vating and adorning their own minds, or ac- | ladies learned in economics, dictate to their quiring an ability to be useful to the world, they pupils for the improvement of the kitchen and reap no other advantage from their labours, than larder. the dry consolation arising from the applauses they bestow upon each other. And the same weakness, or defect of the mind from whence pedantry takes its rise, does likewise give birth to avarice. Words and money are both to be regarded as only marks of things; and as the knowledge of the one, so the possession of the other is of no use, unless directed to a further end. A mutual commerce could not be carried on among men, if some common standard had not been agreed upon, to which the value of all the various products of art and nature were reducible, and which might be of the same use in the conveyance of property, as words are in that of ideas. Gold, by its beauty, scarceness, and durable nature, seems designed by Providence to a purpose so excellent and advantageous to mankind. Upon these considerations that metal came first into esteem. But such who cannot see beyond what is nearest in the pursuit, beholding mankind touched with an affection for gold, and being ignorant of the true reason that introduced this odd passion into human nature, imagine some intrinsic worth in the metal to be the cause of it. Hence, the same men who, had they been turned towards learning, would have employed themselves in laying up words in their memory, are, by a different application employed to as much purpose, in treasuring up gold in their coffers. They differ only in the object; the principle on which they act, and the inward frame of mind, is the same in the critic and the miser. And upon a thorough observation, our modern sect of free-thinkers will be found to labour under the same defect with those two inglorious species. Their short views are terminated in the next objects, and their specious pretences for liberty and truth, are so many instances of mistaking the means for the end. But the setting these points in a clear light, must be the subject of another paper. Ir is no small pleasure to me, who am zeal. ous in the interests of learning, to think I may have the honour of leading the town into a very new and uncommon road of criticism. As that kind of literature is at present carried on, it consists only in a knowledge of mechanic rules which contribute to the structure of different sorts of poetry; as the receipts of good house-, wives do to the making puddings of flour, oranges, plums, or any other ingredients. It would, methinks, make these my instructions more easily intelligible to ordinary readers, if I discoursed of these matters in the style in which I shall begin with epic poetry, because the critics agree it is the greatest work human nature is capable of. I know the French have already laid down many mechanical rules for compositions of this sort, but at the same time they cut off almost all undertakers from the pos sibility of ever performing them; for the first qualification they unanimously require in a poet, is a genius. I shall here endeavour (for the benefit of my countrymen) to make it manifest, that epic poems may be made without a genin nay, without learning, or much reading. This must necessarily be of great use to all those poets who confess they never read, and of whom the world is convinced they never learn. What Moliere observes of making a dinner, that any man can do it with money, and if a professed cook cannot without, he has his art for nothing; the same may be said of making a poem, it is easily brought about by him that has a genius, but the skill lies in doing it without one. In pursuance of this end, I shall present the read er with a plain and certain recipe, by which even sonnetteers and ladies may be qualified for this grand performance. I know it will be objected, that one of the chief qualifications of an epic poet, is to b knowing in all arts and sciences. But this ought not to discourage those that have no learning, as long as indexes and dictionaries may be had, which are the compendium of ali knowledge. Besides, since it is an established rule, that none of the terms of those arts and sciences are to be made use of, one may venture to affirm, our poet cannot impertinently offend in this point. The learning which will be more particularly necessary to him, is the ancient geography of towns, mountains, and rivers: for this let him take Cluverius, value four-pence. Another quality required is a complete skill in languages. To this I answer, that it is notrious persons of no genius have been oftentimes great linguists. To instance in the Greek, of which there are two sorts; the original Greek, and that from which our modern authors translate. I should be unwilling to promise impossibilities, but modestly speaking, this may be learned in about an hour's time with case. I have known one, who became a sudden professor of Greek, immediately upon application of the left-hand page of the Cambridge Homer to his eye. It is in these days with authors as with other men, the well-bred are familiarly ac quainted with them at first sight; and as it is sufficient for a good general to have surveyed the ground he is to conquer, so it is enough for a good poet to have seen the author he is to be master of. But to proceed to the purpose of this paper. A Receipt to make an Epic Poem. FOR THE FABLE. Take out of any old poem, history, book, romance, or legend, (for instance, GeoTry of Monmouth, or don Belianis of Greece) those parts of story which afford most scope for long descriptions. Put these pieces together, and throw all the adventures you fancy into one tale. Then take a hero whom you may choose for the sound of his name, and put him into the midst of these adventures. There let him work