SIR,-Having lately read your essay on its own producing. There is another cir the Pleasures of the Imagination, I was cumstance in which I am very particular, so taken with your thoughts upon some of or, as my neighbours call me, very whimsi our English gardens, that I cannot forbear cal: as my garden invites into it all the birds troubling you with a letter upon that sub- of the country, by offering them the conject. I am one, you must know, who am veniency of springs and shades, solitude looked upon as a humourist in gardening. I and shelter, I do not suffer any one to dehave several acres about my house which 1 stroy their nests in the spring, or drive call my garden, and which a skilful gar- them from their usual haunts in fruit-time; dener would not know what to call. It is I value my garden more for being full of a confusion of kitchen and parterre, orch- blackbirds than cherries, and very frankly ard and flower-garden, which lie so mixed give them fruit for their songs. By this and interwoven with one another, that if a means I have always the music of the seaforeigner, who had seen nothing of our coun- son in its perfection, and am highly detry, should be conveyed into my garden at lighted to see the jay or the thrush hopping his first landing, he would look upon it as a about my walks, and shooting before my natural wilderness, and one of the unculti- eyes across the several little glades and alvated parts of our country. My flowers leys that I pass through, I think there are grow up in several parts of the garden in as many kinds of gardening as of poetry: the greatest luxuriancy and profusion. I your makers of parterres and flower-garam so far from being fond of any particular dens are epigrammatists and sonnetteers one, by reason of its rarity, that if I meet in this art; contrivers of bowers and grottos, with any one in a field which pleases me, treillages and cascades, are romance wriI give it a place in my garden. By this ters. Wise and London are our heroic means, when a stranger walks with me, he poets; and if, as a critic, I may single out Is surprised to see several large spots of any passage of their works to commend, I ground covered with ten thousand different shall take notice of that part in the upper colours, and has often singled out flowers garden at Kensington, which was at first that he might have met with under a com- nothing but a gravel-pit. It must have mon hedge, in a field, or in a meadow, as been a fine genius for gardening that could some of the greatest beauties of the place. have thought of fortning such an unsightly The only method I observe in this particu- hollow into so beautiful an area, and to lar, is to range in the same quarter the have hit the eye with so uncommon and products of the same season, that they may agreeable a scene as that which it is now make their appearance together, and com- wrought into. To give this particular spot pose a picture of the greatest variety. of ground the greatest effect, they have There is the same irregularity in my plan- made a very pleasing contrast; for as on tations, which run into as great a wilder-one side of the walk you see this hollow ness as their natures will permit. I take basin, with its several little plantations, ly in none that do not naturally rejoice in the ing so conveniently under the eye of the soil; and am pleased, when I am walking beholder, on the other side of it there apin a labyrinth of my own raising, not to know whether the next tree I shall meet with is an apple or an oak, an elm or a pear-tree. My kitchen has likewise its particular quarters assigned it; for, besides the wholesome luxury which that place abounds with, I have always thought a kitchen-garden a more pleasant sight than the finest orangery or artificial greenhouse. I love to see every thing in its perfection; and am more pleased to survey my rows of coleworts and cabbages, with a thousand nameless pot-herbs, springing up in their full fragrancy and verdure, than to see the tender plants of foreign countries kept alive by artificial heats, or withering in an air and soil that are not adapted to them. I must not omit, that there is a fountain rising in the upper part of my garden, which forms a little wandering rill, and administers to the pleasure as well as to the plenty of the place. I have so conducted it, that it visits most of my plantations; and have taken particular care to let it run in the same manner as it would do in an open field, so that it generally passes through banks of violets and primroses, plats of willow or other plants, that seem to be of pears a seeming mount, made up of trees rising one higher than another, in proportion as they approach the centre. A spectator, who has not heard this account of it, would think this circular mount was not only a real one, but that it had been actually scooped out of that hollow space which I have before mentioned. I never yet met with any one, who has walked in this gar den, who