fhop, or if you please to call it fo, my cell, is in that great hive of females which goes by the name of the New Exchange; where I am daily employed in gathering together a little stock of gain from the finest flowers about the town, I mean the ladies and the beaus. I have a numerous fwarm of children, to whom I give the best education I am able: but, Sir, it is my misfortune to be married to a drone, who lives upon what I get, without bringing any thing into the common stock. Now, Sir, as on the one hand I take care not to behave myfelf towards him like a wafp, so likewife I would not have him look upon me as an humble-bee; for which reason I do all I can to put him upon laying up provifions for a bad day, and frequent. ly reprefent to him the fatal effects his floth and negligence may bring upon us in our old age. I must beg that you will join with me in your good advice upon this occafion, and you will for ever oblige

I Am joined in wedlock for my fins to

one of those fillies who are defcribed in the old poet by that hard name you gave us the other day. She has a flowing mane, and a fkin as foft as filk: but, Sir, the passes half her life at her glass, and almoft ruins me in ribbons. For my own part, I am a plain handicraft man, and in danger of breaking by her laziness and expensiveness. Pray, mafter, tell me in your next paper, whether I may not expect of her fo much drudgery as to take care of her family, and to curry her hide in case of refufal. Your loving friend,

BARNABY BRITTLE.

SIR,

WAPPING, OCTOBER 31, 1711.

EVER fince your Spectator of Tuef

day last came into our family, my hufband is pleafed to call me his Oceana, because the foolish old poet that you have tranflated says, that the fouls of fome women are made of fea-water. This, it seems, has encouraged my fauceWhen I am box to be witty upon me. angry, he cries- Pr'ythee, my dear, be calm;' when I chide one of my fervants Pr'ythee, child, do not bluster. He had the impudence about an hour ago to tell me, that he was a seafaring man, and must expect to divide his life between storm and funshine. When I beftir myself with any fpirit in my family, it is high fea in his house; and when I fit ftill without doing any thing, his affairs forfooth are wind-bound. When I ask him whether it rains, he makes anfwer-' It is no matter, fo that it be fair weather within doors.' In short, Sir, I cannot speak my mind freely to him, but I either fwell or rage, or do fomething that is not fit for a civil woman to hear, Pray, Mr. Spectator, fince you are fo fharp upon other women, let us know what materials your wife is made of, if you have one. I fuppofe you would make us a parcel of poor-fpirited tame infipid creatures: but, Sir, I would have you to know, we have as good paffions in us as yourself, and that a woman was never defigned to be a milk-fop.

Ļ

MARTHA TEMPEST.

HOR. SAT. VII. L. 2. VER 92.

MR. SPECTATOR,

Never look upon my dear wife, but I think of the happiness Sir Roger de Coverley enjoys, in having fuch a friend as you to expofe in proper colours the cruelty and perverfenefs of his mistress. I have very often wished you visited in our family, and were acquainted with my fpoufe; he would afford you for fome months at least matter enough for one Spectator a week. Since we are not fo happy as to be of your acquaintance, give me leave to reprefent to you our prefent circumstances as well as I can in writing. You are to know then that I am not of a very different conftitution from Nathaniel Henrooft, whom you have lately recorded in your fpeculations; and have a wife who makes a more tyrannical ufe of the knowledge of my eafy temper than that lady ever pretended to. We had not been a month married, when the found in me a certain pain to give offence, and an indolence that made me bear little inconveniencies rather than difpute about them. From this obfervation it foon came to that pafs, that if I offered to go abroad, fhe would get between me and the door, kifs me, and fay she could not part with me; and then down again I fat. In a day or two after this firft pleafant ftep towards confining me, the declared to me, that I was all the world to her, and the thought fhe ought to be all the world to me. If, faid fhe, my dear loves me as much as I love him, he will never be tired of my company.' This declaration was followed by my being denied to all my acquaintance; and it very foon came to that pafs, that to give an anfwer at the door before my face, the fervants would ask her whether I was within or not; and he would anfwer No with great fondnefs, and tell me I was a good dear. I will not enumerate more little circumstances to give you a livelier fenfe of my condition; but tell you in general, that from fuch steps as thefe at first, I now live the life of a prifoner of fate; my letters are opened; and I have not

