Title: The Tatler, Volume Two
Author: Various
Language: English
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  The Tatler

  Edited by
  George A. Aitken

  In Four Volumes
  Volume Two

[Illustration: _The R.t Hon.ble Joseph Addison Esq. one of his
Majesty's Secretary's of State._

_Engraved by Wm. H. Ward & Co. L'd. from the Original by Smith after
Kneller._]



The Tatler

Edited with Introduction & Notes

by
George A. Aitken

_Author of_
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.

[Illustration]

Vol. II


New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue

London: Duckworth & Co.
1899


Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press



_To_ Edward Wortley Montagu,[1] Esq.


  SIR,

When I send you this volume, I am rather to make you a request than
a Dedication. I must desire, that if you think fit to throw away any
moments on it, you would not do it after reading those excellent pieces
with which you are usually conversant. The images which you will meet
with here, will be very faint, after the perusal of the Greeks and
Romans, who are your ordinary companions. I must confess I am obliged
to you for the taste of many of their excellences, which I had not
observed until you pointed them to me. I am very proud that there are
some things in these papers which I know you pardon;[2] and it is no
small pleasure to have one's labours suffered by the judgment of a man,
who so well understands the true charms of eloquence and poesy. But I
direct this address to you, not that I think I can entertain you with
my writings, but to thank you for the new delight I have, from your
conversation, in those of other men.

May you enjoy a long continuance of the true relish of the happiness
Heaven has bestowed upon you. I know not how to say a more affectionate
thing to you, than to wish that you may be always what you are; and
that you may ever think, as I know you now do, that you have a much
larger fortune than you want.

  I am, Sir,
  Your most obedient, and most humble Servant,
  ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Edward Wortley Montagu, an intimate friend of Addison and Steele,
was the second son of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and grandson of
Edward Montagu, the first Earl of Sandwich. He was chosen a Member of
Parliament for Huntingdon in 1705, and in all other parliaments but
two to the end of her reign. On the accession of George I. he became
one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and was afterwards
Ambassador-Extraordinary to the Porte. He set out, January 27, 1716,
and having finished his negotiations returned in 1718. In the first
parliament called by King George I. he was chosen for the city of
Westminster, and afterwards served for Huntingdon. He was a member for
the city of Peterborough when he died, January 22, 1761, aged 80 years,
before he was able to alter his will, as he intended, in favour of his
son. He married the famous Lady Mary Pierrepont, eldest daughter of the
Duke of Kingston, in 1712, and by her he had issue an only son, Edward
Wortley Montagu, who was M.P. in three parliaments for Bossiney, in
Cornwall; and a daughter Mary, married to John Stuart, Earl of Bute,
August 24, 1736.

[2] There is no doubt that Wortley Montagu contributed papers and hints
for the _Tatler_ ("Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu," ed. Moy Thomas, i.
5, 10, 62). See specially No. 223.



THE TATLER

BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.



No. 50. [STEELE.[3]

From _Tuesday, August 2_, to _Thursday, August 4, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 2._


_The History of Orlando the Fair. Chap. I._

Whatever malicious men may say of our lucubrations, we have no design
but to produce unknown merit, or place in a proper light the actions
of our contemporaries who labour to distinguish themselves, whether it
be by vice or virtue. For we shall never give accounts to the world
of anything, but what the lives and endeavours of the persons (of
whom we treat) make the basis of their fame and reputation. For this
reason it is to be hoped, that our appearance is reputed a public
benefit; and though certain persons may turn what we mean for panegyric
into scandal, let it be answered once for all, that if our praises
are really designed as raillery, such malevolent persons owe their
safety from it only to their being too inconsiderable for history. It
is not every man who deals in ratsbane, or is unseasonably amorous,
that can adorn story like Æsculapius;[4] nor every stockjobber of
the India Company can assume the port, and personate the figure
of Aurengezebe.[5] My noble ancestor, Mr. Shakespeare, who was of
the race of the Staffs, was not more fond of the memorable Sir
John Falstaff, than I am of those worthies; but the Latins have an
admirable admonition expressed in two words, to wit, _nequid nimis_,
which forbids my indulging myself on those delightful subjects, and
calls me to do justice to others, who make no less figures in our
generation: of such, the first and most renowned is, that eminent hero
and lover, Orlando[6] the handsome, whose disappointments in love, in
gallantry, and in war, have banished him from public view, and made
him voluntarily enter into a confinement, to which the ungrateful age
would otherwise have forced him. Ten _lustra_ and more are wholly
passed since Orlando first appeared in the metropolis of this island:
his descent noble, his wit humorous, his person charming. But to none
of these recommendatory advantages was his title so undoubted as that
of his beauty. His complexion was fair, but his countenance manly;
his stature of the tallest, his shape the most exact; and though in
all his limbs he had a proportion as delicate as we see in the works
of the most skilful statuaries, his body had a strength and firmness
little inferior to the marble of which such images are formed. This
made Orlando the universal flame of all the fair sex: innocent virgins
sighed for him, as Adonis; experienced widows, as Hercules. Thus did
this figure walk alone the pattern and ornament of our species, but of
course the envy of all who had the same passions, without his superior
merit and pretences to the favour of that enchanting creature, woman.
However, the generous Orlando believed himself formed for the world,
and not to be engrossed by any particular affection. He sighed not for
Delia, for Chloris, for Chloe, for Betty, nor my lady, nor for the
ready chambermaid, nor distant baroness: woman was his mistress, and
the whole sex his seraglio. His form was always irresistible: and if we
consider, that not one of five hundred can bear the least favour from a
lady without being exalted above himself; if also we must allow, that a
smile from a side-box[7] has made Jack Spruce half mad, we can't think
it wonderful that Orlando's repeated conquests touched his brain: so it
certainly did, and Orlando became an enthusiast in love; and in all his
address, contracted something out of the ordinary course of breeding
and civility. However (powerful as he was), he would still add to the
advantages of his person that of a profession which the ladies favour,
and immediately commenced soldier. Thus equipped for love and honour,
our hero seeks distant climes and adventures, and leaves the despairing
nymphs of Great Britain to the courtship of beau and witlings till
his return. His exploits in foreign nations and courts have not been
regularly enough communicated unto us, to report them with that
veracity which we profess in our narrations: but after many feats of
arms (which those who were witnesses to them have suppressed out of
envy, but which we have had faithfully related from his own mouth in
our public streets) Orlando, returns home full, but not loaded with
years. Beau born in his absence made it their business to decry his
furniture, his dress, his manner; but all such rivalry he suppressed
(as the philosopher did the sceptic, who argued there was no such thing
as motion) by only moving. The beauteous Villaria,[8] who only was
formed for his paramour, became the object of his affection. His first
speech to her was as follows:

     "Madam,--It is not only that nature has made us two the most
     accomplished of each sex, and pointed to us to obey her dictates
     in becoming one; but that there is also an ambition in following
     the mighty persons you have favoured. Where kings and heroes, as
     great as Alexander, or such as could personate Alexander,[9] have
     bowed, permit your general to lay his laurels."

According to Milton:

    _The fair with conscious majesty approved
    His pleaded reason;_[10]

and fortune had now supplied Orlando with necessaries for his
high taste of gallantry and pleasure: his equipage and economy had
something in them more sumptuous and gallant than could be received
in our degenerate age; therefore his figure (though highly graceful)
appeared so exotic, that it assembled all the Britons under the age of
sixteen, who saw his grandeur, to follow his chariot with shouts and
acclamations, which he regarded with the contempt which great minds
affect in the midst of applauses. I remember I had the honour to see
him one day stop, and call the youths about him, to whom he spake as
follows:

"Good bastard,--Go to school, and don't lose your time in following
my wheels: I am loth to hurt you, because I know not but you are all
my own offspring: hark'ee, you sirrah with the white hair, I am sure
you are mine: there is half-a-crown. Tell your mother, this, with the
half-crown I gave her when I got you, comes to five shillings. Thou
hast cost me all that, and yet thou art good for nothing. Why, you
young dogs, did you never see a man before?" "Never such a one as you,
noble general," replied a truant from Westminster. "Sirrah, I believe
thee: there is a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman."

This vehicle, though sacred to love, was not adorned with doves: such
an hieroglyphic denoted too languishing a passion. Orlando therefore
gave the eagle,[11] as being of a constitution which inclined him
rather to seize his prey with talons, than pine for it with murmurs.


_From my own Apartment, August 2._

I have received the following letter from Mr. Powell of the Bath,[12]
who, I think, runs from the point between us, which I leave the whole
world to judge.

  _To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

"Having a great deal of more advantageous business at present on my
hands, I thought to have deferred answering your _Tatler_ of the
21st instant, till the company was gone, and season over; but having
resolved not to regard any impertinences of your paper, except what
relate particularly to me, I am the more easily induced to answer you
(as I shall find time to do it): First, partly lest you should think
yourself neglected, which I have reason to believe you would take
heinously ill. Secondly, partly because it will increase my fame, and
consequently my audience, when all the quality shall see with how much
wit and raillery I show you--I don't care a farthing for you. Thirdly,
partly because, being without books,[13] if I don't show much learning,
it will not be imputed to my having none.

"I have travelled Italy, France, and Spain, and fully comprehend what
any German artist in the world can do; yet cannot I imagine, why
you should endeavour to disturb the repose and plenty which (though
unworthy) I enjoy at this place. It cannot be, that you take offence
at my prologues and epilogues, which you are pleased to miscall foolish
and abusive. No, no, until you give a better,[14] I shall not forbear
thinking, that the true reason of your picking a quarrel with me was,
because it is more agreeable to your principles, as well as more to
the honour of your assured victory, to attack a governor. Mr. Isaac,
Mr. Isaac, I can see into a millstone as far as another (as the saying
is). You are for sowing the seeds of sedition and disobedience among
my puppets, and your zeal for the (good old) cause would make you
persuade Punch to pull the string from his chops, and not move his jaw
when I have a mind he should harangue. Now I appeal to all men, if
this is not contrary to that uncontrollable, unaccountable dominion,
which by the laws of nature I exercise over them; for all sorts of wood
and wire were made for the use and benefit of man: I have therefore
an unquestionable right to frame, fashion, and put them together,
as I please; and, having made them what they are, my puppets are my
property, and therefore my slaves: nor is there in nature anything
more just, than the homage which is paid by a less to a more excellent
being: so that, by the right therefore of a superior genius, I am their
supreme moderator, although you would insinuate (agreeably to your
levelling principles) that I am myself but a great puppet, and can
therefore have but a co-ordinate jurisdiction with them. I suppose I
have now sufficiently made it appear, that I have a paternal right[15]
to keep a puppet-show, and this right I will maintain in my prologues
on all occasions.

"And therefore, if you write a defence of yourself against this my
self-defence, I admonish you to keep within bounds; for every day
will not be so propitious to you as the 29th of April; and perhaps my
resentment may get the better of my generosity, and I may no longer
scorn to fight one who is not my equal with unequal weapons: there
are such things as _scandalums magnatums_;[16] therefore take heed
hereafter how you write such things as I cannot easily answer, for that
will put me in a passion.

"I order you to handle only these two propositions, to which our
dispute may be reduced: the first, whether I have not an absolute
power, whenever I please, to light a pipe with one of Punch's legs, or
warm my fingers with his whole carcass? The second, whether the devil
would not be in Punch, should he by word or deed oppose my sovereign
will and pleasure? And then, perhaps, I may (if I can find leisure for
it) give you the trouble of a second letter.

"But if you intend to tell me of the original of puppet-shows, and
the several changes, and revolutions that have happened in them,
since Thespis, and I don't care who, that's _noli me tangere_; I have
solemnly engaged to say nothing of what I can't approve. Or, if you
talk of certain contracts with the mayor and burgesses, or fees to the
constables, for the privilege of acting, I will not write one single
word about any such matters;[17] but shall leave you to be mumbled by
the learned and very ingenious author of a late book, who knows very
well what is to be said and done in such cases.[18] He is now shuffling
the cards, and dealing to Timothy; but if he wins the game, I will send
him to play at backgammon with you; and then he will satisfy you, that
deuce-ace makes five.

"And so, submitting myself to be tried by my country, and allowing any
jury of twelve good men, and true, to be that country; not excepting
any (unless Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff) to be of the panel,[19] for you are
neither good nor true; I bid you heartily farewell; and am,

  "Sir,
  Your loving Friend,
  POWELL.[20]

  "Bath, _July 28_."

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Nichols suggests that this and the following number were by
Addison, who had sent Steele another packet or two from Ireland since
the appearance of No. 32. Perhaps Steele made one paper, headed "The
History of Orlando the Fair," serve for two numbers (50, 51). The
personal character of these papers may have caused Steele to omit them
in the list of Addison's papers which he gave to Tickell. See _Tatler_,
No. 32.

[4] Dr. Radcliffe; see Nos. 44, 46, 47.

[5] See No. 46.

[6] Robert Feilding, commonly known by the name of Beau Feilding, a
handsome and very comely gentleman, was tried for felony at the Old
Bailey, December 4, 1706. He had married, as the indictment sets forth,
on November 25, 1705, Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, having a former
wife then living. In the course of the evidence at this trial, it
appears, that sixteen days before, viz. November 9, 1705, Mrs. Villars,
a very bad woman, had artfully drawn him into a marriage with one Mary
Wadsworth, spinster, in the mistaken belief of her being Mrs. Deleau,
a widow, with a fortune of £60,000. His marriage with the duchess
was therefore set aside, and her Grace was allowed the liberty of
marrying again. He craved the benefit of his clergy, and when sentence
was given, that he should be burnt in his hand, produced the Queen's
warrant to suspend execution, and was admitted to bail. In his will,
dated April 9, 1712, and proved on May 12 following, he is styled
"Robert Feilding, of Feilding Hall, in the county of Warwick, Esq.,"
and appears to have had some estates at Lutterworth. He is mentioned
by Swift among those who have made "mean figures" on some remarkable
occasions. Feilding, having injured his fortune by his gallantry and
extravagance in early life, repaired the breaches he had made in it,
by his first marriage with the Countess of Purbeck, a widow lady of an
ancient and noble family in Ireland, who had a large fortune of her
own, to which she had added considerably by a former marriage; she was
the only daughter and heiress of Barnham Swift, Lord Carlingford, who
was of the same family with the Dean of St. Patrick's. Feilding is said
to have lived happily for some years with this lady, who was a zealous
Roman Catholic, and could have no great difficulty in inducing a man
who had no religion to profess himself a proselyte to her religious
persuasion. See No. 51 (Nichols).--On July 29, 1706, Lady Wentworth
wrote to Lord Raby that the Duchess of Cleveland had got Feilding sent
to Newgate "for threatning to kill her two sons for taking her part,
when he beet her and broke open her closet door and took four hundred
pd. out.... He beat her sadly and she cried out murder in the street
out of the window, and he shot a blunderbuss at the people" ("Wentworth
Papers," pp. 58-9). See, too, Luttrell's "Diary," June, July, and
October, 1706, _passim_.