for twelve books; at the end of which you may take him out ready prepared to conquer, or to marry; it being necessary that the conclusion of an epic poem be fortunate.' verse. Add to these of rain, lightning, and of thunder (the loudest you can) quantum sufficit. Mix your clouds and billows well together until they foam, and thicken your description here and there with a quicksand. Brew your tempest well in your head, before you set it a blowing.' For a Battle. Pick a large quantity of images and descriptions from Homer's Iliads, with a spice or two of Virgil, and if there remain any overplus you may lay them by for a skirmish. Season it well with similes, and it will make an excellent battle.' For burning a Town. If such a description To make an Episode. Take any remaining adventure of your former collection, in which you could no way involve your hero; or any unfortunate accident that was too good to be thrown away; and it will be of use applied to any other person, who may be lost and evapo-be necessary, because it is certain there is one rate in the course of the work, without the least in Virgil, old Troy is ready burnt to your hands. damage to the composition.' But if you fear that would be thought borrowed, a chapter or two of the Theory of the Conflagration, well circumstanced, and done into verse, will be a good succedaneum.' For the Moral and Allegory.—These you may extract out of the fable afterwards, at your leisure. Be sure you strain them sufficiently.' FOR THE MANNERS. For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you can find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity; if they will not be reduced to a consistency, lay them all on a heap upon him. But be sure they are qualities which your patron would be thought to have: and, to prevent any mistake which the world may be subject to, select from the alphabet those capital letters that compose his name, and set them at the head of a dedication before your poem. However, do not absolutely observe the exact quantity of these virtues, it not being determined, whether or no it be necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest man. For the under characters, gather them from Homer and Virgil, and change the names as occasion serves.' FOR THE MACHINES. Take of deities, male and female, as many as you can use. Separate them into two equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. Let Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify him. Remember on all occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If you have need of devils, Nec dens intersit, nisi dignus vindice Nodus Never presume to make a god appear, That is to say, a poet should never call upon the gods for their assistance, but when he is in great perplexity.' FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. For a Tempest.-Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and Boreas, and cast them together in one As for Similes and Metaphors, they may be found all over the creation; the most ignorant may gather them, but the danger is in applying them. For this advise with your bookseller. FOR THE LANGUAGE. (I mean the diction.) Here it will do well to be an imitator of Milton, for you will find it easier to imitate him in this, than any thing else. Hebraisms and Grecisms are to be found in him, without the trouble of learning the languages. I knew a painter, who (like our poet) had no genius, make his daubings to be thought originals by setting them in the smoke. may in the same manner give the venerable air of antiquity to your piece, by darkening it up and down with old English. With this you may be easily furnished upon any occasion, by the dictionary commonly printed at the end of Chaucer.' You writers without genius in one material point, I must not conclude, without cautioning all which is, never to be afraid of having too much fire in their works. I should advise rather to take their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon paper; for they are observed to cool before they are read. No. 79.} Thursday, June 11, 1713, Præclara et pulchra minantem Hor Lib. 1. Ep. viii. 3. I make a noise, a gaudy show, I promise mighty things, I nobly strive; Yet what an ill, unpleasant life I live! Creech. Ir is an employment worthy a reasonable creature, to examine into the disposition of men's affections towards each other, and as far as one can, to improve all tendencies to good nature and charity. No one could be unmoved with this epistle, which I received the other day from one of my correspondents, and which is full of the most ardent benevolence. To the Guardian. 'SIR,-I seldom read your political, your critical, your ludicrous, or if you will call them so, wherein those distinctions shall cease for ever, and they must both give an account for their behaviour under their respective sufferings and enjoyments. However, you would do your part as a guardian, if you would mention, in the most pathetic terms, these miserable objects, and put the good part of the world in mind of exerting the most noble benevolence that can be imagined, in alleviating the few remaining moments of the incurable. PHILANTHROPOS your polite papers, but when I observe any thing which I think written for the advancement of good-will amongst men, and laying before them objects of charity, I am very zealous for the promotion of so honest a design. Believe me, sir, want of wit or wisdom, is not the infirmity of this age; it is the shameful application of both that is the crying evil. As for my own part, I am always endeavouring at least to be better, rather than richer or wiser. But I never lamented that I was not a wealthy man so hear- 'A gentleman who belonged to the hospital, tily as the other day. You must understand was saying, he believed it would be done as that I now and then take