The Spectator Volume Iii Part 19

[Footnote 2: Pancras.]

No. 453. Sat.u.r.day, August 9, 1712. Addison.

'Non usitata nec tenui ferar Penna--'

Hor.

There is not a more pleasing Exercise of the Mind than Grat.i.tude. It is accompanied with such an inward Satisfaction, that the Duty is sufficiently rewarded by the Performance. It is not like the Practice of many other Virtues, difficult and painful, but attended with so much Pleasure, that were there no positive Command which enjoin'd it, nor any Recompence laid up for it hereafter, a generous Mind would indulge in it, for the natural Gratification that accompanies it.

If Grat.i.tude is due from Man to Man, how much more from Man to his Maker? The Supream Being does not only confer upon us those Bounties which proceed more immediately from his Hand, but even those Benefits which are conveyed to us by others. Every Blessing we enjoy, by what Means soever it may be derived upon us, is the Gift of him who is the great Author of Good, and Father of Mercies.

If Grat.i.tude, when exerted towards one another, naturally produces a very pleasing Sensation in the Mind of a Grateful Man; it exalts the Soul into Rapture, when it is employed on this great Object of Grat.i.tude; on this Beneficent Being who has given us every thing we already possess, and from whom we expect every thing we yet hope for.

Most of the Works of the Pagan Poets were either direct Hymns to their Deities, or tended indirectly to the Celebration of their respective Attributes and Perfections. Those who are acquainted with the Works of the Greek and Latin Poets which are still extant, will upon Reflection find this Observation so true, that I shall not enlarge upon it. One would wonder that more of our Christian Poets have not turned their Thoughts this way, especially if we consider, that our Idea of the Supream Being is not only infinitely more Great and n.o.ble than what could possibly enter into the Heart of an Heathen, but filled with every thing that can raise the Imagination, and give an Opportunity for the sublimest Thoughts and Conceptions.

_Plutarch_ tells of a Heathen who was singing an Hymn to _Diana_, in which he celebrated her for her Delight in Human Sacrifices, and other Instances of Cruelty and Revenge; upon which a Poet who was present at this piece of Devotion, and seems to have had a truer Idea of the Divine Nature, told the Votary, by way of Reproof, that in recompence for his Hymn, he heartily wished he might have a Daughter of the same Temper with the G.o.ddess he celebrated. It was indeed impossible to write the Praises of one of those false Deities, according to the Pagan Creed, without a mixture of Impertinence and Absurdity.

The _Jews_, who before the Times of Christianity were the only People that had the Knowledge of the True G.o.d, have set the Christian World an Example how they ought to employ this Divine Talent of which I am speaking. As that Nation produced Men of great Genius, without considering them as inspired Writers, they have transmitted to us many Hymns and Divine Odes, which excel those that are delivered down to us by the Ancient _Greeks_ and _Romans_, in the Poetry, as much as in the Subject to which it was consecrated. This I think might easily be shewn, if there were occasion for it.

I have already communicated to the Publick some Pieces of Divine Poetry, and as they have met with a very favourable Reception, I shall from time to time publish any Work of the same nature which has not yet appeared in Print, [1] and may be acceptable to my Readers.

I. When all thy Mercies, O my G.o.d, My rising Soul surveys; Transported with the View, I'm lost In Wonder, Love, and Praise:

II. O how shall Words with equal Warmth The Grat.i.tude declare That glows within my ravish'd Heart?

But thou canst read it there.

III. Thy Providence my Life sustain'd, And all my Wants redrest, When in the silent Womb I lay, And hung upon the Breast.

IV. To all my weak Complaints and Cries, Thy Mercy lent an Ear, Ere yet my feeble Thoughts had learnt To form themselves in Pray'r.

V. Unnumbered Comforts to my Soul Thy tender Care bestow'd, Before my infant Heart conceiv'd From whom those Comforts flow'd.

VI. When in the slippery Paths of Youth With heedless Steps I ran, Thine Arm unseen convey'd me safe And led me up to Man.

VII. Through hidden Dangers, Toils, and Deaths, It gently clear'd my Way, And through the pleasing Snares of Vice, More to be fear'd than they.

VIII. When worn with Sickness oft hast thou With Health renew'd my Face, And when in Sins and Sorrows sunk Revived my Soul with Grace.

IX. Thy bounteous Hand with worldly Bliss Has made my Cup run o'er, And in a kind and faithful Friend Has doubled all my Store.

X. Ten thousand thousand precious Gifts My Daily Thanks employ, Nor is the least a chearful Heart, That tastes those Gifts with Joy.

XI. Through every Period of my Life Thy Goodness I'll pursue; And after Death in distant Worlds The Glorious Theme renew.

XII. When Nature fails, and Day and Night Divide thy Works no more, My Ever-grateful Heart, O Lord, Thy Mercy shall adore.

XIII. Through all Eternity to Thee A joyful Song I'll raise, For oh! Eternity's too short To utter all thy Praise.

C.

[Footnote 1: By himself.]