[7] The side-boxes were usually reserved for men, ladies sitting in the
front boxes, and Pope describes men ogling and bowing from the side
boxes. See, too, the _Spectator_, Nos. 311, 377. But Swift ("Polite
Conversation," 1738) writes: "Pray, Mr. Neverout, what lady was that
you were talking with in the side box?" A wench in a side-box was
looked upon with suspicion. See Nos. 145, 217. In the _Theatre_ (No. 3)
Steele says: "Three of the fair sex for the front boxes, two gentlemen
of wit and pleasure for the side boxes, and three substantial citizens
for the pit!"

[8] Barbara, daughter and heiress to William Villiers, Viscount
Grandison. She became the mistress of Charles II., who made her
husband--Roger Palmer--Earl of Castlemain, and afterwards made her
Duchess of Cleveland. On Lord Castlemain's death in 1705 she married
Beau Feilding, from whom she was subsequently divorced. She died of
dropsy on October 9, 1709.

[9] An allusion to Cardell Goodman, the actor (died 1699), one of the
"mighty persons" favoured by the duchess, whose paramour he became. His
chief parts were Julius Cæsar and Alexander the Great.

[10]

        "She what was honour knew,
    And with obsequious majesty approved
    My pleaded reason."

  "Paradise Lost," viii. 507-9.



[11] The Feildings were Counts of the German Empire.

[12] See No. 44: "Our friend the _Tatler_, under the notion of Mr.
Powell at the Bath, has, in my mind, entered into the depth of the
argument in dispute [between Hoadly and the Bishop of Exeter] and
given a complete answer to all that the reverend Bishop either can or
will say upon the subject; and Ben should have referred his lordship
to be mumbled, as he calls it, by Mr. Bickerstaff, as his lordship
had threatened him with that usage, from the worthy author of Timothy
and Philatheus." (Letter from Thomas Sergeant, Esq. to Hughes;
"Correspondence of John Hughes, Esq.," 1772, i. 38.)--[Nichols.] A MS.
note, which may have been written any time after 1734, when Hoadly was
made Bishop of Winchester, has been added in my copy of the original
folio number, at the end of this letter: "Written by Dr. Hoadly, Bp: of
Winchster." It seems not improbable that Hoadly did himself write this
letter.

[13] These words occur in the "Bishop of Exeter's Answer to Mr.
Hoadly's Letter," 1709, p. 3.

[14] "And till I can hear of a better reason, &c., I shall not forbear
thinking that the true reason of it was, because I am (though unworthy,
yet by God's permission and the Queen's favour) a Bishop; and a
Bishop is thought by some people to be a sort of an ecclesiastical
governor."--("Answer," p. 5.)

[15] Filmer, in his work on Patriarchal Government, contended that all
government ought to be absolute and monarchical.

[16] "Why, sir, 1. As to other answer, I don't know but that I might
answer it by an action of _scand. mag._, but that I should scorn
to fight an adversary with unequal weapons."--("Bishop of Exeter's
Answer," &c., p. 27.)

[17] "If your reply shall be about original contracts, revolutions,
&c., I tell you plainly that I ain't at leisure, nor I shan't be at
leisure, nor I won't be at leisure, to write you so much as one single
line about such matters."--("Answer to Mr. Hoadly's Considerations,"
&c.)

[18] The allusion is to Oldisworth's "Timothy and Philatheus, in which
the principles and projects of a late whimsical book, entitled, 'The
Rights of the Christian Church,' &c. [by Dr. Tindal] are fairly stated
and answered in their kinds. Written by a Layman." London, three vols.
1709.

[19] "Referring myself to be tried by God and my country, not excepting
against any one person's being on the panel, but only Mr. Benjamin
Hoadly, Rector of St. Peter's Poor."--("Answer," p. 22.)

[20] "Note: that proper cuts for the historical part of the paper are
now almost finished, by an engraver lately arrived from Paris, and will
be sold at all the toy shops in London and Westminster." (Folio.)



No. 51. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 4_, to _Saturday, August 6, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 5._


_The History of Orlando the Fair.[21] Chap. II._

Fortune being now propitious to the gay Orlando, he dressed, he spoke,
he moved, as a man might be supposed to do in a nation of pigmies, and
had an equal value for our approbation or dislike. It is usual for
those who profess a contempt of the world, to fly from it and live in
obscurity; but Orlando, with a greater magnanimity, contemned it, and
appeared in it to tell them so. If therefore his exalted mien met with
an unwelcome reception, he was sure always to double the cause which
gave the distaste. You see our beauties affect a negligence in the
ornament of their hair, and adjusting their head-dresses, as conscious
that they adorn whatever they wear. Orlando had not only this humour
in common with other beauties, but also had a neglect whether things
became him or not, in a world he contemned. For this reason, a noble
particularity appeared in all his economy, furniture, and equipage.
And to convince the present little race, how unequal all their
measures were to an antediluvian, as he called himself, in respect of
the insects which now appear for men, he sometimes rode in an open
tumbril,[22] of less size than ordinary, to show the largeness of his
limbs, and the grandeur, of his personage, to the greater advantage:
at other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it
were formed by the genius of Trimalchio[23] of old, which showed itself
in doing ordinary things with an air of pomp and grandeur.[24] Orlando
therefore called for tea by beat of drum; his valet got ready to shave
him by a trumpet "To horse"; and water was brought for his teeth when
the sound was changed to "Boots and saddle."

In all these glorious excesses from the common practice, did the happy
Orlando live and reign in an uninterrupted tranquillity, till an
unlucky accident brought to his remembrance, that one evening he was
married before he courted the nuptials of Villaria.[25] Several fatal
memorandums were produced to revive the memory of this accident, and
the unhappy lover was for ever banished her presence, to whom he owed
the support of his just renown and gallantry. But distress does not
debase noble minds; it only changes the scene, and gives them new glory
by that alteration. Orlando therefore now raves in a garret,[26] and
calls to his neighbour-skies to pity his dolors, and find redress for
an unhappy lover. All high spirits, in any great agitation of mind,
are inclined to relieve themselves by poetry. The renowned porter of
Oliver[27] had not more volumes around his cell in the College of
Bedlam, than Orlando in his present apartment. And though inserting
poetry in the midst of prose be thought a licence among correct writers
not to be indulged, it is hoped, the necessity of doing it to give a
just idea of the hero of whom we treat, will plead for the liberty
we shall hereafter take, to print Orlando's soliloquies in verse and
prose, after the manner of great wits, and such as those to whom they
are nearly allied.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 5._

A great deal of good company of us were this day to see, or rather
to hear, an artful person[28] do several feats of activity with his
throat and windpipe. The first thing wherewith he presented us, was a
ring of bells, which he imitated in a most miraculous manner; after
that he gave us all the different notes of a pack of hounds, to our
great delight and astonishment. The company expressed their applause
with much noise; and never was heard such an harmony of men and dogs:
but a certain plump merry fellow, from an angle of the room, fell a
crowing like a cock so ingeniously, that he won our hearts from the
other operator in an instant. As soon as I saw him, I recollected I
had seen him on the stage, and immediately knew it to be Tom Mirrour,
the comical actor.[29] He immediately addressed himself to me, and
told me, he was surprised to see a _virtuoso_ take satisfaction in
any representations below that of human life; and asked me, whether
I thought this acting bells and dogs was to be considered under the
notion of wit, humour, or satire? "Were it not better," continued he,
"to have some particular picture of man laid before your eyes, that
might incite your laughter?" He had no sooner spoke the word, but he
immediately quitted his natural shape, and talked to me in a very
different air and tone from what he had used before; upon which all
that sat near us laughed; but I saw no distortion in his countenance,
or anything that appeared to me disagreeable. I asked Pacolet, what
meant that sudden whisper about us? For I could not take the jest. He
answered: "The gentleman you were talking to, assumed your air and
countenance so exactly, that all fell a laughing to see how little you
knew yourself, or how much you were enamoured with your own image. But
that person," continued my monitor, "if men would make the right use
of him, might be as instrumental to their reforming errors in gesture,
language, and speech, as a dancing-master, linguist, or orator. You see
he laid yourself before you with so much address, that you saw nothing
particular in his behaviour: he has so happy a knack of representing
errors and imperfections, that you can bear your faults in him as well
as in yourself: he is the first mimic that ever gave the beauties, as
well as the deformities, of the man he acted. What Mr. Dryden said of a
very great man[30] may be well applied to him:

                                _He is
    Not one, but all mankind's epitome._"

You are to know, that this pantomime may be said to be a species of
himself. He has no commerce with the rest of mankind, but as they are
the objects of imitation; like the Indian fowl, called the mock-bird,
who has no note of his own, but hits every sound in the wood as soon as
he hears it; so that Mirrour is at once a copy and an original. Poor
Mirrour's fate (as well as talent) is like that of the bird we just now
spoke of. The nightingale, the linnet, the lark, are delighted with his
company; but the buzzard, the crow, and the owl, are observed to be
his mortal enemies. Whenever Sophronius meets Mirrour, he receives him
with civility and respect, and well knows, a good copy of himself can
be no injury to him; but Bathillus shuns the street where he expects to
meet him; for he that knows his every step and look is constrained and
affected, must be afraid to be rivalled in his action, and of having it
discovered to be unnatural, by its being practised by another as well
as himself.


_From my own Apartment, August 5._

Letters from Coventry and other places have been sent to me, in answer
to what I have said in relation to my antagonist Mr. Powell,[31] and
advise me, with warm language, to keep to subjects more proper for me
than such high points. But the writers of these epistles mistake the
use and service I propose to the learned world by such observations:
for you are to understand, that the title of this paper gives me a
right in taking to myself, and inserting in it, all such parts of any
book or letter which are foreign to the purpose intended, or professed
by the writer: so that suppose two great divines should argue, and
treat each other with warmth and levity unbecoming their subject or
character, all that they say unfit for that place is very proper to
be inserted here. Therefore from time to time, in all writings which
shall hereafter be published, you shall have from me extracts of all
that shall appear not to the purpose; and for the benefit of the gentle
reader, I will show what to turn over unread and what to peruse. For
this end I have a mathematical sieve preparing, in which I will sift
every page and paragraph, and all that falls through I shall make bold
with for my own use. The same thing will be as beneficial in speech;
for all superfluous expressions in talk fall to me also: as, when a
pleader at the Bar designs to be extremely impertinent and troublesome,
and cries, "Under favour of the Court----With submission, my lord----I
humbly offer----" and, "I think I have well considered this matter;
for I would be very far from trifling with your lordship's time, or
trespassing upon your patience----However, thus I will venture to
say"--and so forth. Or else, when a sufficiently self-conceited coxcomb
is bringing out something in his own praise, and begins, "Without
vanity, I must take this upon me to assert." There is also a trick
which the fair sex have, that will greatly contribute to swell my
volumes: as, when a woman is going to abuse her best friend, "Pray,"
says she, "have you heard what I said of Mrs. such a one: I am heartily
sorry to hear anything of that kind, of one I have so great a value
for; but they make no scruple of telling it; and it was not spoken of
to me as a secret, for now all the town rings of it." All such flowers
in rhetoric, and little refuges for malice, are to be noted, and
naturally belong only to Tatlers. By this method you will immediately
find volumes contract themselves into octavos, and the labour of a
fortnight got over in half a day.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 5._

Last night arrived a mail from Lisbon, which gives a very pleasing
account of the posture of affairs in that part of the world, the enemy
having been necessitated wholly to abandon the blockade of Olivenza.
These advices say that Sir John Jennings[32] was arrived at Lisbon.
When that gentleman left Barcelona, his Catholic Majesty was taking all
possible methods for carrying on an offensive war. It is observed with
great satisfaction in the Court of Spain, that there is a very good
intelligence between the general officers; Count Staremberg and Mr.
Stanhope[33] acting in all things with such unanimity, that the public
affairs receive great advantages from their personal friendship and
esteem to each other, and mutual assistance in promoting the service of
the common cause.

This is to give notice that if any able-bodied Palatine will enter into
the bonds of matrimony with Betty Pepin,[34] the said Palatine shall be
settled in a freehold of 40s. per annum in the County of Middlesex.[35]

FOOTNOTES:

[21] Beau Feilding. See No. 50.

[22] Properly speaking, the tumbril was a truck, the contents of which
could be easily shot out. It was often used for the conveyance of
corpses.

[23] The "Banquet of Trimalchio" is the most complete and best known of
the fragments of Petronius Arbiter's satiric romance "Saturæ."

[24] Egerton (or whoever wrote the "Memoirs of Gamesters") confirms
what is here said of Feilding's vanity in displaying his figure
(p. 70). Feilding was not a man of real courage; his dress was
always extraordinary, and the liveries of his footmen were equally
fantastical; they generally wore yellow coats, with black feathers in
their hats, and black sashes.--("Memoirs of Gamesters," pp. 208-211.)

[25] The Duchess of Cleveland. See No. 50.

[26] Feilding died of fever, at the age of 61, in a house in Scotland
Yard.