was not struck with that part of it which I have here mentioned. As for myself, you will find, by the account which I have already given you, that my compo sitions in gardening are altogether after the Pindaric manner, and run into the beautiful wildness of nature, without af fecting the nicer elegancies of art. What I am now going to mention will, perhaps, deserve your attention more than any thing I have yet said. I find that, in the dis course which I spoke of at the beginning of my letter, you are against filling an Eng lish garden with evergreens: and indeed! am so far of your opinion, that I can by no means think the verdure of an evergreen comparable to that which shoots out an nually, and clothes our trees in the summer season. But I have often wondered that hose who are like myself, and love to live n gardens, have never thought of contrivng a winter garden, which would consist of such trees only as never cast their leaves. We have very often little snatches of sunhine and fair weather in the most uncomortable parts of the year, and have frequently several days in November and anuary that are as agreeable as any in the nest months. At such times, therefore, I hink there could not be a greater pleasure han to walk in such a winter garden as I ave proposed. In the summer season the hole country blooms, and is a kind of garen; for which reason we are not so sensile of those beauties that at this time may e every where met with; but when nature in her desolation, and presents us with othing but bleak and barren prospects, here is something unspeakably cheerful in spot of ground which is covered with trees hat smile amidst all the rigour of winter, nd give us a view of the most gay season the midst of that which is the most dead nd melancholy. I have so far indulged yself in this thought, that I have set apart whole acre of ground for the executing of The walls are covered with ivy instead f vines. The laurel, the horn-beam, and e holly, with many other trees and plants the same nature, grow so thick in it, hat you cannot imagine a more lively ene. The glowing redness of the beres, with which they are hung at this time, From the shops we retired to the tavern, es with the verdure of their leaves, and where I found my friend express so much apt to inspire the heart of the beholder satisfaction for the bargains he had made, ith that vernal delight which you have that my moral reflections (if I had told mewhere taken notice of in your former them) might have passed for a reproof; apers. It is very pleasant, at the same so I chose rather to fall in with him, me, to see the several kinds of birds re- and let the discourse run upon the use of ring into this little green spot, and enjoy- fashions. g themselves among the branches and liage, when my great garden, which I ave before mentioned to you, does not afrd a single leaf for their shelter. that a friend of mine, who had many things to buy for his family, would oblige me to walk with him to the shops. He was very nice in his way, and fond of having every thing shown; which at first made me very uneasy; but, as his humour still continued, the things which I had been staring at along with him began to fill my head, and led me into a set of amusing thoughts concerning them. "I fancied it must be very surprising to any one who enters into a detail of fashions to consider how far the vanity of mankind has laid itself out in dress, what a prodigious number of people it maintains, and what a circulation of money it occasions. Providence in this case makes use of the folly which we will not give up, and it becomes instrumental to the support of those who are willing to labour. Hence it is that fringe-makers, lace-men, tire-women, and a number of other trades, which would be useless in a simple state of nature, draw their subsistence; though it is seldom seen that such as these are extremely rich, because their original fault of being founded upon vanity keeps them poor by the light inconstancy of its nature. The variableness of fashion turns the stream of business, which flows from it, now into one channel, and anon into another; so that the different sets of people sink or flourish in their turns by it. You must know, sir, that I look upon he pleasure which we take in a garden as e of the most innocent delights in human fe. A garden was the habitation of our rst parents before the fall. It is naturally pt to fill the mind with calmness and tranillity, and to lay all its turbulent passions rest. It gives us a great insight into the ontrivance and wisdom of Providence, and ggests innumerable subjects for meditaon. I cannot but think the very complaency and satisfaction which a man takes in ese works of nature to be a laudable, if ta virtuous, habit of mind. For all which asons I hope you will pardon the length my present letter. I am, sir, &c.'C. 