The Tatler: By the Right Honourable Joseph Addison, Esq;.

N^o 114. Saturday, December 31, 1709.

Ut in vita, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum ex∣istimo, severitatem comitatemque miscere, ne illa in tristi∣tiam, haec in petulantiam procedat. Plin. Epist.

Sheer-Lane, December 30.

I WAS walking about my chamber this morning in a very gay humour, when I saw a coach stop at my door, and a youth about fifteen alighting out of it, who I per∣ceived to be the eldest son of my bosom-friend that I gave some account of in my paper of the 17th of last

month. I felt a sensible pleasure rising in me at the sight of him, my acquaintance having begun with his father when he was just such a stripling, and about that very age. When he came up to me, he took me by the hand, and burst into tears. I was extremely moved, and imme∣diately said, child, how does your father do? He began to reply, my mother — but could not go on for weeping. I went down with him into the coach, and gathered out of him, that his mother was then dying, and that while the holy man was doing the last offices to her, he had taken that time to come and call me to his father, who, he said, would certainly break his heart if I did not go and comfort him. The child's discretion in coming to me of his own head, and the tenderness he showed for his parents, would have quite overpowered me, had I not resolved to fortify myself for the season∣able performance of those duties which I owed to my friend. As we were going, I could not but reflect upon the character of that excellent woman, and the greatness of his grief for the loss of one who has ever been the support to him under all other afflictions. How, thought I, will he be able to bear the hour of her death, that could not, when I was lately with him, speak of a sick∣ness, which was then past, without sorrow. We were now got pretty far into Westminster, and arrived at my friend's house. At the door of it I met Favonius, not without a secret satisfaction to find he had been there. I had formely conversed with him at his house; and as he a∣bounds with that sort of virtue and knowlege which makes religion beautiful, and never leads the conversa∣tion into the violence and rage of party-disputes, I li∣stened to him with great pleasure. Our discourse chanced to be upon the subject of death, which he treated with such a strength of reason, and greatness of soul, that in∣stead of being terrible, it appeared to a mind rightly cul∣tivated, altogether to be contemned, or rather to be de∣sired. As I met him at the door, I saw in his face a cer∣tain glowing of grief and humanity, heightened with an

air of fortitude and resolution, which, as I afterwards found, had such an irresistible force, as to suspend the pains of the dying, and the lamentation of the nearest friends who attended her. I went up directly to the room where she lay, and was met at the entrance by my friend, who, notwithstanding his thoughts had been composed a little before, at the sight of me, turned away his face and wept. The little family of children renewed the ex∣pressions of their sorrow according to their several ages and degrees of understanding. The eldest daughter was in tears, busied in attendance upon her mother; others were kneeling about the bed-side: and what troubled me most was, to see a little boy, who was too young to know the reason, weeping only because his sisters did. The only one in the room who seemed resigned and comforted was the dying person. At my approach to the bed-side, she told me, with a low broken voice, this is kindly done—Take care of your friend—Do not go from him. She had before taken leave of her husband and chil∣dren, in a manner proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness peculiar to a woman of her character. My heart was torn to pieces to see the husband on one side suppressing and keeping down the swellings of his grief, for fear of disturbing her in her last moments; and the wife even at that time concealing the pains she en∣dured, for fear of encreasing his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for some moments after she grew speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the moment of her departure, my friend, who had thus far commanded him∣self, gave a deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bed-side. The distraction of the children, who thought they saw both their parents expiring together, and now lying dead before them, would have melted the hardest heart; but they soon perceived their father recover, whom I helped to remove into another room, with a resoluti∣on to accompany him till the first pangs of his affli∣ction were abated. I knew consolation would now be impertinent; and therefore contented myself to sit by

him, and condole with him in silence. For I shall here use the method of an ancient author, who in one of his e∣pistles relating the virtues and death of Macrinus's wife, expresses himself thus;

"I shall suspend my advice to this best of friends, till he is made capable of receiv∣ing it by those three great remedies, (necessitas ipsa, dies longa, et satietas doloris) the necessity of submission, length of time, and satiety of grief."

In the mean time, I cannot but consider, with much commiseration, the melancholy state of one who has had such a part of himself torn from him, and which he misses in every circumstance of life. His condition is like that of one who has lately lost his right arm, and is every moment offering to help himself with it. He does not appear to himself the same person in his house, at his table, in company, or in retirement; and loses the relish of all the pleasures and diversions that were before en∣tertaining to him by her participation of them. The most agreeable objects recal the sorrow for her with whom he used to enjoy them. This additional satisfaction, from the taste of pleasures in the society of one we love, is ad∣mirably described by Milton, who represents Eve, though in paradise itself, no further pleased with the beautiful ob∣jects around her, than as she sees them in company with Adam, in that passage so inexpressibly charming.

With thee conversing I forget all time, All seasons, and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; the silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven her starry train. But neither breath of morn when she ascends

With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun In this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.

The variety of images in this passage is infinitely pleasing, and the recapitulation of each particular image, with a little varying of the expressions, makes one of the finest turns of words that I have ever seen: which I ra∣ther mention, because Mr. Dryden has said in his pre∣face to Juvenal, that he could meet with no turn of words in Milton.

It may further be observed, that though the sweetness of these verses has something in it of a pastoral, yet it ex∣cels the ordinary kind, as much as the scene of it is a∣bove an ordinary field or meadow. I might here, since I am accidentally led into this subject, show several passages in Milton that have as excellent turns of this nature, as any of our English poets whatsoever; but shall only mention that which follows, in which he describes the fallen angels engaged in the intricate disputes of prede∣stination, free-will, and fore-knowlege; and to humour the perplexity, makes a kind of labyrinth in the very words that describe it.

Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, fore-knowlege, will and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, fore-knowlege absolute, And found no end in wand'ring mazes lost.

Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper.