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several towns and villages in her majesty's dominions, though they were never seen by any of the inhabitants. Others are apt to think that these Mohocks are a kind of bull beggars, first invented by prudent married men, and masters of families, in order to deter their wives and daughters from taking the air at unseasonable hours; and that when they tell them the " Mohocks will catch them," it is a caution of the same nature with that of our forefathers, when they bid their children have a care of Raw-head and Bloody-bones.

and industrious men would carry a man further like those specters and apparitions which frighten even to his profit than indulging the propensity of serving and obliging the fortunate. My author argues on this subject, in order to incline men's minds to those who want them most, after this manner: "We must always consider the nature of things, and govern ourselves accordingly. The wealthy man, when he has repaid you, is upon a balance with you; but the person whom you favored with a loan, if he be a good man, will think himself in your debt after he has paid you. The wealthy and the conspicuous are not obliged by the benefits you do them: they think they conferred a benefit when they received one. Your good offices are always suspected, and it is with them the same thing to expect their favor as to receive it. But the man below you, who knows, in the good you have done him, you respected himself more than his circumstances, does not act like an obliged man only to him from whom he has received a benefit, but also to all who are capable of doing him one. And whatever little office he can do for you, he is so far from magnifying it that he will labor to extenuate it in all his actions and expressions. Moreover, the regard to what you do to a great man at best is taken notice of no further than by himself or his family; but what you do to a man of a humble fortune (provided always that he is a good and a modest man) raises the affections toward you of all men of that character (of which there are many) in the whole city."

There is nothing gains a reputation to a preacher so much as his own practice; I am therefore casting about what act of benignity is in the power of a Spectator. Alas! that lies but in a very narrow compass and I think the most immediately under my patronage are either players, or such whose circumstances bear an affinity with theirs. All, therefore, I am able to do at this time of this kind, is to tell the town, that on Friday the 11th of this instant, April, there will be performed, in Yorkbuildings, a concert of vocal and instrumental music, for the benefit of Mr. Edward Keen, the father of twenty children; and that this day the haughty George Powell hopes all the good-natured part of the town will favor him, whom they applauded in Alexander, Timon, Lear, and Orestes, with their company this night, when he hazards all his heroic glory for their approbation in the humbler condition of honest Jack Falstaff.

T.

No. 347.] TUESDAY, APRIL 8, 1712.
Quis furor, O cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri!
LUCAN., lib. i, 8.
What blind, detested fury, could afford
Such horrid license to the barb'rous sword!

I Do not question but my country readers have been very much surprised at the several accounts they have met with in our public papers, of that species of men among us, lately known by the name of Mohocks. I find the opinions of the learned, as to their origin and designs, are altogether various, insomuch that very many begin to doubt whether indeed there were ever any such society of men. The terror which spread itself over the whole nation some years since on account of the Irish is still fresh in most people's memories, though it afterward appeared there was not the least ground for that general consternation.

The late panic fear was, in the opinion of many deep and penetrating persons, of the same nature. These will have it, that the Mohocks are

For my own part, I am afraid there was too much reason for the great alarm the whole city has been in upon this occasion; though at the same time I must own, that I am in some doubt whether the following pieces are genuine and authentic; and the more so, because I am not fully satisfied that the name, by which the emperor subscribes himself, is altogether conformable to the Indian orthography.

I shall only further inform my readers, that it was some time since I received the following letter and manifesto, though, for particular reasons, I did not think fit to publish them till now.

"SIR,

"TO THE SPECTATOR.

"Finding that our earnest endeavors for the good of mankind have been basely and maliciously represented to the world, we send you inclosed our imperial manifesto, which it is our will and pleasure that you forthwith communicate to the public, by inserting it in your next daily paper. We do not doubt of your ready compliance in this particular, and therefore bid you heartily farewell. (Signed)

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"TAW WAW EBEN ZAN KALADAR, Emperor of the Mohocks." The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.

"Whereas we have received information, from sundry quarters of this great and populous city, of several outrages committed on the legs, arms, noses, and other parts of the good people of England, by such as have styled themselves our subjects; in order to vindicate our imperial dignity from those false aspersions which have been cast on it, as if we ourselves might have encouraged or abetted any such practices, we have, by these presents, thought fit to signify our utmost abhorrence and detestation of all such tumultuous and irregular proceedings; and do hereby further give notice, that if any person or persons has or have suffered any wound, hurt, damage, or detriment, in his or their limb or limbs, otherwise than shall be hereafter specified, the said person or persons, upon applying themselves to such as we shall appoint for the inspection and redress of the griev auces aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed to the care of our principal surgeon, and be cured at our own expense, in some one or other of those hospitals which we are now erecting for that purpose.

