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to let the world see we are so.” I do not know as Supreme Being, more endearing notions of one

more dreadful menace in the wholly writings, than that which is pronounced against those who have this perverted modesty, to be ashamed before men in a particular of such unspeakable importance.

ADDISQN. C.
---
N° 459. SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 1712.
--

- Quicquid dignum sapiente boneque est.
o saf HOR. Ep. 4.1.1. ver, 5.

— What befits the wise and good.
- citeech.

... Religion may be considered under two general
heads. The first comprehends what we are to be-
lieve, the other what we are to practise. By those
things which we are to believe, I mean whatever
is revealed to us in the holy writings, and which
we could not have obtained the knowledge of by
the light of nature: by the things which we are to
practise, I mean all those duties to which we are
directed by reason or natural religion. The first
of these I shall distinguish by the name of faith,
the second by that of morality.
If we look into the more serious part of man.
kind, we find many who lay so great a stress upon
faith, that they neglect morality; and many who
build so much upon morality, that they do not pay
a due regard to faith. The perfect man should be
defective in neither of these particulars, as will be
very evident to those who consider the benefits
which arise from each of them, and which I shall
make the subject of this day's paper.
Notwithstanding this general division of Christian
duty into morality and faith, and that they have
both their peculiar excellencies, the first has the
pre-eminence in several respects.
First, Because the greatest part of morality (as
I have stated the notion of it) is of a fixed eternal
slature, and will endure when faith shall fail, and
pe lost in conviction.
Secondly, Because a person may be qualified to
do greater good to mankind, and become more
beneficial to the world, by morality without faith,
han by faith without morality.
Thirdly, Because morality gives a greater per-
•ction to human nature, by quieting the mind,
ioderating the passions, and advancing the happi-
ess of every man in his private capacity.
'ourthly. Because the rule of morality is much
ore certain than that of faith, all the civilized
tions of the world agreeing in the great points
only, as much as they differ in those of
th.
Fifthly, Because infidelity is not of so massignant
ature as immorality; or, to put the same reason
another light, because it is generally owned,
ore may be salvation for a virtuous infidel (par-
larly in the case of invincible ignorance,) but
le for a vicious believer.
ixthly, 13ecause faith seems to draw its princi-
if not all its excellency, from the influence it
"pon morality; as we shall see more at large,
e consider wherein consists the excellency of
l, o the belief of revealed religion; and this
nk is, -
ost. In explaining, and carrying to greater
lots, several points of morality.

3.

another, and a truer state of ourselves, both in regard to the grandeur and vileness of our natures. Fourthly, By showing us the blackness and deformity of vice, which in the Christian system is so very great, that he who is possessed of all perfection, and the sovereign judge of it, is represented by several of our divines as hating sin to the same degree that he loves the sacred person who was . made the propitiation of it. Fifthly, In being the ordinary and prescribed method of making morality effectual to salvation. I have only touched on these several heads, which every one who is conversant in discourses of this nature will easily enlarge upon in his own thoughts, and draw conclusions from them which may be useful to him in the conduct of his life. One I am sure is so obvious, that he cannot miss it, namely, that a man cannot be perfect in his scheme of morality, who does not strengthen and support it with that of the Christian faith. Besides this, I shall lay down two or three other maxims which I think we may deduce from what has been said. First, That we should be particularly cautious of making any thing an article of faith, which does not contribute to the confirmation or improvement of morality. Secondly, That no article of faith can be true and authentic, which weakens or subverts the practical part of religion, or what I have hitherto called morality. Thirdly, That the greatest friend of morality or natural religion, cannot possibly apprehend any danger from embracing Christianity, as it is preserved pure and uncorrupt in the doctrines of our national church. There is likewise another maxim which I think may be drawn from the foregoing considerations, which is this, that we should, in all dubious points, consider any ill consequences that may arise from them, supposing they should be erroneous, before we give up our assent to thern. f For example, in that disputable point of prosecuting men for conscience sake, besides the embittering their minds with hatred, indignation and all the vehemence of resentment, and ensnaring them to profess what they do not believe; we cut them off from the pleasures and advantages of society, afflict their bodies, distress their fortunes, hurt their reputations, ruin their families, make their lives painful, or put an end to them. Sure when I see such dreadful consequences rising from a o I would be as fully convinced of the truth of it, as of a mathematical demonstration, before I would venture to act upon it, or make it a part of my religion. In this case the injury done our neighbour is plain and evident; the principal that puts us upon doing it, of a dubious and disputable nature. Mo. rality seems highly violated by the one ; and whether or no a zeal for what a man thinks the true system of faith may justify it, is very uncertain. I cannot but think, if our religion produces charity as well as zeal, it will not be for showing itself by such cruel instances. But to conclude with the words of an excellent author,” “We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.”