'Here we remembered how much man is governed by his senses, how lively he is struck by the objects which appear to him in an agreeable manner, how much clothes contribute to make us agreeable objects, and how much we owe it to ourselves that we should appear so. "We considered man as belonging to societies; societies as formed of different ranks; and different ranks distinguished by habits, that all proper duty or respect might attend their appearance. We took notice of several advantages which are met with in the occurrences of conversation; how the bashful man has beer sometimes so raised, as to express himself with an air of freedom when he imagines that his habit introduces him to company with a becoming manner; and again, how a fool in fine clothes shall be suddenly heard with attention, till he has betrayed himself; whereas a man of sense appearing with a dress of negligence, shall be but coldly received till he be proved by time, and established in a character. Such things as these we could recollect to have hap pened to our own knowledge so very often, MR. SPECTATOR,-It happened lately that we concluded the author had his rea 0.478.] Monday, September 8, 1712. Usus, sons, who advises his son to go in dress lars, who might have been otherwise useful The reasons offered, by which we ex- pressed, when we can have recourse to the fashions of their times, produce them in our vindication, and be able to show, that it might have been as expensive in queen Elizabeth's time-only to wash and quill a ruff, as it is now to buy cravats or neck handkerchiefs. 'We desire also to have it taken notice of, that because we would show a particular respect to foreigners, which may induce them to perfect their breeding here in a knowledge which is very proper for pretty gentlemen, we have conceived the motto for the house in the learned language. There is to be a picture over the door, with a looking-glass and a dressing chair in the middle of it; then on one side are to be seen, above one another, patch-boxes, pincushions, and little bottles; on the other, powder-bags, puffs, combs, and brushes; beyond these, swords with fine knots, whose First, That every one who is consider-points are hidden, and fans almost closed, able enough to be a mode, and has any imperfection of nature or chance, which it is possible to hide by the advantage of clothes, may, by coming to this repository, be furnished herself, and furnish all who are under the same misfortune, with the most agreeable manner of concealing it; and that, on the other side, every one, who has any beauty in face or shape, may also be furnished with the most agreeable manner of showing it. were as follows: with the handles downward, are to stand "Adeste, O quotquot sunt, Veneres, Gratie, Cupidines, Your weapons here choose, and your empire extend. 'Secondly, That whereas some of our young gentlemen who travel, give us great reason to suspect that they only go abroad to make or improve a fancy for dress, a project of this nature may be a means to keep them at home; which is in effect the keeping of so much money in the kingdom. The proposal of my correspondent I can And perhaps the balance of fashion in not but look upon as an ingenious method Europe, which now leans upon the side of of placing persons (whose parts make them France, may be so altered for the future, ambitious to exert themselves in frivolous that it may become as common with French-things) in a rank by themselves. In order men to come to England for their finishing to this, I would propose that there be stroke of breeding, as it has been for Eng board of directors of the fashionable society lishmen to go to France for it.another and, because it is a matter of too much Thirdly, Whereas several great scho-weight for a private man to determine one, I should be highly obliged to my N. B. The place of the physician to this . 479.] Tuesday, September 9, 1712. -Dare jura maritis. Hor. Ars Poet. 398. To regulate the matrimonial life. MANY especially in the domestic, or matrimonial part of it, to preserve always a disposition to be pleased. This cannot be supported but by considering things in their right light, and as Nature has formed them, and not as our own fancies or appetites would have them. He then who took a young lady to his bed, with no other consideration than the expectation of scenes of dalliance, and thought of her (as I said before) only as she was to administer to the gratification of desire; as that desire flags, will, without her fault, think her charms and her merit abated: from hence must follow indifference, dislike, peevishness, and rage. But the man who brings his reason to support his passion, and beholds what he loves as liable to all the calamities of human life, both in body and mind, and even at the best what must bring upon him new cares, and new relations; such a lover, I say, will form himself accordingly, and adapt his mind to the nature of his circumstances. This latter person will be prepared to be a father, a friend, an advocate, a steward for people yet unborn, and has proper affections ready for