"And to the end that no one may either through ignorance or inadvertency, incur those penalties which we have thought fit to inflict on persons of loose and dissolute lives, we do hereby notify to the public, that if any man be knocked down or assaulted while he is employed in his lawful business, at proper hours, that it is not done by our order; and we do hereby perinit and allow any such person, so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and defend himself in the best man ner that he is able.

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That the sweat be never given but between the hours of one and two; always provided, that our hunters may begin to hunt a little after the close of the evening, anything to the contrary herein notwithstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the necessity of pinking, it shall always be in the most fleshy parts, and such as are least exposed to view.

"It is also our inperial will and pleasure, that our good subjects the sweaters do establish their hummums in such close places, alleys, nooks, and corners, that the patient or patients may not be in danger of catching cold.

"That the tumblers, to whose care we chiefly commit the female sex, confine themselves to Drury-lane, and the purlieus of the Temple; and that every other party and division of our subjects do each of them keep within the respective quarters we have allotted to them. Provided, nevertheless, that nothing herein contained shall in anywise be construed to extend to the hunters, who have our full license and permission to enter into any part of the town wherever their game shall lead them.

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"We do also command all and every our good is deserving. What they would bring to pass is, subjects, that they do not presume, upon any to make all good and evil consist in report, and text whatsoever, to issue and sally forth from their with whispers, calumnies, and impertinences, to respective quarters till between the hours of eleven have the conduct of those reports. By this means, and twelve. That they never tip the lion upon innocents are blasted upon their first appearance man, woman, or child, till the clock at St. Duu- in town; and there is nothing more required to stan's shall have struck one. make a young woman the object of envy and ha tred, than to deserve love and admiration. This abominable endeavor to suppress or lessen everything that is praiseworthy is as frequent among the men as the women. If I can remember what passed at a visit last night, it will serve as an instance that the sexes are equally inclined to defamation, with equal malice and impotence. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about eight of the clock. You know the manner we sit at a visit, and I need not describe the circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two tapers supported by a spruce servant, whose hair is under a cap till my lady's candles are all lighted up, and the hour of ceremony begins; I say Jack Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good company) Every feature, charming creature'-he went on, 'It is a most unreasonable thing, that people cannot go peaceably to see their friends, but these murderers are let loose. Such a shape! such an air! what a glance was that as her chariot passed by mine!'-My lady herself interrupted him; Pray, who is this fine thing?'-' I warrant,' says another, 'tis the creature I was telling your ladyship of just now. You were telling of? says Jack; I wish I had been so happy as to have come in and heard you; for I have not words to say what she is; but if an agreeable height, a modest air, a virgin shame, and impatience of being beheld amid a blaze of teu thousand charms' -The whole room flew out Oh, Mr. Triplett!'; -When Mrs. Lofty, a known prude, said she knew whom the gentleman meant; but she was indeed, as he civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld- -Then turning to the lady next to her-The most unbred creature you ever saw!' Another pursued the discourse: As unbred, madam, as you may think her, she is extremely belied if she is the novice she appears; she was last week at a ball till two in the morning; Mr. Triplett knows whether he was the happy man that took care of her home; but'-This was followed by some particular exception that each woman in the room made to some peculiar grace or advantage; so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one limb and feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole woman. In the end, I took notice Triplett recorded all this malice in his heart; and saw in his countenance, and a certain waggish shrug, that he designed to repeat the conversation: I therefore let the discourse die, and soon after took an occasion to recommend a certain gentleman of my acquaintance for a person of singular modesty, courage, integrity, and withal as a man of an entertaining conversation, to which advantages he had a shape and manner peculiarly graceful. Mr. Triplett, who is a woman's man, seemed to hear me with patience enough commend the qualities of his mind. He never heard, indeed, but that he was a very honest man, and no fool; but for a finer gentleman, he must ask pardon. Upon no other foundation than this, Mr. Triplett took occasion to give the gentleman's pedigree, by what methods some part of the estate was acquired, how much it was beholden to a marriage for the present circumstances of it: after all, he could see nothing but a comman man in his person, his breeding, or understanding.