[27] Cromwell's porter, Daniel, who was for many years in Bedlam, is
said to have been the original from whom Caius Gabriel Cibber copied a
figure of a lunatic on the gate of the hospital. He was given to the
study of mystical divines. See Dr. King's Works, 1776, i. 217, and
Granger's "Biog. Hist." 1824, vi. 12.

[28] Probably Clinch, of Barnet. From the _London Daily Post_, 1734,
it appears that on December 11, in that year, died, aged about 70, the
famous Mr. Clinch, of Barnet, who diverted the town many years with
imitating a drunken man, old woman, pack of hounds, &c. He exhibited at
the corner of Bartholomew Lane, by the Royal Exchange. See _Spectator_,
No. 24.

[29] Estcourt. See No. 20.

[30] George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. See "Absalom and
Architophel," p. 545:

    "A man so various that he seemed to be
    Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
    Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
    Was everything by starts, and nothing long."



[31] Dr. Blackall. See No. 45.

[32] Admiral Sir John Jennings (1664-1743) was employed during 1709-10
in watching the Straits of Gibraltar. Afterwards he was made one of
the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, and Governor of Greenwich
Hospital.

[33] In August James Stanhope, afterwards first Earl Stanhope
(1673-1721), went to Gibraltar to command an expedition against Cadiz;
but the idea was abandoned.

[34] See No. 24, and "Pylades and Corinna," i. 67.

[35] This is an animadversion, says Nichols, on the method of securing
votes, and extending his influence in Middlesex, adopted by a knight
near Brentford. In the copy of the _Tatler_, in folio, with old MS.
notes, mentioned in a note to No. 4, Palatine is said to have been
"Mr. A--- n, K--- t of the shire"; and this appears to be correct, for
on March 3, 1708-9, at Brentford, John Austin, Esq., was unanimously
chosen knight of the shire for Middlesex, in the room of Sir John
Wolstenholm, deceased (Luttrell's "Diary," vi. 414). Mr. Austin was not
re-elected after the dissolution in 1710.



No. 52. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 6_, to _Tuesday August 9, 1709_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_White's Chocolate-house, August 7._


_Delamira resigns her Fan._[36]

Long had the crowd of the gay and young stood in suspense as to their
fate in their passion to the beauteous Delamira; but all their hopes
are lately vanished by the declaration that she has made of her choice
to take the happy Archibald[37] for her companion for life. Upon her
making this public, the expense of sweet powder and jessamine[38] are
considerably abated; and the mercers and milliners complain of her
want of public spirit, in not concealing longer a secret which was so
much to the benefit of trade. But so it has happened; and no one was
in confidence with her in carrying on this treaty but the matchless
Virgulta, whose despair of ever entering the matrimonial state, made
her, some nights before Delamira's resolution was made known to the
world, address herself to her in the following manner:

"Delamira, you are now going into that state of life, wherein the use
of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man.
That swimming air of your body; that jaunty bearing of your head over
one shoulder; and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing
your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour, to show that
you would rather shun than receive addresses in the future. Therefore,
dear Delamira, give me those excellences you leave, and acquaint me
with your manner of charming. For I take the liberty of our friendship
to say, that when I consider my own stature, motion, complexion, wit
or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior; yet do I go
through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry
round me, while I live a virgin unasked, and (I think) unregarded."

Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which
is natural to her, told her, that all she had above the rest of her
sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan[39] (which
was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family), which
whoever had in possession, and used with skill, should command the
hearts of all her beholders: "And since," said she, smiling, "I have
no more to do with extending my conquests or triumphs, I'll make you
a present of this inestimable rarity." Virgulta made her expressions
of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and
desired she would show her what was peculiar in the management of
that utensil, which rendered it of such general force while she was
mistress of it. Delamira replied, "You see, madam, Cupid is the
principal figure painted on it; and the skill in playing this fan is,
in several motions of it, to let him appear as little as possible;
for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them; and your
Cupid must hide his bow and arrow, or he'll never be sure of his game.
You may observe," continued she, "that in all public assemblies, the
sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other
with eyeshot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour
of woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed
by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in
composure or agitation according to the motion of it. You may observe,
when Will Peregrine comes into the side-box,[40] Miss Gatty flutters
her fan[41] as a fly does its wings round a candle; while her elder
sister, who is as much in love with him as she is, is as grave as a
vestal at his entrance, and the consequence is accordingly. He watches
half the play for a glance from her sister, while Gatty is overlooked
and neglected. I wish you heartily as much success in the management
of it as I have had: if you think fit to go on where I left off, I
will give you a short account of the execution I have made with it.
Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and though a wonderful great
scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes
open between every other sentence in his discourse: him have I made a
leader in assemblies; and one blow on the shoulder as I passed by him,
has raised him to a downright impertinent in all conversations. The
airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is
sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy; for the reign
of beauty never lasted full three years, but it ended in marriage, or
condemnation to virginity. As you fear therefore the one, and hope for
the other, I expect an hourly journal of your triumphs; for I have it
by certain tradition, that it was given to the first who wore it by
an enchantress, with this remarkable power, that it bestows a husband
in half a year to her who does not overlook her proper minute; but
assigns to a long despair the woman who is well offered, and neglects
that proposal. May occasion attend your charms, and your charms slip no
occasion. Give me, I say, an account of the progress of your forces at
our next meeting; and you shall hear what I think of my new condition.
I should meet my future spouse this moment. Farewell. Live in just
terror of the dreadful words, SHE WAS."


_From my own Apartment, August 8._

I had the honour this evening to visit some ladies, where the subject
of the conversation was Modesty, which they commended as a quality
quite as becoming in men as in women. I took the liberty to say, it
might be as beautiful in our behaviour as in theirs; yet it could
not be said, it was as successful in life; for as it was the only
recommendation in them, so it was the greatest obstacle to us both
in love and business. A gentleman present was of my mind, and said,
that we must describe the difference between the modesty of women and
that of men, or we should be confounded in our reasonings upon it;
for this virtue is to be regarded with respect to our different ways
of life. The woman's province is to be careful in her economy, and
chaste in her affection: the man's to be active in the improvement of
his fortune, and ready to undertake whatever is consistent with his
reputation for that end. Modesty therefore in a woman has a certain
agreeable fear in all she enters upon; and in men it is composed of a
right judgment of what is proper for them to attempt. From hence it
is, that a discreet man is always a modest one. It is to be noted
that modesty in a man is never to be allowed as a good quality, but a
weakness, if it suppresses his virtue, and hides it from the world,
when he has at the same time a mind to exert himself. A French author
says very justly, that modesty is to the other virtues in a man, what
shade in a picture is to the parts of the thing represented: it makes
all the beauties conspicuous which would otherwise be but a wild heap
of colours. This shade on our actions must therefore be very justly
applied; for if there be too much, it hides our good qualities, instead
of showing them to advantage. Nestor[42] in Athens was an unhappy
instance of this truth; for he was not only in his profession the
greatest man of that age, but had given more proofs of it than any
other man ever did; yet for want of that natural freedom and audacity
which is necessary in commerce with men, his personal modesty overthrew
all his public actions. Nestor was in those days a skilful architect,
and in a manner the inventor of the use of mechanic powers, which he
brought to so great perfection that he knew to an atom what foundation
would bear such a superstructure: and they record of him that he was so
prodigiously exact that for the experiment-sake he built an edifice of
great beauty, and seeming strength; but contrived so as to bear only
its own parts, and not to admit the addition of the least particle.
This building was beheld with much admiration by all the _virtuosi_
of that time; but fell down with no other pressure but the settling
of a wren upon the top of it.[43] But Nestor's modesty was such that
his art and skill were soon disregarded for want of that manner with
which men of the world support and assert the merit of their own
performances. Soon after this example of his art Athens was, by the
treachery of its enemies, burnt to the ground. This gave Nestor the
greatest occasion that ever builder had to render his name immortal,
and his person venerable: for all the new city rose according to his
disposition, and all the monuments of the glories and distresses of
that people were erected by that sole artist. Nay, all their temples,
as well as houses, were the effects of his study and labour; insomuch,
that it was said by an old sage, "Sure, Nestor will now be famous; for
the habitations of gods, as well as men, are built by his contrivance."
But this bashful quality still put a damp upon his great knowledge,
which has as fatal an effect upon men's reputation as poverty; for as
it was said, the poor man saved the city, and the poor man's labour
was forgot; so here we see, the modest man built the city, and the
modest man's skill was unknown.[44] Thus we see every man is the maker
of his own fortune; and what is very odd to consider, he must in some
measure be the trumpet of his fame: not that men are to be tolerated
who directly praise themselves, but they are to be endued with a
sort of defensive eloquence, by which they shall be always capable of
expressing the rules and arts by which they govern themselves. Varillus
was the man of all I have read of the happiest in the true possession
of this quality of modesty. My author says of him, Modesty in Varillus
is really a virtue; for it is a voluntary quality, and the effect
of good sense. He is naturally bold and enterprising; but so justly
discreet, that he never acts or speaks anything, but those who behold
him know he has forborne much more than he has performed or uttered,
out of deference to the persons before whom he is. This makes Varillus
truly amiable, and all his attempts successful; for as bad as the world
is thought to be by those who are perhaps unskilled in it, want of
success in our actions is generally owing to want of judgment in what
we ought to attempt, or a rustic modesty which will not give us leave
to undertake what we ought. But how unfortunate this diffident temper
is to those who are possessed with it may be best seen in the success
of such as are wholly unacquainted with it. We have one peculiar
elegance in our language above all others, which is conspicuous in
the term "fellow." This word added to any of our adjectives extremely
varies, or quite alters the sense of that with which it is joined.
Thus, though a modest man is the most unfortunate of all men, yet a
modest fellow is as superlatively happy. A modest fellow is a ready
creature, who with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his
patrons at all hours, and meets them in all places, and has so moderate
an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you won't
give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has
so great a deference for his benefactor's judgment, that as he thinks
himself fit for anything he can get, so he is above nothing which is
offered; like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended
to a chaplain's place; but none being vacant, modestly accepted of
that of a postillion. We have very many conspicuous persons of this
undertaking yet modest turn; I have a grandson who is very happy in
this quality: I sent him at the time of the last peace into France. As
soon as he landed at Calais, he sent me an exact account of the nature
of the people, and the policies of the King of France. I got him since
chosen a member of a corporation: the modest creature, as soon as he
came into the Common Council, told a senior burgess, he was perfectly
out in the orders of their house. In other circumstances, he is so
thoroughly modest a fellow, that he seems to pretend only to things he
understands. He is a citizen only at Court, and in the city a courtier.
In a word, to speak the characteristical difference between a modest
man and a modest fellow; the modest man is in doubt in all his actions;
a modest fellow never has a doubt from his cradle to his grave.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[37] Probably Lord Archibald Hamilton, son to William, third Duke of
Hamilton. He was M.P. for Lanarkshire, and afterwards Governor of
Jamaica. He married Lady Jane Hamilton, youngest daughter of James,
sixth Earl of Abercorn, and died in 1754.

[38] Charles Lillie ("British Perfumer," p. 191) gives directions for
making jessamine hair powder. It was usually prepared from orange
flowers, which had been sifted from orange-flower hair powder, placed
between alternate layers of starch powder.

[39] Gay wrote a poem on "The Fan," in three books, and Addison devoted
a paper (_Spectator_, No. 102) to an elaborate account of the exercise
of this female weapon.

[40] See No. 50.

[41] "The Fluttering of the Fan is the last, and, indeed, the
masterpiece of the whole exercise.... There is an infinite variety of
motions to be made use of in the Flutter of a Fan" (_Spectator_, No.
102).

[42] The allusion is to Sir Christopher Wren, who died in 1723, in his
ninety-first year. He lived, according to the inscription by his son in
St. Paul's Cathedral, _non sibi, sed bono publico_.

[43] This passage alludes to an opposition which was made to a digest
of designs for the reparation of St. Paul's, laid before the King
and the commissioners in the beginning of 1666, which, the author
insinuates, was rather an opposition to Sir C. Wren, than to his plan;
it continued, however, till within a few days of the fire on September
2 in that year, which put the reparation of the cathedral out of the
question. There was likewise another model of St. Paul's, to which Sir
Christopher (certainly the best judge, and far from being mercenary)
gave the preference, and which he would have executed with more
cheerfulness and satisfaction, had he not been overruled by those whom
it was his duty to obey. (Nichols.)

[44] Wren was not able to carry out the scheme for rebuilding the City
in the way he had hoped. It appears that he received only about £200 a
year for building St. Paul's, and £100 a year for rebuilding the other
City churches.



No. 53. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 9_, to _Thursday, August 10, 1709_.

