As at the rising of the Sun the Constellations grow
thin, and the Stars go out one after another, till
the whole Hemisphere is extinguished; such was the
vanishing of the Goddess: And not only of the
Goddess her self, but of the whole Army that attended
her, which sympathized with their Leader, and shrunk
into Nothing, in proportion as the Goddess disappeared.
At the same time the whole Temple sunk, the Fish betook
themselves to the Streams, and the wild Beasts to the
Woods: The Fountains recovered their Murmurs,
the Birds their Voices, the Trees their Leaves, the
Flowers their Scents, and the whole Face of Nature
its true and genuine Appearance. Tho’ I
still continued asleep, I fancied my self as it were
awakened out of a Dream, when I saw this Region of
Prodigies restored to Woods and Rivers, Fields and
Meadows.
Upon the removal of that wild Scene of Wonders, which
had very much disturbed my Imagination, I took a full
Survey of the Persons of WIT and TRUTH; for indeed
it was impossible to look upon the first, without
seeing the other at the same time. There was behind
them a strong and compact Body of Figures. The
Genius of Heroic Poetry appeared with a Sword
in her Hand, and a Lawrel on her Head. Tragedy
was crowned with Cypress, and covered with Robes dipped
in Blood. Satyr had Smiles in her Look, and
a Dagger under her Garment. Rhetorick was known
by her Thunderbolt; and Comedy by her Mask.
After several other Figures, Epigram marched
up in the Rear, who had been posted there at the Beginning
of the Expedition, that he might not revolt to the
Enemy, whom he was suspected to favour in his Heart.
I was very much awed and delighted with the Appearance
of the God of Wit; there was something so amiable
and yet so piercing in his Looks, as inspired me at
once with Love and Terror. As I was gazing on
him, to my unspeakable Joy, he took a Quiver of Arrows
from his Shoulder, in order to make me a Present of
it; but as I was reaching out my Hand to receive it
of him, I knocked it against a Chair, and by that
means awaked.
C.
[Footnote 1: Scent bags. Ital. Polviglio;
from Pulvillus, a little cushion.]
* * * *
*
No. 64. Monday, May 14, 1711.
Steele.
’...
Hic vivimus Ambitiosa
Paupertate omnes
...’
Juv.
The most improper things we commit in the Conduct
of our Lives, we are led into by the Force of Fashion.
Instances might be given, in which a prevailing Custom
makes us act against the Rules of Nature, Law and
common Sense: but at present I shall confine my
Consideration of the Effect it has upon Men’s
Minds, by looking into our Behaviour when it is the
Fashion to go into Mourning. The Custom of representing
the Grief we have for the Loss of the Dead by our
Habits, certainly had its Rise from the real Sorrow