"And whereas we have nothing more at our mperial heart than the reformation of the cities of London and Westminster, which to our unspeakable satisfaction we have in some measure already effected, we do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all husbands, fathers, housekeepers, and masters of families, in either of the aforesaid cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective habitations at early and seasonable hours, but also to keep their wives and daughters, sons, servants, and apprentices, from appearing in the streets at those times and seasons which may expose them to military discipline, as it is practiced by our good subjects the Mohocks; and we do further promise on our imperial word, that as soon as the reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will forthwith cause all hostilities to

cease.

X.

"Given from our court at the Devil-tavern,
March 15, 1712."

No. 348. WEDNESDAY, APRIL 9, 1712.
Invidiam placere paras, virtute relicta?

HOR. 2 Sat. iii, 13.

To shun detraction, wouldst thou virtue fly?

'MR. SPECTATOR,

"I HAVE not seen you lately at any of the places where I visit, so that I am afraid you are wholly unacquainted with what passes among my part of the world, who are, though I say it, without controversy, the most accomplished and best bred of the town. Give me leave to tell you, that I am extremely discomposed when I hear scandal, and am an utter enemy to all manner of detraction, and think it the greatest meanness that people of distinction can be guilty of. However, it is hardly possible to come into company where you do not find them pulling one another to pieces, and that from no other provocation but that of hearing any one commended. Merit, both as to wit and beauty, is become no other than the possession of a few trifling people's favor, which you cannot possibly arrive at, if you have really anything in you that

"Thus, Mr. Spectator, this impertinent humor of diminishing every one who is produced in conversation to their advantage, runs through the

world; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the force of ill tongues, that I have begged of all those who are my well-wishers never to commend me, for it will but bring my frailties into examination; and I had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for disputed perfections. I am confident a thousand young people, who would have been ornaments to society, have, from fear of scandal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite arts of life. Their lives have passed away in an odious rusticity, in spite of great advantages of person, genius, and fortune. There is a vicious terror of being blamed in some well-inclined people, and a wicked pleasure in suppressing them in others; both which I recommend to your spectatorial wisdom to animadvert upon; and if you can be successful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of the town; but new toasts will owe to you their beauty, and new wits their fame. "I am, Sir,

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*

Rowe.

I AM very much pleased with a consolatory letter of Phalaris, to one who had lost a son that was a young man of great merit. The thought with which he comforts the afflicted father is, to the best of my memory, as follows:-That he should consider death had set a kind of seal upon his son's character, and placed him out of the reach of vice and infamy: that, while he lived, he was still within the possibility of falling away from virtue, and losing the fame of which he was possessed. Death only closes a man's reputation, and determines it as good or bad.

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This, among other motives, may be one reason why we are naturally averse to the launching out into a man's praise till his head is laid in the dust. While he is capable of changing, we may be forced to retract our opinions. He may forfeit the esteem we have conceived of him, and some time or other appear to us under a different light from what he does at present. In short, as the life of any man cannot be called happy or unhappy, so neither can it be pronounced vicious or virtuous before the conclusion of it.

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It was upon this consideration that Epaminondas, being asked whether Chabrias, Iphicrates, or he himself, deserved most to be esteemed? You must first see us die," saith he, "before that question can be answered."

As there is not a more melancholy consideration to a good man than his being obnoxious to such a change, so there is nothing more glorious than to keep up a uniformity in his actions, and preserve the beauty of his character to the last.

The end of a man's life is often compared to the winding up of a well-written play, where the principal persons still act in character, whatever the fate is which they undergo. There is scarce a

*The reader hardly needs to be told, that the authenticity of the epistles of Phalaris has been suspected, and is suspicious; but if the letters are good, it is of little consequence who wrote them.

great person in the Grecian or Roman history, whose death has not been remarked upon by some writer or other, and censured or applauded ac cording to the genius or principles of the person who has descanted on it. Monsieur de St. Evremond is very particular in setting forth the constancy and courage of Petronius Arbiter during his last moments, and thinks he discovers in them a greater firmness of mind and resolution than in the death of Seneca, Cato, or Socrates. There is no question but this polite author's affectation of appearing singular in his remarks, and making discoveries which had escaped the observations of others, threw him into this course of reflection. It was Petrouius's merit that he died in the same gayety of temper in which he lived: but as his life was altogether loose and dissolute, the indifference which he showed at the close of it is to be looked upon as a piece of natural carelessness and levity, rather than fortitude. The resolution of Socrates proceeded from very different motives, the consciousness of a well-spent life, and the prospect of a happy eternity. If the ingenious author above-mentioned was so pleased with gayety of humor in a dying man, he might have found a much nobler instance of it in our countryman Sir Thomas More.