CREECH.

the ufe of pen, ink, and paper, but in her prefence. Inever go abroad, except the fometimes takes me with her in her coach to take the air, if it may be called fo, when we drive, as we gene. rally do, with the glaffes up. I have overheard my fervants lament my condition, but they dare not bring me meffages without her knowledge, becaufe they doubt my refolution to stand by them. In the midst of this infipid way of life, an old acquaintance of mine, Tom Meggot, who is a favourite with her, and allowed to vifit me in her company because he fings prettily, has roufed me to rebel, and conveyed his intelligence to me in the following manner. My wife is a great pretender to music, and very ignorant of it; but far gone in the Italian tafte. Tom goes to Armstrong, the famous fine writer of music, and defires him to put this fentence of Tully in the fcale of an Italian air, and write it out for my fpoufe from him. An ille mibi • liber cui mulier imperat? Cui leges imponit, præfcribit, jubet, vetat, quod videtur? Qui nihil imperanti negare, nihil recufare audet? Pofcit? dandum eft. Vocat? veniendum. Ejicit? abeundum. Minitatur? extimifendum-Does he live like a gentleman who is commanded by a woman? He to whom the gives law, grants and denies what the pleafes? who can neither deny her any thing the afks, or refufe to do any thing the commands?" To be short, my wife was extremely pleafed with it; faid, the Italian was the only language for mufic; and admired how wonderfully tender the fentiment was, and how pretty the accent is of that language, with the reft that is faid by rote on that occafion. Mr. Megget is fent for to fing this air, which he performs with mighty applause; and my wife is in extaly on the occafion, and glad to find, by my being fo mech pleafed, that I was at latt come into the notion of the Italian; For," faid fhe, it grows upon one when one once

• comes

' comes to know a little of the language: ' —and pray, Mr. Meggot, fing again thofe notes, Nihil imperanti negare, 'nibil recufare. You may believe I was not a little delighted with my friend Tom's expedient to alarm me, and in obedience to his fummons I give all this ftory thus at large; and I am refolved, when this appears in the Spectator, to declare for myself. The manner of the infurrection I contrive by your means, which fhall be no other than that Tom Meggot, who is at our tea-table every morning, fhall read it to us; and if my dear can take the hint, and fay not one word, but let this be the beginning of a new life without farther explanation,

IT

it is very well; for as foon as the Spectator is read out, I fhall without more ado, call for the coach, name the hour when I fhall be at home, if I come at all; if I do not, they may go to dinner. If my spouse only fwells and fays no thing, Tom and I go out together, and all is well, as I faid before; but if the begins to command or expoftulate, you fhall in my next to you receive a full ac count of her refiftance and fubmiffion, for fubmit the dear thing muft to, Sir, your moft obedient humble fervant,

ANTHONY FREEMAN.

P. S. I hope I need not tell you that I defire this may be in your very next.

A GOOD INTENTION.

T is the great art and fecret of Chriftianity, if I may use that phrase, to manage our actions to the best advantage, and direct them in fuch a manner, that every thing we do may turn to account at that great day, when every thing we have done will be fet before

us.

In order to give this confideration it's full weight, we may caft all our actions under the divifion of fuch as are in themselves either good, evil, or indifferent. If we divide our intentions after the faine manner, and confider them with regard to our actions, we may difcover that great art and fecret of religion which I have here mentioned.

A good intention joined to a good action, gives it it's proper force and effi. cacy: joined to an evil action, extenuates it's malignity, and in fome cafes may take it wholly away; and joined to an indifferent action turns, it to a virtue, and makes it meritorious as far as human actions can be fo.