       *       *       *       *       *


_White's Chocolate-house, August 10._


_The Civil Husband._[45]

The fate and character of the inconstant Osmyn, is a just excuse for
the little notice taken by his widow, of his departure out of this
life, which was equally troublesome to Elmira his faithful spouse, and
to himself. That life passed between them after this manner, is the
reason that the town has just now received a lady with all that gaiety,
after having been a relict but three months, which other women hardly
assume under fifteen after such a disaster. Elmira is the daughter
of a rich and worthy citizen, who gave her to Osmyn with a portion
which might have obtained her an alliance with our noblest houses,
and fixed her in the eye of the world, where her story had not been
now to be related: for her good qualities had made her the object of
universal esteem among the polite part of mankind, from whom she has
been banished and immured till the death of her gaoler. It is now full
fifteen years since that beauteous lady was given into the hands of
the happy Osmyn, who in the sense of all the world received at that
time a present more valuable than the possession of both the Indies.
She was then in her early bloom, with an understanding and discretion
very little inferior to the most experienced matrons. She was not
beholden to the charms of her sex, that her company was preferable to
any Osmyn could meet with abroad; for were all she said considered,
without regard to her being a woman, it might stand the examination of
the severest judges: for she had all the beauty of her own sex, with
all the conversation-accomplishments of ours. But Osmyn very soon grew
surfeited with the charms of her person by possession, and of her mind
by want of taste; for he was one of that loose sort of men, who have
but one reason for setting any value on the fair sex, who consider even
brides but as new women, and consequently neglect them when they cease
to be such. All the merit of Elmira could not prevent her becoming a
mere wife within few months after her nuptials; and Osmyn had so little
relish for her conversation, that he complained of the advantages
of it. "My spouse," said he to one of his companions, "is so very
discreet, so good, so virtuous, and I know not what, that I think her
person is rather the object of esteem than of love; and there is such a
thing as a merit, which causes rather distance than passion." But there
being no medium in the state of matrimony, their life began to take
the usual gradations to become the most irksome of all beings. They
grew in the first place very complaisant; and having at heart a certain
knowledge that they were indifferent to each other, apologies were made
for every little circumstance which they thought betrayed their mutual
coldness. This lasted but few months, when they showed a difference of
opinion in every trifle; and as a sign of certain decay of affection,
the word "perhaps" was introduced in all their discourse. "I have a
mind to go to the Park," says she; "but perhaps, my dear, you will want
the coach on some other occasion." He would very willingly carry her to
the play; but perhaps, she had rather go to Lady Centaur's[46] and play
at ombre.[47] They were both persons of good discerning, and soon found
that they mortally hated each other, by their manner of hiding it.
Certain it is, that there are some genios which are not capable of pure
affection, and a man is born with talents for it as much as for poetry
or any other science. Osmyn began too late to find the imperfection of
his own heart, and used all the methods in the world to correct it,
and argue himself into return of desire and passion for his wife, by
the contemplation of her excellent qualities, his great obligations to
her, and the high value he saw all the world except himself did put
upon her. But such is man's unhappy condition, that though the weakness
of the heart has a prevailing power over the strength of the head,
yet the strength of the head has but small force against the weakness
of the heart. Osmyn therefore struggled in vain to revive departed
desire; and therefore resolved to retire to one of his estates in the
country, and pass away his hours of wedlock by the noble diversions of
the field; and in the fury of a disappointed lover, made an oath, to
leave neither stag, fox, nor hare living, during the days of his wife.
Besides that country sports would be an amusement, he hoped also, that
his spouse would be half killed by the very sense of seeing this town
no more, and would think her life ended as soon as she left it. He
communicated his design to Elmira, who received it (as now she did all
things) like a person too unhappy to be relieved or afflicted by the
circumstance of place. This unexpected resignation made Osmyn resolve
to be as obliging to her as possible; and if he could not prevail upon
himself to be kind, he took a resolution at least to act sincerely, and
to communicate frankly to her the weakness of his temper, to excuse the
indifference of his behaviour. He disposed his household in the way
to Rutland, so as he and his lady travelled only in the coach for the
convenience of discourse. They had not gone many miles out of town,
when Osmyn spoke to this purpose:

     "My dear, I believe I look quite as silly, now I am going to
     tell you I do not love you, as when I first told you I did. We
     are now going into the country together, with only one hope for
     making this life agreeable, survivorship: desire is not in our
     power; mine is all gone for you. What shall we do to carry it with
     decency to the world, and hate one another with discretion?"

The lady answered without the least observation on the extravagance of
his speech:

"My dear, you have lived most of your days in a Court, and I have not
been wholly unacquainted with that sort of life. In Courts, you see
good-will is spoken with great warmth, ill will covered with great
civility. Men are long in civilities to those they hate, and short in
expressions of kindness to those they love. Therefore, my dear, let us
be well-bred still, and it is no matter, as to all who see us, whether
we love or hate: and to let you see how much you are beholden to me
for my conduct, I have both hated and despised you, my dear, this half
year; and yet neither in language nor behaviour has it been visible
but that I loved you tenderly. Therefore, as I know you go out of town
to divert life in pursuit of beasts, and conversation with men just
above them; so, my life, from this moment, I shall read all the learned
cooks who have ever writ, study broths, plaisters, and conserves, till
from a fine lady I become a notable woman. We must take our minds a
note or two lower, or we shall be tortured by jealousy or anger. Thus
I am resolved to kill all keen passions by employing my mind on little
subjects, and lessening the easiness of my spirit; while you, my dear,
with much ale, exercise, and ill company, are so good as to endeavour
to be as contemptible as it is necessary for my quiet I should think
you."

To Rutland they arrived, and lived with great, but secret impatience
for many successive years, till Osmyn thought of a happy expedient to
give their affairs a new turn. One day he took Elmira aside, and spoke
as follows:

"My dear, you see here the air is so temperate and serene, the
rivulets, the groves, and soil, so extremely kind to nature, that we
are stronger and firmer in our health since we left the town; so that
there is no hope of a release in this place: but if you will be so
kind as to go with me to my estate in the Hundreds of Essex, it is
possible some kind damp may one day or other relieve us. If you will
condescend to accept of this offer, I will add that whole estate to
your jointure in this county."

Elmira, who was all goodness, accepted the offer, removed accordingly,
and has left her spouse in that place to rest with his fathers.

This is the real figure in which Elmira ought to be beheld in this
town, and not thought guilty of an indecorum, in not professing the
sense, or bearing the habit of sorrow, for one who robbed her of all
the endearments of life, and gave her only common civility, instead
of complacency of manners, dignity of passion, and that constant
assemblage of soft desires and affections which all feel who love, but
none can express.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 10._

Mr. Truman, who is a mighty admirer of dramatic poetry, and knows I am
about a tragedy, never meets me, but he is giving admonitions and hints
for my conduct. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I was reading last night
your second act you were so kind to lend me; but I find you depend
mightily upon the retinue of your hero to make him magnificent. You
make guards, and ushers, and courtiers, and commons, and nobles, march
before, and then enters your prince, and says they can't defend him
from his love. Why, prithee Isaac, who ever thought they could? Place
me your loving monarch in a solitude; let him have no sense at all of
his grandeur, but let it be eaten up with his passion. He must value
himself as the greatest of lovers, not as the first of princes: and
then let him say a more tender thing than ever man said before--for
his feather and eagle's beak is nothing at all. The man is to be
expressed by his sentiments and affections, and not by his fortune or
equipage. You are also to take care, that at his first entrance he
says something which may give us an idea of what we are to expect in
a person of his way of thinking. Shakespeare is your pattern."[48] In
the tragedy of "Cæsar," he introduces his hero in his nightgown. He
had at that time all the power of Rome: deposed consuls, subordinate
generals, and captive princes, might have preceded him; but his genius
was above such mechanic methods of showing greatness. Therefore he
rather presents that great soul debating upon the subject of life and
death with his intimate friends, without endeavouring to prepossess his
audience with empty show and pomp. When those who attend him talk of
the many omens which had appeared that day, he answers:

    _Cowards die many times before their deaths;
    The valiant never taste of death but once.
    Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
    It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
    Seeing that death, a necessary end,
    Will come, when it will come.[49]_

When the hero has spoken this sentiment, there is nothing that is great
which cannot be expected, from one whose first position is the contempt
of death to so high a degree, as making his exit a thing wholly
indifferent, and not a part of his care, but that of heaven and fate.



_St. James's Coffee-house, August 10._

Letters from Brussels of the 15th instant, N.S., say, that
Major-General Ravignan returned on the 8th with the French king's
answer to the intended capitulation for the citadel of Tournay; which
is, that he does not think fit to sign that capitulation, except the
Allies will grant a cessation of arms in general, during the time in
which all acts of hostility were to have ceased between the citadel
and the besiegers. Soon after the receipt of this news, the cannon on
each side began to play. There are two attacks against the citadel,
commanded by General Lottum and General Schuylemberg, which are both
carried on with great success; and it is not doubted but the citadel
will be in the hands of the Allies before the last day of this month.
Letters from Ipres say, that on the 9th instant, part of the garrison
of that place had mutinied in two bodies, each consisting of two
hundred; who being dispersed the same day, a body of eight hundred
appeared in the market-place at nine the night following, and seized
all manner of provisions; but were with much difficulty quieted. The
governor has not punished any of the offenders, the dissatisfaction
being universal in that place; and it is thought, the officers foment
those disorders; that the Ministry may be convinced of the necessity
of paying those troops, and supplying them with provisions. These
advices add, that on the 14th the Marquis d'Este passed express through
Brussels from the Duke of Savoy, with advice, that the army of his
royal highness had forced the retrenchments of the enemy in Savoy, and
defeated that body of men which guarded those passes under the command
of the Marquis de Thouy.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] Perhaps this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[46] The name of a character in Jonson's "Silent Woman."

[47] A game of cards played by three persons, of which particulars will
be found in Pope's "Rape of the Lock."

[48] In the _Spectator_, No. 42, Addison ridiculed the way in which
dignity was sought for the hero on the stage by means of grand dresses
and guards with halberts and battleaxes. "Can all the trappings or
equipage of a king or hero give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which
he receives from a few lines in Shakespeare?"

[49] "Julius Cæsar," act ii. sc. 2.



No. 54. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 11_, to _Saturday, August 13, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 12._


_Of the Government of Affection._[50]

When labour was pronounced to be the portion of man, that doom reached
the affections of his mind, as well as his person, the matter on which
he was to feed, and all the animal and vegetable world about him. There
is therefore an assiduous care and cultivation to be bestowed upon our
passions and affections; for they, as they are the excrescences of our
souls, like our hair and beards, look horrid or becoming, as we cut
or let them grow. All this grave preface is meant to assign a reason
in nature for the unaccountable behaviour of Duumvir,[51] the husband
and keeper. Ten thousand follies had this unhappy man escaped, had he
made a compact with himself to be upon his guard, and not permitted
his vagrant eye to let in so many different inclinations upon him, as
all his days he has been perplexed with. But indeed at present he has
brought himself to be confined only to one prevailing mistress; between
whom and his wife, Duumvir passes his hours in all the vicissitudes
which attend passion and affection, without the intervention of reason.
Laura his wife, and Phyllis his mistress, are all with whom he has had,
for some months, the least amorous commerce. Duumvir has passed the
noon of life; but cannot withdraw from those entertainments which are
pardonable only before that stage of our being, and which after that
season are rather punishments than satisfaction: for palled appetite
is humorous, and must be gratified with sauces rather than food. For
which end Duumvir is provided with an haughty, imperious, expensive,
and fantastic mistress, to whom he retires from the conversation of
an affable, humble, discreet, and affectionate wife. Laura receives
him after absence with an easy and unaffected complacency; but that
he calls insipid: Phyllis rates him for his absence, and bids him
return from whence he came: this he calls spirit and fire. Laura's
gentleness is thought mean; Phyllis' insolence, sprightly. Were you
to see him at his own home, and his mistress's lodgings, to Phyllis
he appears an obsequious lover, to Laura an imperious master. Nay, so
unjust is the taste of Duumvir, that he owns Laura has no ill quality,
but that she is his wife; Phyllis no good one, but that she is his
mistress. And he has himself often said, were he married to any one
else, he would rather keep Laura than any woman living; yet allows at
the same time, that Phyllis, were she a woman of honour, would have
been the most insipid animal breathing. The other day Laura, who has
a voice like an angel, began to sing to him: "Fie, madam," he cried,
"we must be past all these gaieties." Phyllis has a note as rude and
as loud as that of a milkmaid: when she begins to warble, "Well," says
he, "there is such a pleasing simplicity in all that wench does." In
a word, the affectionate part of his heart being corrupted, and his
true taste that way wholly lost, he has contracted a prejudice to all
the behaviour of Laura, and a general partiality in favour of Phyllis.
It is not in the power of the wife to do a pleasing thing, nor in the
mistress to commit one that is disagreeable. There is something too
melancholy in the reflection on this circumstance to be the subject of
raillery. He said a sour thing to Laura at dinner the other day; upon
which she burst into tears. "What the devil, madam," says he, "can't I
speak in my own house?" He answered Phyllis a little abruptly at supper
the same evening; upon which she threw his periwig into the fire.
"Well," said he, "thou art a brave termagant jade; do you know, hussy,
that fair wig cost forty guineas?" O Laura! is it for this that the
faithful Chromius sighed for you in vain? How is thy condition altered,
since crowds of youth hung on thy eye, and watched its glances? It is
not many months since Laura was the wonder and pride of her own sex, as
well as the desire and passion of ours. At plays and at balls, the just
turn of her behaviour, the decency of her virgin charms, chastised,
yet added to diversions. At public devotions, her winning modesty, her
resigned carriage, made virtue and religion appear with new ornaments,
and in the natural apparel of simplicity and beauty. In ordinary
conversations, a sweet conformity of manners, and a humility which
heightened all the complacencies of good breeding and education, gave
her more slaves than all the pride of her sex ever made woman wish for.
Laura's hours are now spent in the sad reflections on her choice, and
that deceitful vanity (almost inseparable from the sex) of believing,
she could reclaim one that had so often ensnared others; as it now is,
it is not even in the power of Duumvir himself to do her justice: for
though beauty and merit are things real, and independent on taste and
opinion, yet agreeableness is arbitrary, and the mistress has much
the advantage of the wife. But whenever fate is so kind to her and
her spouse as to end her days, with all this passion for Phyllis, and
indifference for Laura, he has a second wife in view, who may avenge
the injuries done to her predecessor. Aglaura is the destined lady, who
has lived in assemblies, has ambition and play for her entertainment,
and thinks of a man, not as the object of love, but the tool of
her interest or pride. If ever Aglaura comes to the empire of this
inconstant, she will endear the memory of her predecessor. But in the
meantime, it is melancholy to consider, that the virtue of a wife is
like the merit of a poet, never justly valued till after death.


_From my own Apartment, August 11._

As we have professed, that all the actions of men are our subject, the
most solemn are not to be omitted, if there happen to creep into their
behaviour anything improper for such occasions. Therefore the offence
mentioned in the following epistles (though it may seem to be committed
in a place sacred from observation) is such, that it is our duty to
remark upon it; for though he who does it is himself only guilty of an
indecorum, he occasions a criminal levity in all others who are present
at it.