This great and learned man was famous for enlivening his ordinary discourses with wit and pleasantry; and as Erasmus tells him, in an epistle dedicatory, acted in all parts of life like a second Democritus.

He died upon a point of religion, and is respected as a martyr by that side for which he suffered. That innocent mirth, which had been so conspicuous in his life, did not forsake him to the last. He maintained the same cheerfulness of heart upon the scaffold which he used to show at his table; and upon laying his head on the block, gave instances of that good humor with which he had always entertained his friends in the most ordinary occurrences. His death was of a piece with his life. There was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the severing his head from his body as a circuinstance that ought to produce any change in the disposition of his mind; and as he died under a fixed and settled hope of immortality, he thought any unusual degree of sorrow and concern improper on such an occasion, as he had nothing in it which could deject or terrify him.

There is no great danger of imitation from this example. Men's natural fears will be sufficient guard against it. I shall only observe, that what was philosophy in this extraordinary man would be frenzy in one who does not resemble him as well in the cheerfulness of his temper as in the sanctity of his life and manners.

I shall conclude this paper with the instance of a person who seems to me to have shown more intrepidity and greatness of soul in his dying moments than what we meet with among any of the most celebrated Greeks and Romans. I met with this instance in the History of the Revolutions in Portugal, written by the Abbot de Vertot.

When Don Sebastian, king of Portugal, had invaded the territories of Muli Moluc, emperor of Morocco, in order to dethrone him, and set the crown upon the head of his nephew, Moluc was wearing away with a distemper which he himself knew was incurable. However, he prepared for the reception of so formidable an enemy. He was. indeed, so far spent with his sickness, that he did not expect to live out the whole day, when the last decisive battle was given; but, knowing the fatal consequences that would happen to his children and people, in case he should die before he put an end to that war, he commanded his princi

pal officers, that if he died during the engagement, inseparable; and that courage, without regard to they should conceal his death from the army, and that they should ride up to the litter in which his corpse was carried, under the pretense of receiving orders from him as usual. Before the battle began, he was carried through all the ranks of his army in an open litter, as they stood drawn up in array, encouraging them to fight valiantly in defense of their religion and country. Finding afterward the battle to go against him, though he was very near his last agonies, he threw himself out of his litter, rallied his army, and led them on to the charge; which afterward ended in a complete victory on the side of the Moors. He had no sooner brought his men to the engagement, but finding himself utterly spent, he was again replaced in his litter, where, laying his finger on his mouth, to enjoin secrecy to his officers who stood about him, he died a few moments after in that posture.-L.

No. 350.] FRIDAY, APRIL 11, 1712. Ea animi elatio quæ cernitur in periculis, si justitia vacal pugnatque pro suis commodis, in vitio est.-TULL.

That elevation of mind which is displayed in dangers, if it wants justice, and fights for its own conveniency, is

vicious.