In the next place, to confider in the fame manner the influence of an evil in tention upon our actions. An evil intention perverts the belt of actions, and makes them in reality, what the fathers with a witty kind of zeal have termed the virtues of the heathen world, fo many fhining fins. It deftroys the innocence of an indifferent action, and

VIRG. EN. I. VER. 608.

T

If, in the last place, we confider the nature of an indifferent intention, we fhall find that it deftroys the merit of a good action; abates, but never takes away, the malignity of an evil action; and leaves an indifferent action in it's natural state of indifference.

It is therefore of unfpeakable advantage to poffefs our minds with an habitual good intention, and to aim all our thoughts, words, and actions, at fome laudable end, whether it be the glory of our Maker, the good of mankind, or the benefit of our own fouls.

This is a fort of thrift or good hufbandry in moral life, which does not throw away any fingle action, but makes every one go as far as it can. It multiplies the means of falvation, increases the fumber of our virtues, and diminifhes that of our vices.

There is fomething very devout, though not folid, in Acofta's answer to Limborch, who objects to him the multiplicity of ceremonies in the Jewish religion, as washings, drefles, meats, purgations, and the like. The reply which the Jew makes upon this occafion, is, to the best of my remembrance, as follows There are not duties enough,'

fays

fays he, in the effential parts of the law for a zealous and active obedi•ence. Time, place, and perfon, are requifite, before you have an opportunity of putting a moral virtue into practice. We have therefore,' fays he, enlarged the sphere of our duty, and made many things which are in themselves indifferent, a part of our religion, that we may have more occafions of fhewing our love to God, and in all the circumstances of life be doing fomething to please him.'

Monfieur St. Evremond has endeavoured to palliate the fuperftitions of the Roman Catholic religion with the fame kind of apology, where he pretends to confider the different fpirit of the Papifts and the Calvinifts, as to the great points wherein they difagree. He tell us, that the former are actuated by love, and the other by fear; and that in their expreffions of duty and devotion towards the Supreme Being, the former feem particularly careful to do every thing which may poffibly pleafe him, and the other to abftain from every thing which may poffibly difplease him.

But notwithstanding this plaufible reafon with which both the Jew and the Roman Catholic would excufe their refpective fuperftitions, it is certain there is fomething in them very pernicious to mankind, and destructive to religion; because the injunction of fuperfluous ceremonies makes fuch actions duties, as were before indifferent, and by that means renders religion more burthenfome and difficult than it is in it's own nature, betrays many into fins of omiffion which they could not otherwife be guilty of, and fixes the minds of the vulgar to the fhadowy uneffential points, instead of the more weighty and more important matters of the law.

This zealous and active obedience however takes place in the great point we are recommending; for if, instead of prefcribing to ourfelves indifferent actions as duties, we apply a good intention to all our most indifferent actions, we make our very existence one continued act of obedience, we turn our diverfions and amufements to our eternal advantage, and are pleafing him, whom we are made to pleafe, in all the circumstances and occurrences of life.

It is this excellent frame of mind, this holy officioufnefs, if I may be allowed to call it fuch, which is recom

mended to us by the apostle in that uncommon precept, wherein he directs us to propofe to ourselves the glory of our Creator in all our moft indifferent actions, whether we eat or drink, or 'whatsoever we do.'

A perfon therefore who is poffeffed with fuch an habitual good intention, as that which I have been here fpeaking of, enters upon no fingle circumstance of life, without confidering it as wellpleafing to the great Author of his being, conformable to the dictates of rea fon, fuitable to human nature in general, or to that particular station in which Providence has placed him. He lives in a perpetual fenfe of the Divine Presence, regards himself as acting, in the whole courfe of his exiftence, under the obfervation and infpection of that Being, who is privy to all his motions, and all his thoughts, who knows his downfitting and his up-rifing, who is about his path, and about his bed, and spieth out all his ways.' In a word, he remembers that the eye of his Judge is always upon him, and in every action he reflects that he is doing what is commanded or allowed by him who will hereafter either reward or punish it. This was the character of those holy men of old, who in that beaut ful phrafe of Scripture are faid to have walked with God.'