No. 454. Monday, August 11, 1712. Steele.

'Sine me, Vacivum tempus ne quod dem mihi Laboris.'

Ter. Heau.

It is an inexpressible Pleasure to know a little of the World, and be of no Character or Significancy in it. To be ever unconcerned, and ever looking on new Objects with an endless Curiosity, is a Delight known only to those who are turned for Speculation: Nay, they who enjoy it, must value Things only as they are the Objects of Speculation, without drawing any worldly Advantage to themselves from them, but just as they are what contribute to their Amus.e.m.e.nt, or the Improvement of the Mind.

I lay one Night last Week at _Richmond_; and being restless, not out of Dissatisfaction, but a certain busie Inclination one sometimes has, I rose at Four in the Morning, and took Boat for _London_, with a Resolution to rove by Boat and Coach for the next Four and twenty Hours, till the many different Objects I must needs meet with should tire my Imagination, and give me an Inclination to a Repose more profound than I was at that Time capable of. I beg People's Pardon for an odd Humour I am guilty of, and was often that Day, which is saluting any Person whom I like, whether I know him or not. This is a Particularity would be tolerated in me, if they considered that the greatest Pleasure I know I receive at my Eyes, and that I am obliged to an agreeable Person for coming abroad into my View, as another is for a Visit of Conversation at their own Houses.

The Hours of the Day and Night are taken up in the Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_ by People as different from each other as those who are born in different Centuries. Men of Six a Clock give way to those of Nine, they of Nine to the Generation of Twelve, and they of Twelve disappear, and make Room for the fashionable World, who have made Two a Clock the Noon of the Day.

When we first put off from Sh.o.r.e, we soon fell in with a Fleet of Gardeners bound for the several Market-Ports of _London_; and it was the most pleasing Scene imaginable to see the Chearfulness with which those industrious People ply'd their Way to a certain Sale of their Goods. The Banks on each Side are as well peopled, and beautified with as agreeable Plantations, as any Spot on the Earth; but the _Thames_ it self, loaded with the Product of each Sh.o.r.e, added very much to the Landskip. It was very easie to observe by their Sailing, and the Countenances of the ruddy Virgins, who were Super-Cargoes, the Parts of the Town to which they were bound. There was an Air in the Purveyors for _Covent-Garden_, who frequently converse with Morning Rakes, very unlike the seemly Sobriety of those bound for _Stocks Market_.

Nothing remarkable happened in our Voyage; but I landed with Ten Sail of Apric.o.c.k Boats at _Strand-Bridge_, after having put in at _Nine-Elms_, and taken in Melons, consigned by Mr. _Cuffe_ of that Place, to _Sarah Sewell_ and Company, at their Stall in _Covent-Garden_. We arrived at _Strand-Bridge_ at Six of the Clock, and were unloading: when the Hackney Coachmen of the foregoing Night took their leave of each other at the _Dark-House_, to go to Bed before the Day was too far spent, Chimney-Sweepers pa.s.s'd by us as we made up to the Market, and some Raillery happened between one of the Fruit Wenches and those black Men, about the Devil and _Eve_, with Allusion to their several Professions. I could not believe any Place more entertaining than _Covent-Garden_; where I strolled from one Fruit-Shop to another, with Crowds of agreeable young Women around me, who were purchasing Fruit for their respective Families. It was almost eight of the Clock before I could leave that Variety of Objects. I took Coach and followed a Young Lady, who tripped into another just before me, attended by her Maid. I saw immediately she was of the Family of the _Vainloves_. There are a set of these who of all Things affect the Play of _Blindman's-Buff_, and leading Men into Love for they know not whom, who are fled they know not where. This sort of Woman is usually a janty Slattern; she hangs on her Cloaths, plays her Head, varies her Posture, and changes Place incessantly, and all with an Appearance of striving at the same time to hide her self, and yet give you to understand she is in Humour to laugh at you. You must have often seen the Coachmen make Signs with their Fingers as they drive by each other, to intimate how much they have got that Day. They can carry on that Language to give Intelligence where they are driving. In an Instant my Coachman took the Wink to pursue, and the Lady's Driver gave the Hint that he was going through _Long-Acre_ towards St. _James's_: While he whipped up _James-Street_, we drove for _King-Street_, to save the Pa.s.s at St. _Martin's-Lane_. The Coachmen took care to meet, jostle, and threaten each other for Way, and be entangled at the End of _Newport-Street_ and _Long-Acre_. The Fright, you must believe, brought down the Lady's Coach Door, and obliged her, with her Mask off, to enquire into the Bustle, when she sees the Man she would avoid. The Tackle of the Coach-Window is so bad she cannot draw it up again, and she drives on sometimes wholly discovered, and sometimes half escaped, according to the Accident of Carriages in her Way. One of these Ladies keeps her Seat in a Hackney-Coach, as well as the best Rider does on a managed Horse. The laced Shooe of her left Foot, with a careless Gesture, just appearing on the opposite Cushion, held her both firm, and in a proper Att.i.tude to receive the next Jolt.