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justice and humanity, was no other than the fierce ness of a wild beast. "A good and truly bold spirit," continued he, "is ever actuated by reason, and a sense of honor and duty. The affectation of such a spirit exerts itself in an impudent aspect, an overbearing confidence, and a certain negli gence of giving offense. This is visible in all the cocking youths you see about this town, who are noisy in assemblies, unawed by the presence of wise and virtuous men; in a word, insensible of all the honors and decencies of human life. A shameless fellow takes advantage of merit clothed with modesty and magnanimity, and, in the eyes of little people, appears sprightly and agreeable: while the man of resolution and true gallantry is overlooked and disregarded, if not despised. There is a propriety in all things; and I believe what you scholars call just and sublime, in opposition to turgid and bombast expression, may give you an idea of what I mean, when I say modesty is the certain indication of a great spirit, and im pudence the affectation of it. He that writes with judgment, and never rises into improper warmths, manifests the true force of genius; in like manner, he who is quiet and equal in all his behavior is supported in that deportment by what we may call true courage. Alas! it is not so easy a thing to be a brave man as the unthinking part of manCAPTAIN SENTRY was last night at the club, and kind imagine. To dare is not all that there is in produced a letter from Ipswich, which his corre- it. The privateer we were just now talking of spondent desired him to communicate to his friend had boldness enough to attack his enemy, but not he Spectator. It contained an account of an en- greatness of mind enough to admire the same gagement between a French privateer, commanded quality exerted by that enemy in defending him. by one Dominick Pottiere, and a little vessel of self. Thus his base and little mind was wholly that place laden with corn, the master whereof, as taken up in the sordid regard to the prize of which I remember was one Goodwin. The Englishman | he failed, and the damage done to his own vessel; defended himself with incredible bravery, and beat and therefore he used an honest man, who defendoff the French, after having been boarded three ored his own from him, in the manuer as he would four times. The enemy still came on with greater a thief that should rob him. fury, and hoped by his number of men to carry "He was equally disappointed, and had not the prize; till at last the Englishman, finding him- spirit enough to consider, that one case would be self sink apace, and ready to perish, struck; but laudable, and the other criminal. Malice, rancor, the effect which this singular gallantry had upon hatred, vengeance, are what tear the breasts of the captain of the privateer was no other than an mean men in fight; but fame, glory, conquests, deanmanly desire of vengeance for the los he had sires of opportunities to pardon and oblige their op sustained in his several attacks. He told the Ips. posers, are what glow in the minds of the gallant.' wich man in a speaking-trumpet, that he would The captain ended his discourse with a specimen not take him aboard, and that he stayed to see of his book-learning; and gave us to understand him sink. The Englishman at the same time ob- that he had read a French author on the subject served a disorder in the vessel, which he rightly of justness in point of gallantry. "I love," said judged to proceed from the disdain which the. Mr. Sentry, "a critic who mixes the rules of life ship's crew had of their captain's inhumanity. with annotations upon writers. My author," With this hope he went into his boat, and ap- added he," in his discourse upon epic poetry, proached the enemy. He was taken in by the takes occasion to speak of the same quality of sailors in spite of their commander: but, though courage drawn in the two different characters of they received him against his command, they Turnus and Eneas. He makes courage the chief treated him, when he was in the ship, in the manner and greatest ornament of Turnus; but in Æneas he directed. Pottiere caused his men to hold are many others which outshine it; among the Goodwin, while he beat him with a stick, till he rest, that of piety. Turnus is, therefore, all along fainted with loss of blood and rage of heart; after painted by the poet full of ostentation, his lanwhich he ordered him into irons, without allow-guage haughty and vain-glorious, as placing his ing him any food, but such as one or two of the men stole to him under peril of the like usage: and having kept him several days overwhelmed with the misery of stench, hunger, and soreness, he brought him into Calais. The governor of the place was soon acquainted with all that had passed, dismissed Pottiere from his charge with ignominy, and gave Goodwin all the relief which a man of honor would bestow upon an enemy barbarously treated, to recover the imputation of cruelty upon his prince and country.

When Mr. Sentry had read his letter, full of many other circumstances which aggravate the barbarity, he fell into a sort of criticism upon magnanimity and courage, and argued that they were

honor in the manifestation of his valor: Eneas speaks little, is slow to action, and shows only a sort of defensive courage. If equipage and address make Turnus appear more courageous than Eneas, conduct and success prove Eneas more valiant than Turnus.”—T.

No. 351.] SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1712.

In te omnis domus inclinata recumbit.
VIRG. EN., xii, 59.

On thee the fortunes of our house depend.
Ir we look into the three great heroic poems
which have appeared in the world, we may

observe that they are built upon very slight foundations. Homer lived near 300 years after the Trojan war; and, as the writing of history was not then in use among the Greeks, we may very well suppose that the tradition of Achilles and Ulysses had brought down but very few particulars to his knowledge; though there is no question but he has wrought into his two poems such of their remarkable adventures as were still talked of among his cotemporaries.

whole Eneid, and has given offense to several. critics. may be accounted for the same way. Virgil himself, before he begins that relation, premises, that what he was going to te appeared! incredible, but that it was justified by tradition. What further confirms me that this change of the fleet was a celebrated circumstance in the history of Eneas, is, that Ovid has given a place to the same metamorphosis in his account of the hea then mythology.