When I employ myself upon a paper of morality, I generally confider how I may recommend the particular virtue which I treat of, by the precepts or examples of the ancient heathens; by that means, if poffible, to fhame those who have greater advantages of knowing their duty, and therefore greater obligations to perform it, into a better course of life: befides that many among us are unreasonably_difpofed to give a fairer hearing to a Pagan philofopher, than to a Christian writer.

I fhall therefore produce an inftance of this excellent frame of mind in a fpeech of Socrates, which is quoted by Erafmus. This great philofopher on the day of his execution, a little before the draught of poifon was brought to him, entertaining his friends with a difcourfe on the immortality of the foul, has thefe words- Whether or no God will approve of my actions, I know not; but this I am fure of, that I have at all times made it my endeavour to pleafe him, and I have a good hope

that

✦ that this my endeavour will be accept'ed by him. We find in these words of that great man the habitual good intention which I would here inculcate, and with which that divine philofopher always acted. I fhall only add, that Erafmus, who was an unbigotted Roman Catholic, was fo much transported with this paffage of Socrates, that he

I

could fcarce forbear looking upon him as a faint, and defiring him to pray for him; or as that ingenious and learned writer has expreffed himself in a much more lively manner- When I reflect on fuch a speech pronounced by fuch 'a perfon, I can scarce forbear crying out "Sandte Socrates, ora pro nobis:"O holy Socrates, pray for us."

SERVITII

Juv. SAT. III. VER. 124.

Did fome time ago lay before the world the unhappy condition of the trading part of mankind, who fuffer by want of punctuality in the dealings of perfons above them; but there is a fet of men who are much more the objects of compaffion than even thofe, and these are the dependents on great men, whom they are pleased to take under their protection as fuch as are to fhare in their. friendship and favour. These indeed, as well from the homage that is accepted from them, as the hopes which are given to them, are become a fort of creditors; and these debts being debts of honour, ought, according to the accuf. tomed maxim, to be firft discharged.

When I fpeak of dependents, I would not be understood to mean those who are worthless in themselves, or who, without any call will prefs into the company of their betters. Nor, when I fpeak of patrons, do I mean those who either have it not in their power, or have no obligation to affift their friends; but I fpeak of fuch leagues where there is power and obligation on the one part, and merit and expectation on the other. The divifion of patron and client, may, I believe, include a third of our nation; the want of merit and real worth in the client, will strike out about ninetynine in an hundred of thefe; and the want of ability in patrons, as many of that kind. But however, I must beg leave to fay, that he who will take up another's time and fortune in his fervice, though he has no profpect of rewarding his merit towards him, is as unjuft in his dealings as he who takes up

DRYDEN.

L

goods of a tradesman without intention or ability to pay him. Of the few of the clafs which I think fit to confider, there are not two in ten who fucceed, infomuch that I know a man of good fense who put his fon to a blacksmith, though an offer was made him of his being received as a page to a man of quality. There are not more cripples come out of the wars than there are from thofe great fervices; fome through difcontent lofe their speech, fome their memories, others their senses or their lives ; and I seldom see a man thoroughly discontented, but I conclude he has had the favour of some great man. I have known of fuch as have been for twenty years together within a month of a good employment, but never arrived at the happiness of being poffeffed of any thing.

There is nothing more ordinary, than that a man who is got into a confiderable station, shall immediately alter his manner of treating all his friends, and from that moment he is to deal with you as if he were your fate. You are no longer to be confulted, even in matters which concern yourself; but your patron is of a fpecies above you, and a free communication with you is not to be expected. This perhaps may be your condition all the while he bears office, and when that is at an end, you are as intimate as ever you were, and he will take it very ill if you keep the diftance he prefcribed you towards him in his grandeur. One would think this should be a behaviour a man could fall into with the worfe grace imaginable; but they

who