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sure of my paper, I shall not give any further account of it.
No. LVII. SATURDAY, MAY 5.
Quem præstare potest mulier galeata pudorem,
What sense of shame in woman's breast can lie,
WHEN the wife of Hector, in Homer's Iliad, discourses with her husband about the battle in which he was going to engage--the hero, desiring her to leave that matter to his care, bids her go to her maids and mind her spinning; by which the poet intimates, that men and women ought to busy themselves in their proper spheres, and on such matters only as are suitable to their respective sex.
I am at this time acquainted with a young gentle--man who has passed a great part of his life in the nursery, and, upon occasion, can make a caudle or a sackposset better than any man in England. He is likewise a wonderful critic in cambric and muslins, and will talk an hour together upon a sweet-meat. He entertains his mother every night with observations that he makes both in town and court; as what lady. shews the nicest fancy in her dress; what man of quality wears the fairest wig; who has the finest linen, who the prettiest snuff-box; with many other the like curious remarks, that may be made in good com.. pany.
On the other hand, I have very frequently the opportunity of seeing a rural Andromache, who came
up to town last winter, and is one of the greatest foshunters in the country. She talks of hounds and horses, and makes nothing of leaping over a six-bar gate. If a man tells her a waggish story, she gives him a push with her hand in jest, and calls him an impudent dog: and if her servant neglects his business, threatens to kick him out of the house. I have heard her, in her wrath, call a substantial tradesman a lousy cur; and remember one day, when she could not think of the name of a person, she described him, in a large company of men and ladies, by the fellow with the broad shoulders.
If those speeches and actions, which in their own nature are indifferent, appear ridiculous when they proceed from a wrong sex, the faults and imperfections of one sex transplanted into another, appear black and monstrous. As for the men, I shall not in this paper any further concern myself about them; but as I would fain contribute to make womankind, which is the most beautiful part ofthecreation, entirely amiable, and wear out all those little spots and blemishes that are apt to rise among the charms which nature has poured out upon them, I shall dedicate this paper to their service. The spot which I would here endeavour to clear them of is, that party-rage which of late years has very much crept into their conversation. This is, in its nature, a male vice, and made up of many an. gry and cruel passions that are altogether repugnant to the softness, the modesty, and those other endearing qualities which are natural to the fair sex. Wo. men were formed to temper mankind, and sooth them into tenderness and compassion; not to set an edge upon their minds, and blow up in them those passions which are too apt to rise of their own accord. When I have seen a pretty mouth uttering calumnies and invectives, what would I not have given to have stopt it! How have I been troubled to see some of the finest features in the world grow pale, and tremble with party-rage! Camilla is one of the greatest beauties in the British nation, and yet values herself more upon being the virago of one party, than upon being the toast of both. The dear creature, about a week ago, encountered the fierce and beautiful Penthesilea across a tea-table; but in the height of her anger, as her hand chanced to shake with the earnestness of the dispute, she scalded her fingers, and spilt a dish of tea upon her petticoat. Had not this accident broke off the debate, nobody knows where it would have ended.
There is one consideration which I would earnestly recommend to all my female readers, and which, I hope, will have some weight with them. In short, it is this, that there is nothing so bad for the face as a party-zeal. It gives an ill-natured cast to the eye, and disagreeable sourness to the look; besides thai, it makes the lines too strong, and flushes them worse than brandy. I have seen a woman's face break out in heats as she has been talking against a great lord, whom she had never seen in her life ; and indeed never knew a party-woman that kept her beauty for a twelvemonth. I would therefore advise all my female readers, as they value their complexions, to let alone all disputes of this nature; though at the same time, I would give free liberty to all superannuated motherly partizans to be as violent as they please, since there will be no danger either of their spoiling their faces, or of their gaining converts.
For my own part, I think a män makes an odious and despicable figure that is violent in a party ; but a woman is too sincere to mitigate the fury of her principles with temper and discretion, and to act witli that caution and reservedness which are requisite in our sex. When this unnatural zeal gets into them, it tbrows them into ten thousand heats and extravagan.
cies; their generous souls set no bounds to their love or their hatred; and whether a Whig or a Tory, a lap-dog or a gallant, an opera or puppet-show, be the object of it, the passion, while it reigns, engrosses the whole woman.
I remember when Dr. Titus Oates was in all his glory, I accompanied my friend Will Honeycomb in a visit to a lady of his acquaintance. We were no sooner sat down, but upon casting my eyes about the room,
I found in almost every corner of it a print that represented the doctor in all magnitudes and dimensi
A little after, as the lady was discoursing my friend, and held her snuff-box in her hand, who should I see in the lid of it but the doctor! It was not long after this when she had occasion for her handkerchief, which upon the first opening discovered among the plaits of it the figure of the doctor. Upon this, my friend Will, who loves raillery, told her, that if he was in Mr. Truelove's place, for that was the name of her husband, he should be made as uneasy by a handkerchief as ever Othello was. “ I am afraid,” said she, « Mr. Honeycomb, you are a Tory; tell me truly, « are you a friend to the doctor or not?” Will, instead of making her a reply, smiled in her face, forindeed she was very pretty, and told her that one of her patches was dropping off. She immediately adjusted it, and looking a little seriously, “ Well,” she says, “ I'll be “ hanged if you and your friend are not against the doc
tor in your hearts. I suspected as much by his saying 6 nothing." Upon this she took her fan into her hand, and upon the opening of it again displayed to us the figure of the doctor, who was placed with great gra: vity among the sticks of it. In a word, I found that the doctor had taken possession of her thoughts, her discourse, and most of her furniture; but finding myself pressed too close by her question, I winked upon my friend to take his leave; which he did accordingly,
No. LVIII. MONDAY, MAY 7.
Ut pictura poesis erit.........
Poems like pictures are.
NOTHING is so much ired, and so little understood, as wit. No author that I know of has written professedly upon it; and as for those who make any mention of it, they only treat on the subject as it has accidentally fallen in their way, and that ioo in little short reflections, or in general declamatory flourishes, without entering into the bottom of the matter. I hope, therefore, I shall perform an acceptable work to my countrymen, if I treat at large upon this subject; which I shall endeavour to do in a manner suitable to it, that I may not incur the censure which a famous critic bestows upon one who had written a treatise upon the Sublime in a low grovelling style. I intend to lay aside a whole week for this undertaking, that the scheme of my thoughts may not be broken and interrupted; and I dare promise myself, if my readers will give me a week's attention, that this great city will be very much changed for the better by next Saturday night. I shall endeavour to make what I say intelligible to ordinary capacities; but if my readers meet with any paper that in some parts of it may be a little out of their reach, I would not have them discouraged, for they may assure themselves the next shall be much clearer.
As the great and only end of these my speculations is to banish vice and ignorance out of the territories of Great Britain, I should endeavour as much as possible to establish among us a taste of polite writing. It is with this view that I have endeavoured to set my readers right in several points relating to Operas and