HISTORY. WHEN I look into the frame and conftitution of my own mind, there is no part of it which I obferve with greater fatisfaction, than that tenderness and concern which it bears for the good and happiness of mankind. My own circumftances are indeed fo narrow and fcanty, that I fhould tafte but very little pleafure,could I receive it only from thofe enjoyments which are in my own poffeffion; but with this great tincture of humanity, which I find in all my thoughts and reflections, I am happier than any fingle perfon can be, with all the wealth, ftrength, beauty and fuccefs, that can be conferred upon a mortal, if he only relifhes fuch a proportion of these bleffings as is vefted in himself, and in his own private property. By this means, every man who does himself any real fervice, does me a kindness. I come in for my fhare in all the good that happens to a man of merit and virtue, and partake of many gifts of fortune and power that I was never born to. There is nothing in particular in which I fo much rejoice as the deliverance of good and generous fpirits out of dangers, difficulties and diftreffes. And because the world does not fupply inftances of this kind to furnish out fufficient entertainments for fuch an humanity and benevolence of temper, I have ever delighted in reading the hiftory of ages paft, which draws together into a narrow compafs the great Occurrences and events that are but thinly fown in thofe tracts of time, which lie within our knowledge and obfervation. When I fee the life of a great man, who deferved well of his country, after having ftrug. gled through all the oppofitions of prejudice and envy, breaking out with luftre, and fhining forth in all the fplendor of fuccefs, I clofe my book, and am an happy man for a whole evening. But fince in hiftory, events are of a mixed nature, and often happen alike to the worthlefs and the deferving, infomuch that we frequently fee a virtuous man, dying in the midst of difappointments and calamities, and the vicious ending their days in profperity and Br all peace; I love to amufe myfelf with the accounts I meet with in fabulous hiftories and fictions: For in this kind of writings we have always the pleasure of feeing vice punished, and virtue rewarded: Indeed, were we able to view a man in the whole circle of his exiftence, we fhould have the fatisfaction of feeing it close with happinefs or mifery, according to his proper merit: But though our view of him is interrupted by death before the finishing of his adventures (if I may fo fpeak) we may be fure that the conclufion and cataftrophe is altogether fuitable to his behaviour. On the contrary, the whole being of a man, confidered as an hero, or a knight-errant, is comprehended within the limits of a poem or romance, and therefore always ends to our fatisfaction; fo that inventions of this kind are like food and exercife to a good-natured difpofition, which they please and gratify at the fame time that they nourish and ftrengthen. The greater the affliction is in which we fee our favourites in these relations engaged, the greater is the pleasure we take in feeing them relieved. Among the many feigned hiftories which I have met with in my reading, there is none in which the hero's perplexity is greater, and the winding out of it more difficult, than that in a French author whose name I have forgot. It fo happens, that the hero's miftrefs was the fifter of his intimate friend, who for certain reafons was given out to be dead, while he was preparing to leave his country in queft of adventures. The hero having heard of his friend's death, immediately repaired to his miftrefs, to condole with her, and comfort her. Upon his arrival in her garden, he discovered at a distance a man clafped in her arms, and embracing her with the moft endearing tenderness. What fhould he do? It did not confift with the gentleness of a knight-errant either to kill his mistress, or the man whom he was pleafed to favour. At the fame time, it would have fpoiled a romance, fhould he have laid violent hands on himfelf, In fhort,he immediately entered upon his adventures; and, after a long feries of exploits, found out by degrees, that the perfon he faw in his mistress's arm was her own brother, taking leave of her before he left his country, and the embrace fhe gave him nothing elfe but the affectionate farewell of a fifter: So that he had at once the two greatest fatisfactions that could enter into the heart of man, in finding his friend alive, whom he thought. dead; and his mistrefs faithful, whom he believed inconftant. There are indeed fome difafters fo very fatal, that it is impoffible for any accident rectify them. Of this kind was that of poor Lugia, and yet we fee Ovid has found an expedient even in this cafe. He defcribes a beautiful