every incident in the marriage state. Such a man can hear the cries of children with pity instead of anger; and, when they run over his head, he is not disturbed at their noise, but is glad of their mirth and health. Tom Trusty has told me, that he thinks it doubles his attention to the most intricate affair he is about, to hear his children, for whom all his cares are applied, make a noise in the next room: on the other side, Will Sparkish cannot put on his periwig, or adjust his cravat at the glass, for the noise of those damned nurses and squalling brats; and then ends with a gallant reflection upon the comforts of matrimony, runs out of the hearing, and drives to the chocolate-house. According as the husband is disposed in himself, every circumstance of his life is to give him torment or pleasure. When the affection is well placed, and supported by the considerations of de, but, above all, ill-nature in their friendship, which are in the honour, and ves. I cannot tell how it is, but I think ee in all their letters that the cause of eir uneasiness is in themselves; and indeed have hardly ever observed the married ndition unhappy, but for want of judgent or temper in the man. The truth is, generally make love in a style and with timents very unfit for ordinary life: they e half theatrical and half romantic. By s means we raise our imaginations to at is not to be expected in human life; d, because we did not beforehand think the creature we are enamoured of, as ject to dishonour, age, sickness, imtience, or sullenness, but altogether conered her as the object of joy; human ure itself is often imputed to her as her rticular imperfection, or defect. take it to be a rule, proper to be obved in all occurrences of life, but more the highest degree engaged in this alliance, there can nothing rise in the common course of life, or from the blows or favours of fortune, in which a man will not find matters of some delight unknown to a single condition. He who sincerely loves his wife and family, and studies to improve that affection in himself, conceives pleasure from the most indifferent things; while the married man, who has not bid adieu to the fashions and false gallantries of the town, is perplexed with every thing around him. In both these cases men cannot, indeed, make a sillier figure than in repeating such pleasures and pains to the rest of the world; but I speak of them only as they sit upon those who are involved in them. As I visit all sorts of people, I cannot indeed but smile, when the good lady tells her husband what extraordinary things the child spoke tippe, that I bear so well your flying out in a dispute. To another, My hen clacks very much, but she brings me chickens. They that live in a trading street are not disturbed at the passage of carts.' I would have, if possible, a wise man be contented with his lot, even with a shrew; for, though he cannot make her better, he may, you see, make himself better by her means. But, instead of pursuing my design of displaying conjugal love in its natural beauties and attractions, I am got into tales to the disadvantage of that state of life. I must say, therefore, that I am verily per suaded, that whatever is delightful in human life is to be enjoyed in greater perfection in the married than in the single condition. He that has this passion in perfection, in occasions of joy, can say to himself, besides his own satisfaction, How happy will this make my wife and children!' Upon cecur rences of distress or danger, can comfort himself: But all this while my wife and children are safe.' There is something in it that doubles satisfactions, because others participate them; and dispels afflictions, because others are exempt from them. All who are married without this relish of their circumstances, are in either a tasteless indolence and negligence, which is hardly to be attained, or else live in the hourly repe tition of sharp answers, eager upbraidings, and distracting reproaches. In a word, the married state, with and without the affection suitable to it, is the completest image of heaven and hell we are capable of re since he went out. No longer than yester- * Bracton. T. No. 480.] Wednesday, September 10, 1712. THE other day, locking over those old manuscripts of which I have formerly given some account, and which relate to the character of the mighty Pharamond of France, and the close friendship between him and his friend Eucrate, I found among the letters which had been in the custody of the latter, an epistle from a country gentleman to Pharamond, wherein he excuses himself from coming to court. The gen tleman, it seems, was contented with his condition, had formerly been in the king's service; but at the writing the following letter, had, from leisure and reflection, quite another sense of things than that which he had in the more active part of his life. Monsieur Chezluy to Pharamond. 'DREAD SIR,—I have from your own hand (enclosed under the cover of Mr. |