a walk of mortifica. soon as mentioned, if it were proposed that a tion, and pass a whole day in making myself ward might be erected for the accommodation profitably sad. I for this end visit the hospitals of such as have no more to do in this world, bat about this city, and when I have rambled about resign themselves to death. I know no readier the galleries at Bedlam, and seen for an hour way of communicating this thought to the the utmost of all lamentable objects, human world, than by your paper. If you omit to pub reason distracted; when I have from grate to lish this, I shall never esteem you to be the man grate offered up my prayers for a wretch who you pretend; and so recommending the incurs has been reviling me, for a figure that has seem-ble to your guardianship, I remain, sir, your ed petrified with anguish, for a man that has most humble servant, held up his face in a posture of adoration toward heaven to utter execrations and blasphemies; I say, when I have beheld all these things, It must be confessed, that if one turns one's and thoroughly reflected on them, until I have eyes round these cities of London and Weststartled myself out of my present ill course, I minster, one cannot overlook the exemplary inhave thought fit to pass to the observation of stances of heroic charity, in providing restraints less evils, and relieve myself by going to those for the wicked, instructions for the young, food charitable receptacles about this town, appoint- and raiment for the aged, with regard also to ed only for bodily distresses. The gay and fro- all other circumstances and relations of human lic part of mankind are wholly unacquainted life; but it is to be lamented that these provi with the numbers of their fellow-creatures who sions are made only by the middle kind of peolanguish under pain and agony, for want of a ple, while those of fashion and power are raised trifle out of that expense by which those fortu- above the species itself, and are unacquainted nate persons purchase the gratification of a su- or unmoved with the calamities of others. But, perfluous passion or appetite. I ended the last alas! how monstrous is this hardness of heart! of these pilgrimages which I made, at St. Tho- How is it possible that the returns of hunger mas's hospital in Southwark. I had seen all the and thirst should not importune men, though in variety of woe which can arise from the distem- the highest affluence, to consider the miseries pers which attend human frailty; but the cir- of their fellow-creatures who languish under cumstance which occasioned this letter, and necessity. But as I hinted just now, the dis gave me the quickest compassion, was behold-tinctions of mankind are almost wholly to be ing a little boy of ten years of age, who was just then to be expelled the house as incurable. My heart melted within me to think what would become of the poor child, who, as I was informed, had not a farthing in the world, nor father, nor mother, nor friend to help it. The infant saw my sorrow for it, and came towards me, and bid me speak, that it might die in the house. 'Alas! there are crowds cured in this place, and the strictest care taken, in the distribution of the charity, for wholesome food, good physic, and tender care in behalf of the patients; but the provision is not large enough for those whom they do not despair of recovering, which makes it necessary to turn out the incurable, for the sake of those whom they can relieve. I was informed this was the fate of many in a year, as well as of this poor child, who I suppose, corrupted away yet alive in the streets. He was to be sure removed when he was only capable of giving offence, though avoided when still an object of compassion. There are not words to give mankind compunction enough on such an occasion; but I assure you I think the miserable have a property in the superfluous possessions of the fortunate; though I despair of secing right done them until the day resolved into those of the rich and the poor; for as certainly as wealth gives acceptance and grace to all that its 'possessor says or does; so poverty creates disesteem, scorn, and prejudice, to all the undertakings of the indigent. The necessitous man has neither hands, lips, or understanding, for his own or friend's use, but is in the same condition with the sick, with this difference only, that his is an infection no man will relieve or assist, or if he does, it is seldom with so much pity as contempt, and rather for the ostentation of the physician, than compassion on the patient. It is a circumstance, wherein a man finds all the good he deserves inaccessible, all the ill unavoidable; and the poor hero is as certainly ragged, as the poor villain hanged. Under these pressures the poor man speaks with hesitation, undertakes with irresolution, and acts with disappointment. He is slighted in men's conversations, overlooked in their assemblies, and beaten at their doors. But from whence, alas! has he this treatment? from a creature that has only the supply of, but not an exemption from, the wants, for which he despises him. Yet such is the unaccountable insolence of man, that he will not see that he who is supported, is in the same class of natural necessity with him that wants a support; and I up in the name of it, in order to disparage such to be helped implies to be indigent. In a of its communicants as will not sacrifice their word, after all you can say of a man, conclude conscience to their fortunes. This confusion that he is rich, and you have made him friends; and subdivision of interests and sentiments nor have you utterly overthrown a man in the among people of the same communion, is what world's opinion, until you have said he is poor. would be a very good subject of mirth; but This is the emphatical expression of praise and when