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condly, In furnishing new and stronger mo-
to enforce the practice of morality.
irdly, in giving us more aniable ideas of the

• Supposed to be Archbishop Tillotson

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Ocm defects and follies are too often unknown to
us; nay, they are so far from being known to us,
that they pass for demonstrations of our worth.
This makes us easy in the midst of them, fond to
show them, fond to improve in them, and to be
esteemed for them. Then it is that a thousand un-
accountable conceits, gay inventions, and extra-
vagant actions, must afford us pleasures, and display
us to others in the colours which we ourselves take
a fancy to glory in: Indeed there is something so
amusing for the time in this state of vanity and
ill-grounded satisfaction, that even the wiser
world has chosen an exalted word to describe its
enchantments, and called it, “The Paradise of
Fools.”
Perhaps the latter part of this reflection may
seem a false thought of some, and bear another
turn than what I have given; but it is at present
mone of my business to look after it, who am going
to confess that I have been lately amongst them in
a vision.
Methought I was transported to a hill, green,
flowery, and of an easy ascent. Upon the broad
top of it resided squint-eyed Error, and Popu-
lar Opinion with many heads; two that dealt in
sorcery, and were famous for bewitching people
with the love of themselves. To these repaired a
multitude from every side, by two different paths
which lead towards each of them. . Some who had
the most assuming air, went directly of themselves
to Error, without expecting a conductor; others of
a softer mature went first to Popular Opinion,
from whence, as she influenced and engaged them
with their own praises, she delivered them over to
his government.
When we had ascended to an open part of the
summit where Opinion abode, we found her enter-
taining several who had arrived before us. Her
voice was pleasing; she breathed odours as she
spoke. She seemed to have a tongue for every
one: every one thought he heard of something that
was valuable in himself, and expected a paradise
which she promised as the reward of his merit.
Thus were we drawn to follow her, till she should
bring us where it was to be bestowed: and it was
observable, that all the way we went, the company
was either praising themselves for their qualifica-
tions, or one another for those qualifications which
they took to be conspicuous in their own charac-
ters, or dispraising others for wanting theirs, or
vying in the degrees of them. -
At last we approached a bower, at the entrance
of which Error was seated. The trees were thick
woven, and the place where he sat artfully con-
trived to darken him a little. He was disguised
in a whitish robe, which he had put on, that he
might appear to u; with a nearer resemblance to
Truth: and as she has a light whereby she mani.
fests the beauties of nature to the eyes of her
adorers, so *: had provided himselfw
rand, that he -
. please with delusions. This he lifted so.
iemnly, and muttook to himself, bid the g
which he kept under enchantment to appearb

SPECTATOR.

