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TO MAXIMU S. « W H AT I should gladly do for any Friend of “ W yours, I think I may now with Confidence ' request for a Friend of mine. Arrianus Maturius is the

most considerable Man of his Country; when I call him • so, I do not speak with Relation to his Fortune, though " that is very plentiful, but to his Integrity, Justice, Gra

vity, and Prudence; his Advice is useful to me in Busi

nels, and his Judgment in Matters of Learning: His Fi. • delity, Truth, and good Understanding, are very great; « befides this, he loves me as you do, than which I can. • not say any thing that signifies a warmer Affection. He . has nothing that's aspiring; and though he might rife " to the highest Order of Nobility, he keeps himself in ? an inferior Rank; yet I think my self bound to use • my Endeavours to serve and promote him; and would

therefore find the Means of adding something to his « Honours while he neither expects nor knows it, nay, • though he should refuse it. Something, in short, I • would have for him that may be honourable, but not « troublesom; and I intreat that you will procure him “ the first thing of this kind that offers, by which you

will not only oblige me, but him also ; for though he. 6 does not covet it, I know he will be as grateful in ac. • knowledging your Favour as if he had asked it.


T HE Reflexions in some of your Papers on the • 1 servile manner of Education now in Use, have " given Birth to an Ambition, which, unless you discoun

tenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a very difficult, *.tho' not ungrateful Adventure. I am about to under• take, for the sake of the British Youth, to instruct • them in such a manner, that the moft dangerous Page « in Virgil or Homer may be read by them with much • Pleasure, and with perfect Safety to their Persons.

.. COULD I prevail so far as to be honoured with the « Protection of some few of them, (for I am not Hero e• nough to rescue many.) my Design is to retire with them " to an agreeable Solitude; though within the Neigh« bourhood of a City, for the Convenience of their being


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• instructed in Mufick, Dancing, Drawing, Designing, ' or any other such Accomplishments, which it is con

ceived may make as proper Diversions for them, and « almost as pleasant, as the little fordid Games which • dirty School-boys are so much delighted with. It may • easily be imagined, how such a pretty Society, conver• fing with none beneath themselves, and sometimes ad• mitted as perhaps not unientertaining Parties amongst • better Company, commended and caressed for their lit"tle Performances, and turned by such Conversations to ca certain Gallantry of Soul, might be brought early " acquainted with some of the most polite English Wri“ters, This having given them fome tolerable Taste of (Books, they would make themselves Masters of the Latin Tongue by Methods far easier than those in Lilly, (with as little Difficulty or Reluctance as young Ladies « learn to speak French, or to sing Italian Operas. When • they had advanced thus far, it would be time to form • their Taste fomething more exactly : One that had

any true Relish of fine Writing, might, with great • Pieasure both to himself and them, run over together • with them the best Roman Historians, Poets, and Ora• tors, and point out their more remarkable Beauties; • give them a short Scheme of Chronology, a little View • of Geography, Medals, Aftronomy, or what else might • best feed the busy inquisitive Humour fo. natural to « that Age. Such of them as had the least Spark of « Genius, when it was once awakened by the thining « Thoughts and great Sentiments of those admired Wri 4 ters, could not, I believe, be easily withheld from « attempting that more difficult Sifter Language, whose I exalted Beauties they would have heard so often ce« lebrated as the Pride and Wonder of the whole « Learned World. In the mean while, it would be « requisite to exercise their Stile in Writing any light « Pieces that ask more of Fancy than of Judgment: and « that frequently in their Native Language, which every • one methinks should be most concerned to cultivate, ¢ especially Letters in which a Gentleman must have to « frequent Occasions to distinguish himself. A Set of gen.' « teel good-natured Youths fallen into such a Maoner of « Life, would form almoft a little Academy, and doubts

« less

« less prove no such contemptible Companions, as might 'not often tempt a wiser Man to mingle himself in their • Diversions, and draw them into such serious Sports aś • might prove nothing less instructing than the gravest ! Lesfons. I doubt not but it might be made some of

their favourite Plays, to contend which of them should ' recite a beautiful Part of a Poem or Oration, most grace..

fully, or sometimes to join in acting a Scene of Terence, ! Sophocles, or our own Shakespear. The Cause of Mile • might again be pleaded before more favourable Judges, Cæfar a second time be taught to tremble, and ano.

ther Race of Athenians be a fresh 'enraged at the Am:

bition of another Philip. Amidst these noble Amuse* ments, we could hope to see the early Dawnings of ! their Imagination daily brighten into Sense, their In. 6 nocence improve into Virtue, and their unexperienced . Good-nature directed to a generous Love of their • Country.