and royal virgin walking on the fea-fhore, where fhe was difcovered by Neptune, and violated. After a long and fuccefsful importunity, to mitigate her forrow, he offers her whatever fhe could wish for. Never certainly was the wit of woman more puzzled in finding out a ftratagem to retrieve her honour. Had fhe defired to be changed into a stock or stone, a beaft, fish, or fowl, fhe would have been a lofer by it: Or had the defired to have been made a fea-nymph, or a goddefs, her immortality would have perpetuated her disgrace. Give me therefore, faid the, fuch a fhape as may make me in. capable of fuffering again that like calamity, or of being reproached for what I have already fuffered. In fhort, he was turned into a man, and by that only means avoided the danger and imputation fhe fo much dreaded. I was once myself in agonies of grief that are unutterable, and in fo great a diftraction of mind, that I thought myself even out of the poffibility of receiving comfort. The occafion was as follows: When I was a youth, in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I fell in love with an agreeable young woman, of a good family in thofe parts, and had the fatisfaction of feeing my addreffes kindly received, which occafioned the perplexity I am going to relate. We were in a calm evening diverting ourselves upon the top of the cliff, with the profpect of the fea and trifling away the time in fuch little fondneffes as are molt ridiculous to people in bufinefs, and moft agreeable to thofe in love. In the midft of these our innocent endearments, fhe fnatched a paper of verfes out of my hand and ran away with them. I was following her, when on a fudden the ground (though at a confiderable diftance from the verge of the precipice) funk under her, and threw her down from fo prodigious an height upon fuch a range of rocks, as would have dafhed her into ten thoufand pieces, had her body been made of adamant. It is much easier for my reader to imagine my state of mind upon fuch an occafion, than for me to exprefs it. I faid to myfelf, It is not in the power of heaven to relieve me; when I awoke, equally tranfported and aftonished to fee myself drawn out of an affliction which, the very moment before appeared to me altogether inextrica ble. The impreffions of grief and horror were fo lively on this occafion, that while they lafted, they made me more miferable than I was at the real death of this beloved perfon (which happened a few months after, at a time when the match between us was concluded) inafmuch as the imaginary death was untimedy, and I myself in appearance, an acceffary; whereas her real decease had at least these alleviations, of being natural and inevitable.. The memory of the dream I have related, ftill dwells fo ftrongly upon me, that I can never read the defcription of Dover-Cliff, in Shakespeare's tragedy of king Lear, without a fresh sense of my efcape. The profpect from that place is drawn with fuch proper incidents, that whoever can read it without growing giddy, must have a good head, or a very bad one. Come on, Sir, here's the place; fand ftill! How fearful The crows and choughs that wing the midway air, Show scarce as grofs as beetles. Half way down Hangs one that gathers famphire Dreadful trade! Methinks be feems no bigger than his head, Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more, TATLER, Vol. III. No. 117. EVERY HONOUR. VERY principle that is a motive to good actions ought to be encouraged, fince men are of fo different a make, that the fame principle does not work equally upon all minds. What fome men are prompted to by confcience, duty or religion, which are only different names for the fame things, others are prompted to by-honour. The fenfe of honour is of fo fine and delicate a nature, that it is only to be met with in minds which are naturally noble, or in fuch as have been cultivated by great examples, or a refined education. This paper therefore is chiefly defigned for thofe who by means of any of thefe advantages are, or ought to be, actuated by this glorious principle. But as nothing is more pernicious than a principle of action when it is misunderstood, I fhall confider honour with refpect to three forts of men: First of all, with regard to those who have a right notion of it. Secondly, with regard to those who have a mistaken notion of it. And thirdly, with regard to those who treat it as chimerical, and turn it into ridicule. In the first place, true honour, though it be a different principle from religion, is that which produces the fame effects. The lines of action, though drawn from different parts, terminate in the fame point. Religion embraces virtue, as it is enjoyed by the laws of God; honour, as it is graceful and ornamental to human nature. The religious man fears, the man of |