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45).

the sky to which he pointed, and observed at in blue prospect, which cleared as mountains in summer morning when the mistsgo off, and these lace of Vanity appeared to sight. The foundation hardly seemed a foundation, but a set of curling clouds, which it stood upon by m. gical contrivance. The way by which we ascended was painted like a rainbow; and as we went to breeze that played about us bewitched the sensei The walls were gilded all for show; the lowest: of pillars were .# the slight fine Corinthian orde, and the top of the building being rounded, boro far the resemblance of a bubble, At the gate the travellers neither met withaso ter, nor waited till one should appear; every go thought his merits a sufficient passport, and pres: forward. In the hall we met with several toms, that roved amongst us, and ranged the com: pany according to their sentiments. There wo decreasing Honour, that had nothing to showit but an old coat of his ancestor's achievement. There was Ostentation, that made himself his on constant subject, and Gallantry strutting upon's tip-toes. At the upper end of the hall stood. throne, whose canopy glittered with alo riches that Gaiety could contrive to lavish on to and between the gilded arms sat Vanity, do in the peacock's feathers, and acknowledged" another Venus by her votaries. The boy whoslo beside her for a Cupid, and who made the * to bow before her, was called Self-conceit * eyes had every now and then a cast inwards* neglect of all objects about him; and the * which he made use offorconquest, were bono from those against whom he had a design. To arrow which he shot at the soldier, was floo from his own plume of feathers, the dartoo rected against the man of wit, was winged to the quills he writ with; and that which he?" against those who presumed upon their richo.” headed with gold out of their treasuries. Hen nets for statesmen from their own contrio he took fire from the eyesofiadies, with who melted their hearts; and lightning from the to of the eloquent, to inflame them with theiro glories. At the foot of the throne sat three * graces; Flattery with a shell of paint; Affect” with a mirror to practise at, and Fashion." changing the posture of her clothes. Theo plied themselvestosecure the conquests which: conceit had gotten, and had each of them tht! particular polities. Flattery gave new colou". complexions to all things; Áffectation newal" appearances, which, as she said, were not of and Fashion both concealed some home do and added some foreign external beauties As I was reflecting upon what I saw, ho voice in the crowd bemoaning the condi. f mankind, which is thus managed by the bread Opinion, deluded by Error, fired by Self-conco and given up to be trained in all the cour* Vanity, till Scorn or Poverty come up" These expressions were no sooner handed.” but I immediately saw a general disordes, last there was a parting in one place, and a old man, decent and resolute, was led for" be punished for the words he had uttered of peared inclined to have spoken in his owndo: not observe that any one was ". . Vanity cast a scorn

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would have it, that at least he must be Ill-manners. Thus slighted and despised by all, he was driven out for abusing people of merit and figure; and I heard it firinly resolved, that he should be used no better wherever they met with him hereafter. I had already seen the meaning of most part of that warning which he had given, and was considering how the latter words should be fulfilled, when a mighty noise was heard without, and the door was blackened by a numerous train of harpies crowding in upon us. Folly and Broken-credit were seen in the house before they entered. Trouble, Shame, Infamy, Scorn, and Poverty, brought up the rear. Vanity, with her Cupid and Graces, disappeared; her subjects ran into holes and corners'; but many of them were found and carried off (as I was told by one who stood near o me) either to prisons or cellars, solitude or little * company, the mean arts or the viler crafts of life. * “But these,” added he with a disdainful air, are such who would fondly live here, when their merits neither matched the iustre of the place, nor their riches its expenses. We have seen such scenes as these before now ; the glory you saw will all return when the hurry is over.' I thanked him for his information, and believing him so incorrigible as that he would stay till it was his turn to be taken, ** I made off to the door, and overtook some few, of who, though they would not hearken to Plainso dealing, were now terrified to good purpose by the - example of others. But when they had touched the threshold, it was a strange shock to them to find that the delusion of Error was gone, and they plainly discerned the building to hang a little up in the air without any real foundation. At first we saw nothing but a desperate leap remained for us, and I a thousand times blamed my unmeaning cori, sity that had brought me into so much danger. But is they began to sink lower in their own minds, mohought the palace sunk along with us, till they were rived at he due point of esseem which they o, it to have for themselves; then the part of to so I or which they stood touched the earth, as we porting out, it retired from our eyes. , or they who stayed in the palace were s: "ie of this discent, I cannot tell; it was then in opinion that they were not. However it