.. . I am, &c. ele goo******* * No 231. Saturday, November 24. .


.: O Pudor! O Pietas!

Mart. O Modesty! O Piety! TOOKING over the Letters which I have lately

I received from my Correspondents, I met with the following one, which is written with such a Spirit of Politeness, that I could not but be very much pleased. with it my self, and question not but it will be as accep. table to the Reader.

Mr. SpecTATOR,
V OU, who are no Stranger to Publick Assemblies,

1 cannot but have observed the Awe they often • strike on such as are obliged to exert any Talent before o them. This is a fort of elegant Distress, to which in. • genuous Minds are the most liable, and may therefore deserve some Remarks in your Paper. Many a brave


• Fellow, who has put his Enemy to Flight in the Field, • has been in the utmost Disorder upon making a Speech • before a Body of his Friends at home: One would think • there was some kind of Fascination in the Eyes of a ' large Circle of People, when darting altogether upon 'one Person. I have seen a new Actor in a Tragedy fo • bound up by it as to be scarce able to speak or move, « and have expected he would have died above three Acts • before the Dagger or Cup of Poison were brought in. • It would not be amiss, if such an one were at first in: troduced as a Ghost, or a Statue, till he recovered his ! Spirits, and grew fit for some living Part.

AS this sudden Defertion of one's self shews a Diffi• dence, which is not displeasing, it implies at the same • time the greatest Respect to an Audience that can be: • It is a sort of mute Eloquence, which pleads for their

Favour much better than Words could do ; and we find • their Generofity naturally moved to support those who • are in so much Perplexity to entertain them. I was ex• tremely pleased with a late Inftance of this Kind at the « Opera of. Almahide, in the Encouragement given to a • young Singer, whose more than ordinary Concern on • her first Appearance, recommended her no less than her ( agreeable Voice, and just Performance. Meer Bash

fulness without Merit is aukward; and Merit without • Modesty, insolent. But modeft Merit has a double • Claim to Acceptance, and generally meets with as. & many Patrons as Beholders..

I am, &c..

. IT is impossible that:a Person should'exert himself to Advantage in an Assembly, whether it be his Part eithen to fing or speak, who lies under too great Oppressions of Modesty. I remember, upon talking with a Friend. of mine concerning the Force af Pronunciation, our Difcourse led us into the Enumeration of the several Organs of Speech which an Orator ought to have in Perfection, as the Tongue, the Teeth, the Lips, the Nose, the Palate, and the Wind-pipe. Upon which, fays my Friend, you Have omitted the most material Organ of them all, and that is the Forehead..


BUT notwithstanding an Excess of Modesty obstructs the Tongue, and renders it unfit for its Offices, a due Proportion of it is thought so requisite to an Orator, that Rhetoricians have recommended it to their Disciples as a Particular in their Art. Cicero tells us that he never liked an Orator, who did not appear in some little confusion at the Beginning of his Speech, and confesses that he himself never entered upon an Oration without Trembling and Concern. It is indeed a kind of Deference which is due to a great Assembly, and seldom fails to raise a Benevolence in the Audience towards the Person who speaks. My Correspondent has taken notice that the bravest Men often appear timorous on these Occasions, as indeed we may observe, that there is generally no Creature more impudent than a Coward..

Linguâ melior, fed frigida bello
Dextra -

Virg. Æn. 11. V. 338.
Bold at the the Coucil-board ;
But cautious in the Field he shunn’d the Sword.

DRYDEN. A bold Tongue and a feeble Arm are the Qualifications of Drances in Virgil; as Homer, to express a Man both ti. morous and saucy, makes use of a kind of Point, which is very rarely to be met with in his Writings ; namely, that he had the Eyes of a Dog, but the Heart of a Deer. · Ajust and reasonable Modesty does not only recommend Eloquence, but sets off every great Talent which a Man can be possessed of. It heightens ailthe Virtues which it accompanies; like the Shades in Paintings, it raises and rounds every Figure, and makes the Colours more beautiful, though not so glaring as they would be without it.

MODESTY is not only an Ornament, but also a Guard to Virtue. It is a kind of quick and delicate Feeling in the Soul, which makes her shrink and with. draw her self from every thing that has Danger in it. It is such an exquisite Sensibility, as warns her to fhun the first Appearance of every thing which is hurtful.

I cannot at present recollect either the Place or Time of what I am going to mention'; but I have read somewhere in the History of Ancient Greece, that the Women Qf the Country were seized with an unaccountable Me


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