       *       *       *       *       *

"MR. BICKERSTAFF,

"It being mine, as well as the opinion of many others, that your papers
are extremely well fitted to reform any irregular or indecent practice,
I present the following as one which requires your correction. Myself,
and a great many good people who frequent the divine service at St.
Paul's, have been a long time scandalised by the imprudent conduct
of Stentor[52] in that cathedral. This gentleman, you must know, is
always very exact and zealous in his devotion, which, I believe, nobody
blames; but then he is accustomed to roar and bellow so terribly loud
in the responses, that he frightens even us of the congregation, who
are daily used to him; and one of our petty canons, a punning Cambridge
scholar,[53] calls his way of worship, a bull offering. His harsh
untunable pipe is no more fit than a raven's to join with the music of
a choir; yet nobody having been enough his friend, I suppose, to inform
him of it, he never fails, when present, to drown the harmony of every
hymn and anthem, by an inundation of sound beyond that of the bridge at
the ebb of the tide, or the neighbouring lions in the anguish of their
hunger. This is a grievance which, to my certain knowledge, several
worthy people desire to see redressed; and if by inserting this epistle
in your paper, or by representing the matter your own way, you can
convince Stentor, that discord in a choir is the same sin that schism
is in the Church in general, you would lay a great obligation upon us,
and make some atonement for certain of your paragraphs which have not
been highly approved by us. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  JEOFFRY CHANTICLEER.

  "St. Paul's Churchyard, _August 11_."

It is wonderful there should be such a general lamentation, and the
grievance so frequent, and yet the offender never know anything of it.
I have received the following letter from my kinsman at the Heralds'
Office, near the same place:

     "DEAR COUSIN,

     "This office, which has had its share in the impartial justice of
     your censures, demands at present your vindication of their rights
     and privileges. There are certain hours when our young heralds
     are exercised in the faculties of making proclamation, and other
     vociferations, which of right belong to us only to utter: but at
     the same hours, Stentor in St. Paul's Church, in spite of the
     coaches, carts, London cries, and all other sounds between us,
     exalts his throat to so high a key, that the most noisy of our
     order is utterly unheard. If you please to observe upon this, you
     will ever oblige, &c."

There have been communicated to me some other ill consequences from
the same cause; as, the overturning of coaches by sudden starts of the
horses as they passed that way, women pregnant frightened, and heirs to
families lost; which are public disasters, though arising from a good
intention: but it is hoped, after this admonition, that Stentor will
avoid an act of so great supererogation, as singing without a voice.

But I am diverted from prosecuting Stentor's reformation, by an
account, that the two faithful lovers, Lysander and Coriana, are dead;
for no longer ago than the 1st of the last month they swore eternal
fidelity to each other, and to love till death. Ever since that time,
Lysander has been twice a day at the chocolate-house, visits in every
circle, is missing four hours in four and twenty, and will give no
account of himself. These are undoubted proofs of the departure of
a lover; and consequently Coriana is also dead as a mistress. I have
written to Stentor to give this couple three calls at the church door,
which they must hear if they are living within the bills of mortality;
and if they do not answer at that time, they are from that moment added
to the number of my defunct.[54]

FOOTNOTES:

[50] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[51] It has been suggested that Duumvir is meant for the Duke of
Ormond, and this view is supported by the MS. annotator mentioned in a
note to No. 4. James Butler, second Duke of Ormond, married, at the age
of eighteen, Anne, daughter of Lord Hyde, afterward Earl of Rochester.
After her death in 1685 he married Lady Mary Somerset, daughter of
Henry, first Duke of Beaufort. In 1711 he became Captain-General and
Commander-in-Chief of the land forces, but after the accession of
George I. he was impeached of high treason, and attainted. He died in
exile in 1745.

[52] Dr. William Stanley, Dean of St. Asaph and Canon of St. Paul's,
where he was buried on his death in 1731. The loudness of his voice is
alluded to again in Nos. 56, 61, 67, 70, and 241.

[53] "Mr. C--l--n" (MS. note).--This was probably John Colson
(1680-1760), who became Lucasian professor of mathematics in 1739. He
is described by Cole, the antiquary, as "an humourist and peevish."



No. 55. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 13_, to _Tuesday, August 16, 1709_.

    ----Paulo majora canamus.--VIRG., Ecl. iv. 1.

       *       *       *       *       *


_White's Chocolate-house, August 15._

While others are busied in relations which concern the interests
of princes, the peace of nations, and revolutions of empire, I
think (though these are very large subjects) my theme of discourse
is sometimes to be of matters of a yet higher consideration. The
slow steps of Providence and Nature, and strange events which are
brought about in an instant, are what, as they come within our view
and observation, shall be given to the public. Such things are not
accompanied with show and noise, and therefore seldom draw the eyes
of the unattentive part of mankind; but are very proper at once
to exercise our humanity, please our imaginations, and improve
our judgments. It may not therefore be unuseful to relate many
circumstances, which were observable upon a late cure done upon a young
gentleman who was born blind, and on the 29th of June last received his
sight at the age of twenty years, by the operation of an oculist. This
happened no farther off than Newington, and the work was prepared for
in the following manner: The operator, Mr. Grant,[55] having observed
the eyes of his patient, and convinced his friends and relations, among
others the Rev. Mr. Caswell, minister of the place, that it was highly
probable he should remove the obstacle which prevented the use of his
sight; all his acquaintance, who had any regard for the young man, or
curiosity to be present when one of full age and understanding received
a new sense, assembled themselves on this occasion. Mr. Caswell[56]
being a gentleman particularly curious, desired the whole company,
in case the blindness should be cured, to keep silence, and let the
patient make his own observations, without the direction of anything he
had received by his other senses, or the advantage of discovering his
friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren,
sisters, and a young gentlewoman for whom he had a passion, were
present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When
the patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such
an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the
surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his
instruments in his hand. The young man observed him from head to foot;
after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him
to himself; and observing both their hands, seemed to think they were
exactly alike, except the instruments, which he took for parts of his
hands. When he had continued in this amazement some time, his mother
could not longer bear the agitations of so many passions as thronged
upon her, but fell upon his neck, crying out, "My son! my son!" The
youth knew her voice, and could speak no more than, "Oh me! are you
my mother?" and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive,
were very affectionately employed in recovering him; but above all,
the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in
the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden effect upon
him as he recovered, and he showed a double curiosity in observing
her as she spoke and called to him; till at last he broke out, "What
has been done to me? Whither am I carried? Is all this about me, the
thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing?
Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each
other? Where is Tom, who used to lead me? But I could now, methinks,
go anywhere without him." He offered to move, but seemed afraid of
everything around him. When they saw his difficulty, they told him,
till he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the
servant still lead him. The boy was called for, and presented to him.
Mr. Caswell asked him, what sort of thing he took Tom to be before he
had seen him. He answered, he believed there was not so much of him as
of himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature. The noise
of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place
where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening, he desired Mr. Caswell
to tell him how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman,
smiling, answered him, that it would be very proper for him to return
to his late condition, and suffer his eyes to be covered, till they had
received strength; for he might remember well enough, that by degrees
he had from little and little come to the strength he had at present in
his ability of walking and moving; and that it was the same thing with
his eyes, which, he said, would lose the power of continuing to him
that wonderful transport he was now in, except he would be contented
to lay aside the use of them, till they were strong enough to bear the
light without so much feeling, as he knew he underwent at present. With
much reluctance he was prevailed upon to have his eyes bound, in which
condition they kept him in a dark room, till it was proper to let the
organ receive its objects without further precaution. During the time
of this darkness, he bewailed himself in the most distressed manner,
and accused all his friends, complaining, that some incantation had
been wrought upon him, and some strange magic used to deceive him into
an opinion, that he had enjoyed what they called sight. He added, that
the impressions then let in upon his soul would certainly distract him,
if he were not so at that present. At another time he would strive to
name the persons he had seen among the crowd after he was couched,
and would pretend to speak (in perplexed terms of his own making) of
what he in that short time observed, But on the 6th instant it was
thought fit to unbind his head, and the young woman whom he loved was
instructed to open his eyes accordingly, as well to endear herself
to him by such a circumstance, as to moderate his ecstasies by the
persuasion of a voice, which had so much power over him as hers ever
had. When this beloved young woman began to restore him, she talked to
him as follows:

"Mr. William, I am now taking the binding off, though when I consider
what I am doing, I tremble with the apprehension, that (though I have
from my very childhood loved you, dark as you were, and though you had
conceived so strong a love for me) yet you will find there is such a
thing as beauty, which may ensnare you into a thousand passions of
which you now are innocent, and take you from me for ever. But before I
put myself to that hazard, tell me in what manner that love you always
professed to me entered into your heart; for its usual admission is at
the eyes."

The young man answered, "Dear Lydia, if I am to lose by sight the soft
pantings which I have always felt when I heard your voice; if I am no
more to distinguish the step of her I love when she approaches me, but
to change that sweet and frequent pleasure for such an amazement as I
knew the little time I lately saw: or if I am to have anything besides,
which may take from me the sense I have of what appeared most pleasing
to me at that time (which apparition it seems was you): pull out these
eyes, before they lead me to be ungrateful to you, or undo myself. I
wished for them but to see you; pull them out, if they are to make me
forget you."

       *       *       *       *       *

Lydia was extremely satisfied with these assurances; and pleased
herself with playing with his perplexities. In all his talk to her, he
showed but very faint ideas of anything which had not been received at
the ear; and closed his protestation to her by saying, that if he were
to see Valentia and Barcelona, whom he supposed the most esteemed of
all women, by the quarrel there was about them, he would never like any
but Lydia.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 15._

We have repeated advices of the entire defeat of the Swedish army
near Pultowa[57] on the 27th June, O.S., and letters from Berlin give
the following account of the remains of the Swedish army since the
battle: Prince Menzikoff being ordered to pursue the victory, came
up with the Swedish army (which was left to the command of General
Lewenhaupt) on the 30th of June, O.S., on the banks of the Boristhenes;
whereupon he sent General Lewenhaupt a summons to submit to his present
fortune: Lewenhaupt immediately despatched three general officers to
that prince, to treat about a capitulation; but the Swedes, though
they consisted of 15,000 men, were in so great want of provision
and ammunition, that they were obliged to surrender themselves at
discretion. His Czarish Majesty despatched an express to General Goltz,
with an account of these particulars, and also with instructions to
send out detachments of his cavalry to prevent the King of Sweden's
joining his army in Poland. That prince made his escape with a small
party by swimming over the Boristhenes; and it was thought, he designed
to retire into Poland by the way of Volhinia. Advices from Berne of
the 11th instant say, that the General Diet of the Helvetic Body held
at Baden concluded on the 6th; but the deputies of the six cantons,
who are deputed to determine the affair of Tockenburg, continue their
application to that business, notwithstanding some new difficulties
started by the Abbot of St. Gall. Letters from Geneva of the 9th say,
that the Duke of Savoy's cavalry had joined Count Thaun, as had also
two Imperial regiments of hussars; and that his royal highness's army
was disposed in the following manner: the troops under the command of
Count Thaun are extended from Constans to St. Peter de Albigni. Small
parties are left in several posts from thence to Little St. Bernard, to
preserve the communication with Piedmont by the Valley of Aosta. Some
forces are also posted at Taloir, and in the Castle of Doin, on each
side of the Lake of Anneci. General Rhebinder is encamped in the Valley
of Oulx with 10,000 foot, and some detachments of horse: his troops are
extended from Exilles to Mount Genevre, so that he may easily penetrate
into Dauphine on the least motion of the enemy; but the Duke of Berwick
takes all necessary precautions to prevent such an enterprise. That
General's headquarters are at Francin; and he hath disposed his army
in several parties, to preserve a communication with the Maurienne and
Briançon. He hath no provisions for his army but from Savoy; Provence
and Dauphine being unable to supply him with necessaries. He left
two regiments of dragoons at Annen, who suffered very much in the
late action at Tessons, where they lost 1500 who were killed on the
spot, 4 standards, and 300 prisoners, among whom were 40 officers.
The last letters from the Duke of Marlborough's camp at Orchies of
the 19th instant advise, that Monsieur Ravignan being returned from
the French Court with an account, that the King of France refused to
ratify the capitulation for the surrender of the citadel of Tournay,
the approaches have been carried on with great vigour and success:
our miners have discovered several of the enemy's mines, who have
sprung divers others, which did little execution; but for the better
security of the troops, both assaults are carried on by the cautious
way of sapping. On the 18th, the confederate army made a general forage
without any loss. Marshal Villars continues in his former camp, and
applies himself with great diligence in casting up new lines behind the
old on the Scarp. The Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene designed to
begin a general review of the army on the 20th.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] "Deceased" (folio).