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f more solemnly engaged; at least it was an acknowledgment that they ought to have been so. I have been told the same even of the Mahometans, with relation to the propriety of their demeanour in the conventions of their erroneous worship ; and I cannot but think either of them sufficient and laudable patterns of our imitation in this particular. ‘I cannot help, upon this occasion, remarking on the excellent memories of those devotionists, who, upon returning from church, shall give a particular account how two or three hundred people were dressed; a thing, by reason of its variety, so difficult to be digested and fixed in the head, that it is a miracle to me how two poor hours of divine service can be time sufficient for so elaborate an undertaking, the duty of the place too being jointly, and no doubt oft pathetically, performed along with it. When it is said in sacred writ, that “the wo. man ought to have a covering on her head because of the angels,” that last word is by some thought to be metaphorically used, and to signify young men, Allowing this interpretation to be right, the text 'nay not appear to be wholly foreign to our present purpose. “When you are in a disposition proper for writing on such a subject, I earnestly recommend this to you; and am,

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But I discern their flatt'ry from their praise.

DRYDEN. Fon want of time to substitute something else in the room of them, I am at present obliged to publish compliments above my desert in the following letters. It is no small satisfaction to have given occasion to ingenious men to employ their thoughts upon sacred subjects from the approbation of such pieces of poetry as they have seen in my Saturday’s papers. I shall never publish verse on that

le, aly dream broke up at it, and has given me coasion all my life to reflect upon the fatal consequences of following the suggestions of Vanity."

‘Mr. spect Aron, ‘I wore to you to desire, that you would againf touch apon a certain enormity, which is chiefly in use among the politer and better-bred part of mankind; mean the ceremonies, bows, curtsies, whisperii gs, smiles, winks, nods, with other familiar arts of salutation, which take up in our churches so moch time, that might be better employed, and which seem so utterly inconsistent with the duty and true intent of our entering into those religious assemblies. The resemblance which this bears to our indeed proper behavior in theatres, may be some instance of its incongruity in the above-menioned places. In Roman catholic churches and hapels abroad, I myself have observed, more than once, persons of the first quality, of the nearest elation, and intimatest acquaintance, passing by no another unknowing as it were, and unknown, nd with so little notice of each other, that it oked like having their minds more suitably and

day but what is written by the same hand;" yet shall I not accompany those writings with eulogiums, but leave them to speak for themselves.

* Fort rhE specTATort.

* MR. specTAton, ‘You very much promote the interests of virtue, while you reform the taste of a profane age ; and persuade us to be entertained with divine poems, whilst we are distinguished by so many thousand humours, and split into so many different sects and parties; yet persons of every party, sect, and humour, are fond of conforming their taste to yours. You can transfuse your own relish of a poem into all your readers, according to their capacity to receive; and when you recommend the pious passion that reigns in the verse, we seem to feel the devotion, and grow proud and pleased inwardly, that we have souls capable of relishing what the Spectator approves. “Upon reading the hymns that you have published in some late papers, I had a mind §§ yesterday whether 1 could write one. The criyt

* Addison.

' This vision was written by Dr. Parmell. See also No. 601. See No. 25°.

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psalm appears to me an admirable ode, and I began to turn it into our language. As I was describing the journey of Israel from Egypt, and added the divine presence amongst them, I perceived a beauty in this psalm, which was entirely new to me, and which I was going to lose ; and that is, that the poet utterly conceals the presence of God in the beginning of it, and rather lets a possessive pronoun go without a substantive, than he will so much as mention any thing of divinity there. “Judah was his sanctuary, and Israel his dominion, or kingdom.” The reason now seems evident, and this conduct necessary : for, if God had appeared before, there could be no wonder why the mountains should leap, and the sea retire ; therefore that this convulsion of nature may be brought in with due surprise, his name is not mentioned till afterward, and then with a very agreeable turn of thought God is introduced at once in all his majesty. This is what I have attempted to imitate in a translation without paraphrase, and to preserve what I could of the spirit of the sacred author.

