strangers to friendship, whose grief happens not to be moist enough to wet fuch a parcel of *handkerchiefs. But experience has told us, nothing is fo fallacious as this outward fign of forrow; and the natural history of our bodies will teach us that this flux of the eyes; this faculty of weeping, is peculiar only to fome constitutions. We obferve in the tender bodies of children, when croffed in their little wills and expectations, how diffolvable they are into tears; if this were what grief is in men, nature would not be able to fupport them in the excess of it for one moment. Add to this observation, how quick is their tranfition from this paffion to that of their joy. • I will not fay we fee often, in the next tender things to children, tears shed without much * grieving. Thus it is common to shed tears without much forrow, and as common to fuffer much forrow without shedding tears. Grief and weeping are indeed frequent com'panions; but, I believe, never in their higheft excesses. As laughter does not proceed from profound joy, fo neither does weeping from profound forrow. The forrow which appears so eafily at the eyes, cannot have pierced deeply into the heart. The heart diftended with grief, stops all the passages for tears or lamentations. ، Now, Sir, what I would incline you to in all this, is, that you would inform the shallow * critics and observers upon forrow, that true affliction labours to be invisible, that it is a stranger to ceremony, and that it bears in its own nature a dignity much above the little circumstances which are affected under the notion of decency. You must know, Sir, I • have lately loft a dear friend, for whom I have not yet shed a tear, and for that reafon your animadverfions on that fubject would be the more acceptable to, public benefit; fo I am fenfible, be that as it ' will, you must nevertheless find the secret and incomparable pleasure of doing good, and be a ، great sharer in the entertainment you give. I acknowledge our fex to be much obliged, and 'I hope improved by your labours, ard even your intentions, more particularly for our fer'vice. If it be true, as it is sometimes said, 'that our sex have an influence on the other, your paper may be a yet more general good. Your directing us to reading is certainly the 'best means to our instruction; but I think, 'with you, caution in that particular very ufeful, fince the improvement of our understand'ings may, or may not, be of service to us, according as it is managed. It has been thought 'we are not generally so ignorant as ill-taught, or that our fex does so often want wit, judg 'I cannot but agree with the judicious trader 'in Cheapfide, though I am not at all preju' diced in his favour, in recommending the stu'dy of arithmetic; and must dissent even from 'the authority which you mention, when it advises the making our fex fcholars. Indeed a little more philofophy, in order to the fub'duing our passions to our reason, might be fometimes serviceable, and a treatife of that nature I should approve of, even in exchange for "Theodofius, or the Force of Love;" but as I well know you want not hints, I will 'proceed no further than to recommend the bishop of "Cambray's Education of a Daugh ter," as it is tranflated into the only language 'I have any knowledge of, though perhaps very 'much to its disadvantage. I have heard it ob'jected against that piece, that its instructions ' are not of general ufe, but only fitted for a great lady; but I confess I am not of that opi'nion; for I do not remember, that there are any rules laid down for the expences of a woman, in which particular only I think a ' gentlewoman ought to differ from a lady of the best fortune, or highest quality, and not in their principles of justice, gratitude, fincerity, prudence, or modesty. I ought perhaps to make an apology for this long epistle; but as I rather believe you a friend to fincerity, than ' ceremony, shall only affure you I am, • Sir, Your most humble servant, • Anabella. No, |