[55] Roger Grant was sworn oculist and operator in ordinary to Queen
Anne, September 27, 1710; and on the death of Sir William Read, he
was sworn oculist in ordinary to George I. in 1715 (_Weekly Packet_,
No. 159). He died in 1724. A pamphlet, published in 1709, price 2d.,
called, "A full and true Account of a Miraculous Cure of a Young Man
in Newington, that was born Blind, and was in Five Minutes brought to
perfect Sight. By Mr. Roger Grant, Oculist," was in reality intended to
expose Grant as an impostor. William Jones, son of Annabella Jones, of
Newington, Surrey, was, in the twentieth year of his age, couched by
Grant, on June 19, 1709. On Sunday, July 24, he went, we are told, to
the parish church of St. Mary, Newington, and requested the minister
to offer up thanks for his recovery; and next day he and his mother
went to the minister to ask him to certify a statement to the effect
that Jones was born blind and now had his sight very well. The minister
objected to doing this, although Jones and his mother urged that Grant
would charge for the cure if they did not get the certificate. The
pamphlet states that at last they got the minister's signature forged,
and then Grant published the certificate in the _Daily Courant_ for
July 30, 1709. On August 16 another paper came out, stating that the
minister was present at the operation. The minister told all who made
inquiries the truth; that the boy was not born blind, but only with an
imperfection in his sight; and that now he saw very little with the
left eye, and not at all with the right. On August 8, Grant got the
mother to make an affidavit respecting her son's blindness and cure
before a magistrate. This affidavit is printed in the "British Apollo,"
vol. ii. No. 91 (January 20 to 23, 1710). The following advertisement
is taken from the same periodical, vol. ii. No. 39 (August 5 to 10,
1709): "As it would be no less disrespectful and injurious to the
public, to conceal the merits of Mr. Grant, oculist; therefore, we,
the Minister, Churchwardens, and Overseers of the poor of the parish
of St. Mary, Newington Butts, do certify, that William Jones, of the
same parish, aged twenty years, who was born blind, on his application
to Mr. Grant aforesaid, who dwells in St. Christopher's Court, behind
the Royal Exchange, was by him couched on Wednesday, June 29, 1709,
and by the blessing of God, on the skilful hand of Mr. Grant, the said
Jones, in five minutes' time, was brought to see, and at this time
hath his sight very well. This case being so particularly remarkable,
and gratisly performed, we do, therefore, give this public testimony
under our hands, this 25th of July, 1709.--Minister, William Taswell;
Churchwardens, James Comber, William Dale; Overseers, Francis Trosse,
William Benskin, Walker Wood, John Ship." The Jones case is included
in a list of Grant's cures, "Account of some Cures," &c., printed on a
folio sheet which is supposed to have been issued in 1713 (Brit. Mus.
1830, c. (18)). The pamphleteer from whom I have quoted, adds that
Grant was bred up a cobbler, or, as some say, a tinker; and he was an
Anabaptist preacher. Nichols says that "Grant seems to have been more
ingenious and reputable than most of his brother and sister oculists;
but, if we may judge from his very numerous advertisements, he was not
less vain, or less indelicate." A correspondent of the _Spectator_ (see
No. 472) bore testimony to the benefit he had himself derived from
Grant, and said that many blind persons had been cured.

[56] Dr. William Taswell (here called Caswell), king's scholar at
Westminster, was elected student of Christ Church in 1670. He became
M.A. in 1677, B.D. in 1685, and D.D. in 1698.

[57] Charles XII. of Sweden was defeated by the Czar at Pultowa in
July 1709, and was wounded by a musket-ball in the heel. After the
defeat of his army he crossed the Boristhenes with three hundred men.
Two thousand Swedes under General Lewenhaupt surrendered to Prince
Menzikoff on the banks of the Boristhenes after the battle. Charles
XII. sought refuge among the Turks, and retired to Bender.



No. 56. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 16_, to _Thursday, August 18, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 17._

There is a young foreigner committed to my care, who puzzles me
extremely in the questions he asks about the persons of figure we meet
in public places. He has but very little of our language, and therefore
I am mightily at a loss to express to him things, for which they have
no word in that tongue to which he was born. It has been often my
answer, upon his asking, who such a fine gentleman is? that he is what
we call a "sharper," and he wants my explication. I thought it would
be very unjust to tell him, he is the same the French call Coquin; the
Latins, Nebulo; or the Greeks, #Raskal#.[58] For as custom is the most
powerful of all laws, and that the order of men we call sharpers are
received amongst us, not only with permission, but favour, I thought
it unjust to use them like persons upon no establishment. Besides
that, it would be an unpardonable dishonour to our country, to let him
leave us with an opinion, that our nobility and gentry kept company
with common thieves and cheats; I told him, they were a sort of tame
hussars that were allowed in our cities, like the wild ones in our
camp, who had all the privileges belonging to us, but at the same time
were not tied to our discipline or laws. Aletheus, who is a gentleman
of too much virtue for the age he lives in, would not let this matter
be thus palliated, but told my pupil, that he was to understand, that
distinction, quality, merit, and industry, were laid aside amongst
us by the incursions of these civil hussars, who had got so much
countenance, that the breeding and fashion of the age turned their way
to the ruin of order and economy in all places where they are admitted.
But Sophronius, who never falls into heat upon any subject, but applies
proper language, temper, and skill, with which the thing in debate is
to be treated, told the youth, that gentleman had spoken nothing, but
what was literally true; but fell upon it with too much earnestness to
give a true idea of that sort of people he was declaiming against, or
to remedy the evil which he bewailed: for the acceptance of these men
being an ill which hath crept into the conversation part of our lives,
and not into our constitution itself, it must be corrected where it
began, and consequently is to be amended only by bringing raillery and
derision upon the persons who are guilty, or converse with them. "For
the sharpers," continued he, "at present are not as formerly, under
the acceptation of pickpockets; but are by custom erected into a real
and venerable body of men, and have subdued us to so very particular a
deference to them, that though they are known to be men without honour
or conscience, no demand is called a debt of honour so indisputably
as theirs. You may lose your honour to them, but they lay none against
you: as the priesthood in Roman Catholic countries can purchase what
they please for the Church, but they can alienate nothing from it. It
is from this toleration, that sharpers are to be found among all sorts
of assemblies and companies, and every talent amongst men is made use
of by some one or other of the society for the good of their common
cause: so that an unexperienced young gentleman is as often ensnared
by his understanding as his folly: for who could be unmoved, to hear
the eloquent Dromio explain the constitution, talk in the key of Cato,
with the severity of one of the ancient sages, and debate the greatest
question of State in a common chocolate or coffee-house; who could, I
say, hear this generous declamator, without being fired at his noble
zeal, and becoming his professed follower, if he might be admitted.
Monoculus'[59] gravity would be no less inviting to a beginner in
conversation, and the snare of his eloquence would equally catch one
who had never seen an old gentleman so very wise, and yet so little
severe. Many other instances of extraordinary men among the brotherhood
might be produced; but every man who knows the town, can supply himself
with such examples without their being named." Will. Vafer, who is
skilful at finding out the ridiculous side of a thing, and placing it
in a new and proper light (though he very seldom talks), thought fit
to enter into this subject. He has lately lost certain loose sums,
which half the income of his estate will bring in within seven years:
besides which, he proposes to marry to set all right. He was therefore
indolent enough to speak of this matter with great impartiality. "When
I look round me," said this easy gentleman, "and consider in a just
balance us bubbles, elder brothers, whose support our dull fathers
contrived to depend upon certain acres; with the rooks, whose ancestors
left them the wide world; I cannot but admire their fraternity, and
contemn my own. Is not Jack Heyday much to be preferred to the knight
he has bubbled? Jack has his equipage, his wenches, and his followers:
the knight so far from a retinue, that he is almost one of Jack's.
However, he is gay, you see, still; a florid outside--his habit speaks
the man--and since he must unbutton, he would not be reduced outwardly,
but is stripped to his upper coat. But though I have great temptation
to it, I will not at this time give the history of the losing side, but
speak the effects of my thoughts, since the loss of my money, upon the
gaining people. This ill fortune makes most men contemplative and given
to reading; at least it has happened so to me; and the rise and fall of
the family of sharpers in all ages has been my contemplation."

       *       *       *       *       *

I find, all times have had of this people; Homer, in his excellent
heroic poem, calls them Myrmidons, who were a body who kept among
themselves, and had nothing to lose; therefore never spared either
Greek or Trojan, when they fell in their way, upon a party. But there
is a memorable verse which gives us an account of what broke that
whole body, and made both Greeks and Trojans masters of the secret
of their warfare and plunder. There is nothing so pedantic as many
quotations; therefore I shall inform you only, that in this battalion
there were two officers called Thersites and Pandarus; they were both
less renowned for their beauty than their wit; but each had this
particular happiness, that they were plunged over head and ears in
the same water, which made Achilles invulnerable; and had ever after
certain gifts which the rest of the world were never to enjoy. Among
others, they were never to know they were the most dreadful to the
sight of all mortals, never to be diffident of their own abilities,
never to blush, or ever to be wounded but by each other. Though some
historians say, gaming began among the Lydians to divert hunger, I
could cite many authorities to prove it had its rise at the siege of
Troy; and that Ulysses won the sevenfold shield at hazard. But be that
as it may, the ruin of the corps of the myrmidons proceeded from a
breach between Thersites and Pandarus. The first of these was leader
of a squadron, wherein the latter was but a private man; but having
all the good qualities necessary for a partisan, he was the favourite
of his officer. But the whole history of the several changes in the
order of sharpers, from those myrmidons to our modern men of address
and plunder, will require that we consult some ancient manuscripts.
As we make these inquiries, we shall diurnally communicate them to
the public, that the knights of the industry may be better understood
by the good people of England. These sort of men in some ages, were
sycophants and flatterers only, and were endued with arts of life to
capacitate them for the conversation of the rich and great; but now
the bubble courts the impostor, and pretends at the utmost to be but
his equal. To clear up the reasons and causes in such revolutions,
and the alteration of conduct between fools and cheats, shall be one
of our labours for the good of this kingdom. How therefore pimps,
footmen, fiddlers, and lackeys, are elevated into companions in this
present age, shall be accounted for from the influence of the planet
Mercury[60] on this island; the ascendency of which sharper over Sol,
who is a patron of the Muses, and all honest professions, has been
noted by the learned Job Gadbury[61] to be the cause, that cunning and
trick are more esteemed than art and science. It must be allowed also,
to the memory of Mr. Partridge, late of Cecil Street in the Strand,
that in his answer to an horary question, at what hour of the night
to set a foxtrap in June 1705, he has largely discussed, under the
character of Reynard, the manner of surprising all sharpers as well as
him. But of these great points, after more mature deliberation.


  _St. James's Coffee-house, August 17._

  "_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

"We have nothing at present new, but that we understand by some
owlers,[62] old people die in France. Letters from Paris of the 10th
instant, N.S., say, that Monsieur d'André Marquis d'Oraison died at
85; Monsieur Brumars, at 102 years, died for love of his wife, who
was 92 at her death, after seventy years' cohabitation. Nicolas de
Boutheiller, parish preacher of Sasseville, being a bachelor, held out
till 116. Dame Claude de Massy, relict of Monsieur Peter de Monceaux,
Grand Audiencer of France, died on the 7th instant, aged 107. Letters
of the 17th say, Monsieur Chrestien de Lamoignon died on the 7th
instant, a person of great piety and virtue; but having died young, his
age is concealed for reasons of State. On the 15th his most Christian
Majesty, attended by the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Duke and
Duchess of Berry, assisted at the procession which he yearly performs,
in memory of a vow made by Lewis XIII. 1638: for which act of piety,
his Majesty received absolution of his confessor, for the breach of all
inconvenient vows made by himself. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  HUMPHREY KIDNEY."[63]


  _From my own Apartment, August 17._

I am to acknowledge several letters which I have lately received; among
others, one subscribed "Philanthropis," another "Emilia," both which
shall be honoured. I have a third from an officer of the army, wherein
he desires I would do justice to the many gallant actions which have
been done by men of private characters, or officers of lower stations,
during this long war; that their families may have the pleasure of
seeing we lived in an age wherein men of all orders had their proper
share in fame and glory. There is nothing I should undertake with
greater pleasure than matter of this kind: if therefore they who are
acquainted with such facts, would please to communicate them, by letter
directed to me at Mr. Morphew's, no pains should be spared to put them
in a proper and distinguishing light.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is to admonish Stentor,[64] that it was not admiration of his
voice, but my publication of it, which has lately increased the number
of his hearers.

FOOTNOTES:

[58] "Rascal," in Greek letters.

[59] See No. 36.

[60] Mercury was the god of thieves.

[61] An astrologer and almanac maker, who died in 1715. John Gadbury,
an older astrologer, was his master.

[62] Persons who carry contraband goods.

[63] A waiter; see No. 1.

[64] See No. 54.



No. 57. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 18_, to _Saturday, August 20, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 19._

I was this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country
from Emilia. She says, her neighbours there have so little sense of
what a refined lady of the town is, that she, who was a celebrated wit
in London, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem, that
they call her in their base style a tongue-pad. Old Truepenny bid me
advise her to keep her wit till she comes to town again, and admonish
her, that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine Court lady is
as awkward among country housewives, as one of them would appear in a
drawing-room. It is therefore the most useful knowledge one can attain
at, to understand among what sort of men we make the best figure; for
if there be a place where the beauteous and accomplished Emilia is
unacceptable, it is certainly a vain endeavour to attempt pleasing
in all conversations. Here is Will. Ubi, who is so thirsty after the
reputation of a companion, that his company is for anybody that will
accept of it; and for want of knowing whom to choose for himself, is
never chosen by others. There is a certain chastity of behaviour which
makes a man desirable, and which, if he transgresses, his wit will have
the same fate with Delia's beauty, which no one regards, because all
know it is within their power. The best course Emilia can take, is, to
have less humility; for if she could have as good an opinion of herself
for having every quality, as some of her neighbours have of themselves
with one, she would inspire even them with a sense of her merit, and
make that carriage (which is now the subject of their derision) the
sole object of their imitation. Till she has arrived at this value of
herself, she must be contented with the fate of that uncommon creature,
a woman too humble.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 19._

Since my last, I have received a letter from Tom Trump, to desire that
I would do the fraternity of gamesters the justice to own, that there
are notorious sharpers who are not of their class. Among others, he
presented me with the picture of Harry Coppersmith in little, who (he
says) is at this day worth half a plum,[65] by means much more indirect
than by false dice. I must confess, there appeared some reason in what
he asserted; and he met me since, and accosted me in the following
manner: "It is wonderful to me, Mr. Bickerstaff, that you can pretend
to be a man of penetration, and fall upon us knights of the industry
as the wickedest of mortals, when there are so many who live in the
constant practice of baser methods unobserved. You cannot (though
you know the story of myself and the North Briton) but allow I am an
honester man than Will. Coppersmith, for all his great credit among
the Lombards. I get my money by men's follies, and he gets his by
their distresses. The declining merchant communicates his griefs to
him, and he augments them by extortion. If therefore regard is to be
had to the merit of the persons we injure, who is the more blamable,
he that oppresses an unhappy man, or he that cheats a foolish one? All
mankind are indifferently liable to adverse strokes of fortune; and he
who adds to them, when he might relieve them, is certainly a worse
subject, than he who unburdens a man whose prosperity is unwieldy to
him. Besides all which, he that borrows of Coppersmith, does it out of
necessity; he that plays with me, does it out of choice." I allowed
Trump there are men as bad as himself, which is the height of his
pretensions; and must confess, that Coppersmith is the most wicked and
impudent of all sharpers: a creature that cheats with credit, and is
a robber in the habit of a friend. The contemplation of this worthy
person made me reflect on the wonderful successes I have observed men
of the meanest capacities meet with in the world, and recollected
an observation I once heard a sage man make, which was, that he had
observed, that in some professions, the lower the understanding, the
greater the capacity. I remember, he instanced that of a banker, and
said, "That the fewer appetites, passions, and ideas a man had, he was
the better for his business." There is little Sir Tristram,[66] without
connection in his speech, or so much as common sense, has arrived by
his own natural parts at one of the greatest estates amongst us. But
honest Sir Tristram knows himself to be but a repository for cash: he
is just such a utensil as his iron chest, and may rather be said to
hold money, than possess it. There is nothing so pleasant as to be in
the conversation of these wealthy proficients. I had lately the honour
to drink half a pint with Sir Tristram, Harry Coppersmith, and Giles
Twoshoes. These wags give one another credit in discourse according to
their purses; they jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour
bills. Without vanity, I thought myself the prettiest fellow of the
company; but I had no manner of power over one muscle in their faces,
though they sneered at every word spoken by each other. Sir Tristram
called for a pipe of tobacco; and telling us tobacco was a pot-herb,
bid the drawer bring in the other half-pint. Twoshoes laughed at the
knight's wit without moderation. I took the liberty to say, it was but
a pun. "A pun!" says Coppersmith: "you would be a better man by £10,000
if you could pun like Sir Tristram." With that, they all burst out
together. The queer curs maintained this style of dialogue till we had
drunk our quarts apiece by half-pints. All I could bring away with me,
is, that Twoshoes is not worth £20,000; for his mirth, though he was as
insipid as either of the others, had no more effect upon the company,
than if he had been a bankrupt.