“If the following essay be not too incorrigible, bestow upon it a few brightenings from your genius, that I may learn how to write better, or to write no more.

‘Your daily admirer and
“humble servant, &c.”

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• MR. spect Aton, “Theae are those who take the advantage of your putting a halfpenny value upon yourself above the rest of our daily writers, to defame you in public conversation, and strive to make you unpopular upon the account of this said halfpenny. But, if I were you, I would insist upon that small acknow. ledgment for the superior merit of yours, as being a work of invention. Give me leave, therefore, to do you justice, and say in your behalf, what you cannot yourself, which is, that your writings have made learning a more necessary part of good. breeding than it was before you appeared: that modesty has become fashionable, and impudence tands in need of some wit...since you have put them both in their proper lights. Profaneness,

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breaks his word upon all occasions, both to
and important; and, when he is sufficiently alo
at for that abominable quality, they who ult.
him end with After all, he is a very pleasant fo!
low.’ Dacinthus is an ill-natured husband

yet the very women end their freedom of disco
upon this subject, “But, after all, he is very so
Sant company.’ Dacinthus is neither, in poo

honour, civility, good-breeding, or *
unexceptionable; and yet all is answered, to:

- o he is a very pleasant fellow,” when this quo o conspicuous in a man who has, to accompo o many and virtuous sentiments, there canno. 1 S. th tainly be any thing which can give so pleaso so gratification as the gaiety of such a person; o when it is alone, and serves only to gildo o of ill qualities, there is no man so much.” o avoided as your pleasant fellow. A very pleo. d fellow shali turn your good name to a jes', your character contemptible, debauch yout . or daughter, and yet be received by the resto. world with welcome wherever he appears. " o very ordinary with those of this character,” on attentive only to their own satisfactions, and” ...], very little bowels for the concerns or sorro” ** other men; nay, they are capable of purch” loo, their own pleasures at the expense of going. . . . to others. But they who do not considentholo

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insinuations. The author of the following letter carries the matter so high, as to intimate that the liberties of England have been at the mercy of a prince merely as he was of this pleasant character.

* MR. spectator, “Thenk is no one passion which all mankind so naturally give into as pride, nor any other passion which appears in such different disguises. It is to be found in all habits and complexions. Is it not a question, whether it does more harm or good in the world; and if there be not such a thing as what we may call a virtuous and laudable pride “It is this passion alone, when misapplied, that lays usso open to flatterers; and he who can agreeably condescend to sooth our humour or temper, finds always an open avenue to our soul; especially if the flatterer happen to be our superior. ‘One might give many instances of this in a late English monarch, under the title of “The Gaieties of King Charles II.” This prince was by nature extremely familiar, of very easy access, and much delighted to see and be seen; and this happy temper, which in the highest degree gratified his people's vanity, did him more service with his loving subjects than all his other virtues, though it must be confessed he had many. He delighted, though a mighty king, to give and take a jest, as they say: and a prince of this fortunate disposition, who were inclined to make an ill use of his power, may have any thing of his people, be it never so much to their prejudice. But this good king made generally a very innocent use, as to the public, of this ensnaring temper; for it is well known, he pursued pleasure more than ambition. He seemed to glory in being the first man at cock: matches, horse-races, balls, and plays: he appeared . delighted, on those occasions, and never failed to warm and gladden the heart of every spectator. He more than once dined with his good citizens of London on their lord mayor's day, and did so the year that Sir Robert Viner was mayor. Sir Robert was a very loyal man, and, if you will allow the expression, very fond of his sovereign; but, what with the joy he felt at heart for the homour done him by his prince, and through the warmth he was in with continual toasting healths to the royal family, his lordship grew a little fond of his majesty, and entered into a familiarity not altogether so graceful in so public a place. The king understood very well how to extricate himself in all kinds of difficulties, and, with an hint to the company to avoid ceremony, stole off and made towards his coach, which stood ready for him in Guildhall-yard. But the mayor liked his company so well, and was grown so intimate, that he pursued him hastily, and catching him fast by the hand, cried out with a vehement oath and accent, "Sir, you shall stay and take t'other bottle.” The iry monarch looked kindly at him over his shoul!er, and with a smile and graceful air (for I saw tim at the time, and do now) repeated this live of he old song,