None of the critics I have met with have con

The story of Eneas, on which Virgil founded his poem, was likewise very bare of circum-sidered the fable of the Æneid in this light, and stances, and by that means afforded him an opportunity of embellishing it with fiction, and giving a full range to his own invention. We find, how ever, that he has interwoven, in the course of his fable, the principal particulars, which were generally believed among the Romans, of Eneas's Toyage and settlement in Italy.

The reader may find an abridgement of the whole story, as collected out of the ancient historians, and as it was received among the Romans, in Dionysius Halicarnassus.

Since none of the critics have considered Virgil's fable with relation to this history of Eneas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to examine it in this light, so far as regards my present purpose. Whoever looks into the abridgeinent above-mentioned, will find that the character of Eneas is filled with piety to the gods, and a superstitious observation of prodigies, oracles, and predictions. Virgil has not only preserved his character in the person of Encas, but has given a place in his poem to those particular prophesies which he found recorded of him in history and tradition. The poet took the matters of fact as they came down to him, and circumstanced them after his own manner, to make them appear the more natural, agreeable, or surprising. I believe very many readers have been shocked at that ludicrous prophesy which one of the harpies pronounces to the Trojans in the third book; namely, that before they had built their intended city they should be reduced by hunger to eat their very tables. But, when they hear that this was one of the circumstances that had been transmitted to the Romans in the history of Æneas, they will think the poet did very well in taking notice of it. The historian above-mentioned acquaints us, that a prophetess had foretold Eneas, he should take his voyage westward, till his companions should eat their tables; and that accordingly, upon his landing in Italy, as they were eating their flesh upon cakes of bread for want of other conveniences, they afterward fed on the cakes themselves; upon which one of the company said merrily, "We are eating our tables," They immediately took the hint, says the historian, and concluded the prophesy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit so material a particular in the history of Æneas, it may be worth while to consider with how much judgment he has qualified it, and taken off everything that might have appeared improper for a passage in a heroic poem. The prophetess who foretells it is a hungry harpy, as the person who discovers it is young

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taken notice how the tradition on which it was founded authorizes those parts in it which appear the most exceptionable. I hope the length of this reflection will not make it unacceptable to the curious part of my readers.

The history which was the basis of Milton's poem is still shorter than either that of the Iliad or Æneid. The poet has likewise taken care to insert every circumstance of it in the body of his fable. The ninth book, which we are here to consider, is raised upon that brief account in Scrip ture, wherein we are told that the serpent was more subtile than any beast of the field; that he tempted the woman to eat of the forbidden fruit; that she was overcome by this temptation, and that Adam follwed her example. From these few particulars, Milton has formed one of the most entertaining fables that invention ever produced. He has disposed of these several circumstances among so many beautiful and natural fictions of his own, that his whole story looks like a comment upon sacred writ, or rather seems to be a full and complete relation of what the other is only in epitome. I have insisted the longer on this consideration, as I look upon the disposition and contrivance of the fable to be the principal beauty of the ninth book, which has more story in it, and is fuller of incidents, than any other in the whole poem. Satan's traversing the globe,, and still keeping within the shadow of the night, as fearing to be discovered by the angel of the sun, who had before detected him, is one of those beautiful imaginations with which he introduces this his second series of adventures. Having examined the nature of every creature, and found out one which was the most proper for his purpose, he again returns to Paradise; and, to avoid discovery, sinks by night with a river that ran under the garden, and rises up again through a fountain that issued from it by the tree of life. The poet, who, as we have before taken notice, speaks as little as possible in his own person, and, after the example of Homer, fills every part of his work with manners and characters, introduces a soliloquy of this infernal agent, who was thus restless in the destruction of man. He is then described as gliding through the garden, under the resemblance of a mist, in order to find out that creature in which he designed to tempt our first parents. This description has something in it very poetical and surprising:

So saying, through each thicket dank or dry,
Like a black mist low creeping, he held on
His midnight search, where soonest he might find
The serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found
In labyrinth of many a round self-roll'd,

His head the midst, well stor'd with subtile wiles, The author afterward gives us a description of the morning, which is wonderfully suitable to a divine poem, and peculiar to that first season of nature. He represents the earth, before it was cursed, as a great altar breathing out its incense from all parts, and sending up a pleasant savor to the nostrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their

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