_From my own Apartment, August 19._

I have heard, it has been advised by a Diocesan to his inferior clergy,
that instead of broaching opinions of their own, and uttering doctrines
which may lead themselves and hearers into errors, they would read some
of the most celebrated sermons printed by others for the instruction
of their congregations. In imitation of such preachers at second-hand,
I shall transcribe from Bruyère one of the most elegant pieces of
raillery and satire which I have ever read. He describes the French, as
if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a
traveller.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I have heard talk of a country where the old men are gallant, polite
and civil: the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without
either manners or civility. They are free from passion for women, at
the age when in other countries they begin to feel it; and prefer
beasts, victuals, and ridiculous amours, before them. Amongst these
people, he is sober who is never drunk with anything but wine; the
too frequent use of it has rendered it flat and insipid to them: they
endeavour by brandy, and other strong liquors, to quicken their taste,
already extinguished, and want nothing to complete their debauches,
but to drink aqua fortis. The women of that country hasten the decay
of their beauty, by their artifices to preserve it: they paint their
cheeks, eyebrows, and shoulders, which they lay open, together with
their breasts, arms and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those
places which they think will please, and never think they show enough
of them. The physiognomies of the people of that country are not at
all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange hair,
which they prefer before their natural: with this they weave something
to cover their heads, which descends half-way down their bodies, hides
their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This
nation has besides this, their God and their king. The grandees go
every day at a certain hour to a temple they call a church: at the
upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their
God, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call holy,
sacred and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot
of the altar, standing with their backs to the priest and the holy
mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on
his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of
their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom there is
to be remarked a sort of subordination; for the people appear adoring
their prince and their prince adoring God. The inhabitants of this
region call it----It is from forty-eight degrees of latitude, and more
than eleven hundred leagues by sea, from the Iroquois and Hurons."

       *       *       *       *       *

Letters from Hampstead[67] say, there is a coxcomb arrived there, of
a kind which is utterly new. The fellow has courage, which he takes
himself to be obliged to give proofs of every hour he lives. He is ever
fighting with the men, and contradicting the women. A lady who sent him
to me, superscribed him with this description out of Suckling:

    "_I am a man of war and might,
    And know thus much, that I can fight,
    Whether I am in the wrong or right,
                Devoutly._

    "_No woman under heaven I fear,
    New oaths I can exactly swear;
    And forty healths my brains will bear,
                Most stoutly._"


FOOTNOTES:

[65] A plum is £100,000.

[66] Sir Francis Child, according to the annotator mentioned in a note
to No. 4. Sir Francis Child, the founder of the banking-house, was
elected Lord Mayor in 1698, and was afterwards M.P. for the City and
for Devizes. He died in 1713.

[67] Hampstead was quite a health resort, with chalybeate springs. The
following advertisement appeared in No. 201: "A consort of music will
be performed in the Great Room at Hampstead, this present Saturday, the
22nd inst., at the desire of the gentlemen and ladies living in and
near Hampstead, by the best masters. Several of the opera songs, by a
girl of nine years, a scholar of Mr. Tenoe's, who never performed in
public, but once at York Buildings, with very good success. To begin
exactly at five, for the conveniency of gentlemen's returning. Tickets
to be had only at the Wells, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each. For the benefit of
Mr. Tenoe."



No. 58. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 20_, to _Tuesday, August 23, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 22._

Poor Cynthio[68] (who does me the honour to talk to me now and then
very freely of his most secret thoughts, and tells me his most private
frailties) owned to me, that though he is in his very prime of life,
love had killed all his desires, and he was now as much to be trusted
with a fine lady, as if he were eighty. "That one passion for Clarissa
has taken up," said he, "my whole soul, and all my idle flames are
extinguished, as you may observe, ordinary fires are often put out
by the sunshine." This was a declaration not to be made, but upon
the highest opinion of a man's sincerity; yet as much a subject of
raillery as such a speech would be, it is certain, that chastity is a
nobler quality, and as much to be valued in men as in women. The mighty
Scipio, who (as Bluffe[69] says in the comedy) was a pretty fellow in
his time, was of this mind, and is celebrated for it by an author of
good sense. When he lived, wit, and humour, and raillery, and public
success, were at as high a pitch in Rome, as at present in England; yet
I believe, there was no man in those days thought that general at all
ridiculous in his behaviour in the following account of him: Scipio,
at four and twenty years of age,[70] had obtained a great victory,
and a multitude of prisoners of each sex, and all conditions, fell
into his possession: among others, an agreeable virgin in her early
bloom and beauty. He had too sensible a spirit to see the most lovely
of all objects without being moved with passion: besides which, there
was no obligation of honour or virtue to restrain his desires towards
one who was his by the fortune of war. But a noble indignation, and
a sudden sorrow, which appeared in her countenance, when a conqueror
cast his eyes upon her, raised his curiosity to know her story. He was
informed, that she was a lady of the highest condition in that country,
and contracted to Indibilis, a man of merit and quality. The generous
Roman soon placed himself in the condition of that unhappy man, who was
to lose so charming a bride; and though a youth, a bachelor, a lover,
and a conqueror, immediately resolved to resign all the invitations
of his passion, and the rights of his power, to restore her to her
destined husband. With this purpose he commanded her parents and
relations, as well as her husband, to attend him at an appointed time.
When they met, and were waiting for the general, my author frames to
himself the different concern of an unhappy father, a despairing lover,
and a tender mother, in the several persons who were so related to
the captive. But for fear of injuring the delicate circumstances with
an old translation, I shall proceed to tell you, that Scipio appears
to them, and leads in his prisoner into their presence. The Romans
(as noble as they were) seemed to allow themselves a little too much
triumph over the conquered; therefore, as Scipio approached, they all
threw themselves on their knees, except the lover of the lady: but
Scipio observing in him a manly sullenness, was the more inclined to
favour him, and spoke to him in these words: "It is not the manner of
the Romans to use all the power they justly may: we fight not to ravage
countries, or break through the ties of humanity; I am acquainted
with your worth, and your interest in this lady: fortune has made me
your master; but I desire to be your friend. This is your wife; take
her, and may the gods bless you with her. But far be it from Scipio
to purchase a loose and momentary pleasure at the rate of making an
honest man unhappy." Indibilis' heart was too full to make him any
answer, but he threw himself at the feet of the general and wept aloud.
The captive lady fell into the same posture, and they both remained
so till the father burst into the following words: "O divine Scipio!
The gods have given you more than human virtue. O glorious leader! O
wondrous youth! Does not that obliged virgin give you, while she prays
to the gods for your prosperity, and thinks you sent down from them,
raptures, above all the transports which you could have reaped from
the possession of her injured person?" The temperate Scipio answered
him without much emotion, and, saying, "Father, be a friend to Rome,"
retired. An immense sum was offered as her ransom; but he sent it to
her husband, and smiling, said, "This is a trifle after what I have
given him already; but let Indibilis know, that chastity at my age is
a much more difficult virtue to practise than generosity." I observed,
Cynthio was very much taken with my narrative; but told me, this was a
virtue that would bear but a very inconsiderable figure in our days.
However I took the liberty to say, that we ought not to lose our ideas
of things, though we had debauched our true relish in our practice. For
after we have done laughing, solid virtue will keep its place in men's
opinions: and though custom made it not so scandalous as it ought
to be, to ensnare innocent women, and triumph in the falsehood; such
actions as we have here related, must be accounted true gallantry, and
rise the higher in our esteem, the farther they are removed from our
imitation.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 22._

A man would be apt to think in this laughing town, that it were
impossible a thing so exploded as speaking hard words should be
practised by any one that had ever seen good company; but as if there
were a standard in our minds as well as bodies, you see very many just
where they were twenty years ago, and more they cannot, will not arrive
at. Were it not thus, the noble Martius would not be the only man in
England whom nobody can understand, though he talks more than any man
else, Will. Dactyle the epigrammatist, Jack Comma the grammarian, Nick
Cross-grain who writes anagrams, and myself, made a pretty company at
a corner of this room, and entered very peaceably upon a subject fit
enough for us; which was, the examination of the force of the particle
"for," when Martius joined us. He being well known to us all, asked
what we were upon? For he had a mind to consummate the happiness of
the day, which had been spent among the stars of the first magnitude,
among the men of letters; and therefore, to put a period to it, as he
had commenced it, he should be glad to be allowed to participate of the
pleasure of our society. I told him the subject. "Faith, gentlemen,"
said Martius, "your subject is humble; and if you would give me leave
to elevate the conversation, I should humbly offer, that you would
enlarge your inquiries to the word 'forasmuch': for though I take
it," said he, "to be but one word; yet, the particle 'much' implying
quantity, the particle 'as' similitude, it will be greater, and
more like ourselves, to treat of 'forasmuch.'" Jack Comma is always
serious, and answered, "Martius, I must take the liberty to say, that
you have fallen into all this error and profuse manner of speech by a
certain hurry in your imagination, for want of being more exact in the
knowledge of the parts of speech; and it is so with all men who have
not well studied the particle 'for.' You have spoken 'for' without
making any inference, which is the great use of that particle. There is
no manner of force in your observation of quantity and similitude in
the syllables 'as' and 'much.' But it is ever the fault of men of great
wit to be incorrect; which evil they run into by an indiscreet use of
the word 'for.' Consider all the books of controversy which have been
written, and I'll engage you will observe, that all the debate lies in
this point, whether they brought in 'for' in a just manner, or forced
it in for their own use, rather than as understanding the use of the
word itself? There is nothing like familiar instances: you have heard
the story of the Irishman, who reading, 'Money for Live Hair,' took a
lodging and expected to be paid for living at that house. If this man
had known 'for' was in that place, of a quite different signification
from the particle 'to,' he could not have fallen into the mistake of
taking 'live' for what the Latins call _vivere_, or rather _habitare_"
Martius seemed at a loss; and admiring his profound learning, wished
he had been bred a scholar, for he did not take the scope of his
discourse. This wise debate, of which we had much more, made me reflect
upon the difference of their capacities, and wonder that there could
be as it were a diversity in men's genius for nonsense; that one
should bluster, while another crept in absurdities. Martius moves
like a blind man, lifting his legs higher than the ordinary way of
stepping; and Comma, like one who is only short-sighted, picking his
way when he should be marching on. Want of learning makes Martius a
brisk entertaining fool, and gives himself a full scope; but that
which Comma has, and calls learning, makes him diffident, and curb his
natural misunderstanding, to the great loss of the men of raillery.
This conversation confirmed me in the opinion, that learning usually
does but improve in us what nature endowed us with. He that wants good
sense, is unhappy in having it, for he has thereby only more ways of
exposing himself; and he that has sense, knows that learning is not
knowledge, but rather the art of using it.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 22._

We[71] have undoubted intelligence of the defeat of the King of Sweden;
and that prince (who for some years had hovered like an approaching
tempest, and was looked up at by all the nations of Europe, which
seemed to expect their fate according to the course he should take),
is now, in all probability, an unhappy exile, without the common
necessaries of life. His Czarish Majesty treats his prisoners with
great gallantry and distinction. Count Rheinsfeldt has had particular
marks of his Majesty's esteem, for his merit and services to his
master; but Count Piper, whom his Majesty believes author of the
most violent councils into which his prince entered, is disarmed and
entertained accordingly. That decisive battle was ended at nine in the
morning, and all the Swedish generals dined with the Czar that very
day, and received assurances that they should find Muscovy was not
unacquainted with the laws of honour and humanity.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Lord Hinchinbroke; see Nos. 5, 22, 35.

[69] Captain Bluffe, in Congreve's "Old Bachelor," act ii. sc. 2:
"Faith, Hannibal was a very pretty fellow; but, Sir Joseph, comparisons
are odious; Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it must
be granted; but, alas, sir, were he alive now, he would be nothing,
nothing in the earth."

[70] He was really 27 at this time. Steele seems to have based this
article on a translation of Valerius Maximus. Florus says that Scipio
declined to see the lady; Livy's account is in his twenty-sixth book,
chap. 50.