“He that is drunk is as great as a king,”

nd immediately returned back and complied with islandlord.

“I give you this story, Mr. Spectator, because, I said, I saw the passage; and I assure you it very true, and yet no common one; and when I ll you the sequel, you will say I have a better ason for it. This very mayor afterwards erected

a statue of his merry monarch in Stocks-market," and did the crown many and great services; and it was owing to this humour of the king, that his family had so great a fortune shut up in the exchequer of their pleasant sovereign. The many goodnatured condescensions of this prince are vulgarly known; and it is excellently said of him by a great handf which writ his character, that he was not a king a quarter of an hour together in his whole reign. He would receive visits even from fools and half madmen; and at times I have met with people who have boxed, fought at back-sword, and taken poison, before King Charles II. In a word, he was so pleasant a man, that no one could be sorrowful under his government. This made him capable of baffling, with the greatest ease imaginable, all suggestions of jealousy; and the people could not entertain notions of any thing terrible in him whom they saw every way agreeable. This scrap of the familiar part of that prince’s history I thought fit to send you, in compliance to the request you lately made to your correspondents. ‘I am, sin, * Your most humble servant.”

steele. T.

No 463. THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1712.

Omnia quar sensu valvuntur vota diurno,
Pertore sopita reddit amica quies.
Wenator defessa toro cum membra reponit,
Mens tamen ad sylvar et sua lustra redit:
Judicibus lites, aurigae somnia currus,
Wanaque no turnis meta cavefur rquis.
Me quoque Musarum studium rub nocte silenti
Artivus assuetis sollicutare solet.
CLAUD,

In sleep, when fancy is let loose to play,
our dreau's repeat the wishes of the day.
Thougl, further toil his tired limbs refuse,
The dreaming hunter still the chase pursues.
The judge a dispenses still the laws,
And seeps again o'er the unfinish'd to use.
The dozing racer hears his chariot roll,
Smacks the vain whip, and shuns the fancy'd goal.
Me too the Muses, in the silent night,
With wonted chimes of jingling verse delight.

I was lately entertaining myself with comparin Homer's balance, in which Jupiter is o as weighing the fates of Hector and Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of Turnus and Æneas. I then considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those noble passages of scripture, wherein we are told that the great king of Babylon, the day before

• This equestrian statue was originally made for John Sobieski, King of PCland, but by some accident it had been left on the workman's hands to save time and expense, the Polander was converted into a Britain, and the Turk underneath his horse into oliver Cromwell to couplete the coa pliment. Unfortunately, the turban on the Turk’s head was overlooked, and left an undeniable proof of this story. See Stow's Survey, &c. ed. 1755, vol. p. 517. ‘I his statue. for , , d of white marble, was erected on a noat conduit, in 1675; but when, in 1735, the city-council fixed on stocks-market for the site of a house of residence for the lord mayors of London, the statue was removed. to make way for the Mansion-house: the first stone of which was laid Qotobor, 25 1733, by Micajah Perry, Esq. then lord mayor-on the 28th o May, 1779, Rollert Viner, Esq. applied to the cous.*, *non concil to have this statue (whih had been erected by his ocestor) delivered to him for his use; and the court complied with the request. Where it is now, we do not know..., ----Shorted, duke of Buckingham, said, that on Poitation charies is could not act to part of a king for ****

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