I consider against whom this insult is blame: for men so stupidly forget their natural committed, I think it too great, and of too ill a impotence and want, that riches and poverty consequence, to be in good humour on the ochave taken in our imagination the place of in-casion. nocence and guilt. Reflections of this kind do but waste one's 'SIR,-Your character of universal Guarbeing, without capacity of helping the dis-dian, joined to the concern you ought to have tressed; yet though I know no way to do any for the cause of virtue and religion, assure me service to my brethren under such calamities, you will not think that clergymen when injured, I cannot help having so much respect for them, have the least right to your protection; and it as to suffer with them in a fruitless fellow-is from that assurance I trouble you with this, feeling. Friday, June 12, 1713. No. 80.] Colestibus Iræ. 'June 9, 1713. to complain of the Examiner, who calumniates as freely as he commends, and whose invectives are as groundless as his panegyrics. 'In his paper of the eighth instant, after a most furious invective against many noble lords, a considerable number of the commons, and a very great part of her majesty's good subjects, as disaffected and full of discontent, (which, by the way, is but an awkward compliment to the I HAVE found, by experience, that it is im-queen, whose greatest glory it is to reign in the possible to talk distinctly without defining the words of which we make use. There is not a term in our language which wants explanation so much as the word Church. One would think when people utter it, they should have in their minds ideas of virtue and religion; but that important monosyllable drags all the other words in the language after it, and it is made use of to express both praise and blame, according to the character of him who speaks it. By this means it happens, that no one knows what his neighbour means when he says such a one is for or against the church. It has happened that the person, who is seen every day at church, has not been in the eye of the world a churchman; and he who is very zealous to oblige every man to frequent it, but himself, has been held a very good son of the church. This preposses. sion is the best handle imaginable for politicians to make use of, for managing the loves and hatreds of mankind, to the purposes to which they would lead them. But this is not a thing for fools to meddle with, for they only bring disesteem upon those whom they attempt to serve, when they unskilfully pronounce terms of art. I have observed great evils arise from this practice, and not only the cause of piety, but also the secular interest of clergymen, has extremely suffered by the general unexplained signification of the word Church. hearts of her people,) that the clergy may not go without their share of his resentment, he concludes with a most malicious reflection upon some of them. He names indeed nobody, but points to Windsor and St. Paul's, where he tells us some are disrespectful to the queen, and enemies to her peace; most odious characters, especially in clergymen, whose profession is peace, and to whose duty and affection her majesty has a more immediate right, by her singular piety and great goodness to them. "They have sucked in," he says, "this war-like principle from their arbitrary patrons." It is not enough, it seems, to calumniate them, unless their patrons also be insulted, no less patrons than the late king and the duke of Marlborough. These are his arbitrary men; though nothing be more certain than that without the king, the shadow of a legal government had not been left to us; nor did there ever live a man, who in the nature and temper of him, less deserved the character of arbitrary than the duke. How now is this terrible charge against those clergymen supported? Why, as to St. Paul's, the fact, according to him, is this: "Some of the church, to affront the queen, on the day the peace was proclaimed, gave orders for parochial prayers only, without singing, as is used upon fast-days, though in this particular their inferiors were so very honest to disobey them." This the ExaThe Examiner, upon the strength of being miner roundly affirms, after his usual manner, a received church-man, has offended in this but without the least regard to truth; for it is particular more grossly than any other man fallen in my way, without inquiring, to be exever did before, and almost as grossly as ever actly informed of this matter, and therefore, I he himself did, supposing the allegations in the take upon me in their vindication to assure you, following letter are just. To slander any man that every part of what is said is absolutely is a very heinous offence; but the crime is still false, and the truth is just the reverse. greater, when it falls upon such as ought to inferiors desired there might be only parochial give example to others. I cannot imagine prayers; but the person applied to was aware how the Examiner can divest any part of the to what construction it might be liable, and clergy of the respect due to their characters, so therefore would not consent to the request, as to treat them as he does, without an indul-though very innocent and reasonable. The case gence unknown to our religion, though taken was this: the procession of the ceremony had The No. 81.1 Saturday, June 13, 1713. Quiete et pure atque eleganter actæ ætatis placida æ lenis recordatio. Cvera Placid and soothing is the remembrance of a hie passed with quiet, innocence, and elegance. reached Ludgate just at the time of prayers, and there was such a prodigious concourse of people, that one of the vergers came to the residentiary in waiting, to represent, that it would be impossible to have prayers that afternoon; that the crowds all round the church was so great, there would be no getting in: but it was THE paper which was published on the thir. insisted, that there must be prayers, only the tieth of last month, ended with a piece of dero tolling of the bell should be deferred a little, tion written by the archbishop of Cambray. It until the head of the procession was got beyond would (as it was hinted in that precaution) be the church. When the bell had done, and none of singular use for the improvement of our of the choir appeared, but one to read, it was minds, to have the secret thoughts of men of upon this again represented, that there could be good talents on such occasions. I shall for the only parochial prayers, a thing that sometimes entertainment of this day give my reader two happens, twice or thrice perhaps in a year, picces, which, if he is curious, will be pleasing when, upon some allowable occasion, the ab- for that reason, if they prove to have no other sence of the choir-men is so great, as not to effect upon him. One of them was found in the leave the necessary voices for cathedral service; closet of an Athenian libertine, who lived many which very lately was the case upon a per- ages ago, and is a soliloquy wherein he contemformance of the thanksgiving music at White- plates his own life and actions according to the hall. So that had the prayers, on this occasion, lights men have from nature, and the compute been parochial only, it had been neither new tions of natural reason. The other is a prayer of nor criminal, but necessary and unavoidable, a gentleman who died within few years last past; unless the Examiner can tell how the service and lived to a very great age; but had passed may be sung decently without singing-men. his youth in all the vices in fashion. The AtheHowever, to leave informers no room for calumnian is supposed to have been Alcibiades, a man ny, it was expressly urged, that parochial of great spirit, extremely addicted to pleasures, prayers on such a day, would look ill; that but at the same time very capable, and upon octherefore, if possible, it should be avoided, and casion very attentive to business. He was by the service should be begun as usual, in hopes nature endued with all the accomplishments one or two of the choir might come in before the she could bestow; he had beauty, wit, courage, psalms; and the verger was ordered to look out, and a great understanding; but in the first if he could see any of the choir, to hasten them bloom of his life was arrogantly affected with to their places; and so it proved, two of the best the advantages he had over others. That tenvoices came in time enough, and the service per is pretty visible in an expression of his: when was performed cathedral-wise, though in a man- it was proposed to him to learn to play upon a ner to bare walls, with an anthem suitable to musical instrument, he answered, 'It is not or the day. This is the fact on which the Exa-me to give, but to receive delight.' However, miner grounds a charge of factious and sedi. tious principles against some at St. Paul's, and I am persuaded there is as little truth in what he charges some of Windsor with, though I know not certainly whom he means. Were I disposed to expostulate with the Examiner, I would ask him if he seriously thinks this be answering her majesty's intentions? Whether disquieting the minds of her people is the way to calm them? Or to traduce men of learning I am now wholly alone, my ears are not enand virtue, be to cultivate the arts of peace? tertained with music, my eyes with beauty, nor But I am too well acquainted with his writings any of my senses so forcibly affected, as to de not to see he is past correction; nor does any. vert the course of my inward thoughts. Mething in his paper surprise me, merely because thinks there is something sacred in myself w it is false; for to use his own words, "not a day I am alone. What is this being of mine? I passes," with him, "but it brings forth a mouse came into it without my choice, and yet Socrates or a monster, some ridiculous lie, some vile ca- says it is to be imputed to me. In this repose lumny or forgery." He is almost equally false of my senses wherein they communicate nothing in every thing he says; but it is not always strongly to myself, I taste, methinks, a being equally easy to make his falsehood plain and distinct from their operation. Why may not palpable. And it is chiefly for that reason I then my soul exist, when she is wholly gone out desire you to give this letter a place in your of these organs? I can perceive my faculties papers, that those that are willing to be unde- grow stronger, the less I admit the pleasures of ceived may learn, from so clear an instance, sense; and the nearer I place myself to a bare what a faithful, modest writer this is, who pre-existence, the more worthy, the more noble, the tends to teach them how to think and speak of things and persons they know nothing of them. selves. As this is no way disagrecable to your character of Guardian, your publication of it is a favour which I flatter myself you will not deny to, sir, your humble servant, 'R. A.' the conversation of Socrates tempered a strong inclination to licentiousness into reflections of philosophy; and if it had not the force to make a man of his genius and fortune wholly regular, it gave him some cool moments, and this following soliloquy is supposed by the learned to have been thrown together before some expected engagement, and seems to be very much the picture of the man. more celestial does that existence appear to me. If my soul is weakened rather than improved by all that the body administers to her, she may reasonably be supposed to be designed for a mansion more suitable than this, wherein what delights her diminishes her excellence, and that which afflicts her adds to her perfection. There |