[71] "Though we have men of intelligence that have spoken of the
proposals of peace and conferences which have been held at Tournay,
there are no certain advices of any such treaty. We" (folio).



No. 59. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 23_, to _Thursday, August 25, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 24._

Æsop has gained to himself an immortal renown for figuring the manners,
desires, passions, and interests of men, by fables of beasts and birds:
I shall in my future accounts of our modern heroes and wits, vulgarly
called "sharpers," imitate the method of that delightful moralist; and
think, I cannot represent those worthies more naturally than under the
shadow of a pack of dogs; for this set of men are like them, made up
of finders, lurchers, and setters. Some search for the prey, others
pursue others take it; and if it be worth it, they all come in at the
death, and worry the carcass. It would require a most exact knowledge
of the field, and the harbours where the deer lie, to recount all
the revolutions in the chase: but I am diverted from the train of my
discourse of the fraternity about this town by letters from Hampstead,
which give me an account, there is a late institution there, under the
name of a raffling-shop, which is, it seems, secretly supported by a
person who is a deep practitioner in the law, and, out of tenderness
of conscience, has, under the name of his maid Sisly, set up this
easier way of conveyancing and alienating estates from one family to
another. He is so far from having an intelligence with the rest of the
fraternity, that all the humbler cheats who appear there, are faced by
the partners in the bank, and driven off by the reflection of superior
brass. This notice is given to all the silly faces that pass that
way, that they may not be decoyed in by the soft allurement of a fine
lady, who is the sign to the pageantry. And at the same time Signior
Hawksly, who is the patron of the household, is desired to leave off
this interloping trade, or admit, as he ought to do, the knights of
the industry to their share in the spoil. But this little matter is
only by way of digression. Therefore to return to our worthies: the
present race of terriers and hounds would starve, were it not for the
enchanted Actæon, who has kept the whole pack for many successions
of hunting seasons. Actæon has long tracts of rich soil; but had the
misfortune in his youth to fall under the power of sorcery, and has
been ever since, some parts of the year, a deer, and in some parts a
man. While he is a man (such is the force of magic), he no sooner grows
to such a bulk and fatness, but he is again turned into a deer, and
hunted till he is lean; upon which he returns to his human shape. Many
arts have been tried, and many resolutions taken by Actæon himself,
to follow such methods as would break the enchantment; but all have
hitherto proved ineffectual. I have therefore, by midnight watchings
and much care, found out, that there is no way to save him from the
jaws of his hounds, but to destroy the pack, which, by astrological
prescience, I find I am destined to perform. For which end I have
sent out my familiar, to bring me a list of all the places where they
are harboured, that I may know where to sound my horn, and bring them
together, and take an account of their haunts and their marks, against
another opportunity.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 24._

The author of the ensuing letter, by his name, and the quotations he
makes from the ancients, seems a sort of spy from the old world, whom
we moderns ought to be careful of offending; therefore I must be free,
and own it a fair hit where he takes me, rather than disoblige him.[72]

     "SIR,

     "Having a peculiar humour of desiring to be somewhat the better or
     wiser for what I read, I am always uneasy when, in any profound
     writer (for I read no others), I happen to meet with what I
     cannot understand. When this falls out, it is a great grievance
     to me that I am not able to consult the author himself about
     his meaning; for commentators are a sect that has little share
     in my esteem. Your elaborate writings have, among many others,
     this advantage, that their author is still alive, and ready (as
     his extensive charity makes us expect) to explain whatever may
     be found in them too sublime for vulgar understandings. This,
     sir, makes me presume to ask you, how the Hampstead hero's[73]
     character could be perfectly new when the last letters came away,
     and yet Sir John Suckling so well acquainted with it sixty years
     ago? I hope, sir, you will not take this amiss: I can assure you,
     I have a profound respect for you; which makes me write this,
     with the same disposition with which Longinus bids us read Homer
     and Plato. 'When in reading,' says he, 'any of those celebrated
     authors, we meet with a passage to which we cannot well reconcile
     our reasons, we ought firmly to believe, that were those great
     wits present to answer for themselves, we should to our wonder
     be convinced, that we only are guilty of the mistakes we before
     attributed to them.' If you think fit to remove the scruple that
     now torments me, it will be an encouragement to me to settle a
     frequent correspondence with you, several things falling in my way
     which would not, perhaps, be altogether foreign to your purpose,
     and whereon your thoughts would be very acceptable to

  "Your most humble Servant,
  OBADIAH GREENHAT."


I own this is clean, and Mr. Greenhat has convinced me that I have writ
nonsense; yet am I not at all offended at him.

    _Scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim._[74]

This is the true art of raillery, when a man turns another into
ridicule, and shows at the same time he is in good humour, and not
urged by malice against the person he rallies. Obadiah Greenhat has
hit this very well: for to make an apology to Isaac Bickerstaff, an
unknown student and horary historian, as well as astrologer, and with
a grave face to say, he speaks of him by the same rules with which he
would treat Homer or Plato, is to place him in company where he cannot
expect to make a figure; and makes him flatter himself, that it is
only being named with them which renders him most ridiculous. I have
not known, and I am now past my grand climacteric, being sixty-four
years of age, according to my way of life, or rather (if you will allow
punning in an old gentleman) according to my way of pastime; I say,
old as I am, I have not been acquainted with many of the Greenhats.
There is indeed one Zedekiah Greenhat, who is lucky also in his way.
He has a very agreeable manner; for when he has a mind thoroughly to
correct a man, he never takes from him anything, but he allows him
something for it; or else, he blames him for things wherein he is not
defective, as well as for matters wherein he is. This makes a weak man
believe he is in jest in the whole. The other day he told Beau Prim,
who is thought impotent, that his mistress had declared she would not
have him, because he was a sloven, and had committed a rape. The beau
bit at the banter, and said very gravely, he thought to be clean was
as much as was necessary; and that as to the rape, he wondered by what
witchcraft that should come to her ears; but it had indeed cost him
a hundred pounds to hush the affair. The Greenhats are a family with
small voices and short arms, therefore they have power with none but
their friends: they never call after those who run away from them, or
pretend to take hold of you if you resist. But it has been remarkable,
that all who have shunned their company, or not listened to them, have
fallen into the hands of such as have knocked out their own brains, or
broken their bones. I have looked over our pedigree upon the receipt
of this epistle, and find the Greenhats are akin to the Staffs. They
descend from Maudlin, the left-handed wife of Nehemiah Bickerstaff,
in the reign of Harry II. And it is remarkable, that they are all
left-handed, and have always been very expert at single rapier. A man
must be very much used to their play to know how to defend himself; for
their posture is so different from that of the right-handed, that you
run upon their swords if you push forward; and they are in with you,
if you offer to fall back without keeping your guard. There have been
other letters lately sent to me which relate to other people: among
others, some whom I have heretofore declared to be so, are deceased.
I must not therefore break through rules so far, as to speak ill of
the dead. This maxim extends to all but the late Partridge, who still
denies his death. I am informed indeed by several, that he walks; but I
shall with all convenient speed lay him.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 24._

We hear from Tournay, that on the night between the 22nd and 23rd, they
went on with their works in the enemy's mines, and levelled the earth
which was taken out of them. The next day, at eight in the morning,
when the French observed we were relieving our trenches, they sprung
a larger mine than any they had fired during this siege, which killed
only four private sentinels. The ensuing night, we had three men and
two officers killed, as also seven men wounded. Between the 24th and
25th, we repaired some works, which the enemy had ruined. On the next
day, some of the enemy's magazines blew up; and it is thought they were
destroyed on purpose by some of their men, who are impatient of the
hardships of the present service. There happened nothing remarkable for
two or three days following. A deserter, who came out of the citadel on
the 27th, says, the garrison is brought to the utmost necessity; that
their bread and water are both very bad; and that they were reduced to
eat horse-flesh. The manner of fighting in this siege has discovered a
gallantry in our men unknown to former ages; their meeting with adverse
parties underground, where every step is taken with apprehensions of
being blown up with mines below them, or crushed by the fall of the
earth above them, and all this acted in darkness, has something in it
more terrible than ever is met with in any other part of a soldier's
duty. However, this is performed with great cheerfulness. In other
parts of the war we have also good prospects: Count Thaun has taken
Annecy, and the Count de Merci marched into Franche Comté, while his
Electoral Highness is much superior in number to Monsieur d'Harcourt;
so that both on the side of Savoy and Germany, we have reason to expect
very suddenly some great event.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] This letter was by Swift, and is printed in Scott's edition of his
works. The remainder of the article may be by either Swift or Addison.

[73] See No. 57.

[74] Horace, "Ars Poetica," II.



No. 60. [STEELE.[75]

From _Thursday, August 25_, to _Saturday, August 27_, 1709.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 26._

To proceed regularly in the history of my worthies, I ought to give
you an account of what has passed from day to day in this place; but a
young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been rescued out of the
hands of the knights of the industry, that I rather choose to relate
the manner of his escape from them, and the uncommon way which was used
to reclaim him, than to go on in my intended diary. You are to know
then, that Tom Wildair is a student of the Inner Temple, and has spent
his time, since he left the university for that place, in the common
diversions of men of fashion; that is to say, in whoring, drinking, and
gaming. The two former vices he had from his father; but was led into
the last by the conversation of a partisan of the Myrmidons, who had
chambers near him. His allowance from his father was a very plentiful
one for a man of sense, but as scanty for a modern fine gentleman.
His frequent losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition,
that his lodgings were always haunted by impatient creditors, and
all his thoughts employed in contriving low methods to support
himself, in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and
in which he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some
good-natured person to send a man an account of what he has no mind
to hear; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the father of
this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, the
distresses, and entertainments, in which his son passed his time. The
old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a parent, but
frequently consulted his pillow to know how to behave himself on such
important occasions, as the welfare of his son, and the safety of his
fortune. After many agitations of mind, he reflected, that necessity
was the usual snare which made men fall into meanness, and that a
liberal fortune generally made a liberal and honest mind; he resolved
therefore to save him from his ruin, by giving him opportunities of
tasting what it is to be at ease, and enclosed to him the following
order upon Sir Tristram Cash:[76]


     "SIR,

     "Pray pay to Mr. Tho. Wildair, or order, the sum of one thousand
     pounds, and place it to the account of,

  "Yours,
  HUMPHREY WILDAIR."


Tom was so astonished at the receipt of this order, that though he knew
it to be his father's hand, and that he had always large sums at Sir
Tristram's; yet a thousand pounds was a trust of which his conduct had
always made him appear so little capable, that he kept his note by him,
till he writ to his father the following letter:

     "HONOURED FATHER,

     "I have received an order under your hand for a thousand pounds,
     in words at length, and I think I could swear it is your hand. I
     have looked it over and over twenty thousand times. There is in
     plain letters, T, H, O, U, S, A, N, D,: and after it, the letters
     P, O, U, N, D, S. I have it still by me, and shall, I believe,
     continue reading it till I hear from you."

The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of his
letter; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds more.
His amazement on this second letter was unspeakable. He immediately
double-locked his door, and sat down carefully to reading and comparing
both his orders. After he had read them till he was half mad, he walked
six or seven turns in his chamber, then opens his door, then locks it
again; and to examine thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again,
puts his table and chairs against it; then goes into his closet, and
locking himself in, read his notes over again about nineteen times,
which did but increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to
recollect many stories he had formerly heard of persons who had been
possessed with imaginations and appearances which had no foundation
in nature, but had been taken with sudden madness in the midst of a
seeming clear and untainted reason. This made him very gravely conclude
he was out of his wits; and with a design to compose himself, he
immediately betakes him to his nightcap, with a resolution to sleep
himself into his former poverty and senses. To bed therefore he goes at
noonday, but soon rose again, and resolved to visit Sir Tristram upon
this occasion. He did so, and dined with the knight, expecting he would
mention some advice from his father about paying him money; but no such
thing being said, "Look you, Sir Tristram," said he, "you are to know,
that an affair has happened, which----" "Look you," says Tristram,
"I know, Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance; but the
late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last payment, has
obliged me----" Tom interrupted him, by showing him the bill of a
thousand pounds. When he had looked at it for a convenient time, and
as often surveyed Tom's looks and countenance; "Look you, Mr. Wildair,
a thousand pounds----" Before he could proceed, he shows him the order
for three thousand more. Sir Tristram examined the orders at the light,
and finding at the writing the name, there was a certain stroke in one
letter, which the father and he had agreed should be to such directions
as he desired might be more immediately honoured, he forthwith pays the
money. The possession of four thousand pounds gave my young gentleman
a new train of thoughts: he began to reflect upon his birth, the great
expectations he was born to, and the unsuitable ways he had long
pursued. Instead of that unthinking creature he was before, he is now
provident, generous, and discreet. The father and son have an exact and
regular correspondence, with mutual and unreserved confidence in each
other. The son looks upon his father as the best tenant he could have
in the country, and the father finds the son the most safe banker he
could have in the City.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 26._

There is not anything in nature so extravagant, but that you will find
one man or other that shall practise or maintain it; otherwise, Harry
Spondee could not have made so long an harangue as he did here this
evening concerning the force and efficacy of well-applied nonsense.
Among ladies, he positively averred, it was the most prevailing part of
eloquence; and had so little complaisance as to say, a woman is never
taken by her reason, but always by her passion. He proceeded to assert,
the way to move that, was only to astonish her. "I know," continued
he, "a very late instance of this; for being by accident in the next
room to Strephon, I could not help overhearing him as he made love to a
certain great lady's woman. The true method in your application to one
of this second rank of understanding, is not to elevate and surprise,
but rather to elevate and amaze. Strephon is a perfect master in this
kind of persuasion: his way is, to run over with a soft air a multitude
of words, without meaning or connection, but such as do each of them
apart give a pleasing idea, though they have nothing to do with each
other as he assembles them. After the common phrases of salutation,
and making his entry into the room, I perceived he had taken the
fair nymph's hand, and kissing it, said, 'Witness to my happiness ye
groves! Be still ye rivulets! Oh! woods, caves, fountains, trees,
dales, mountains, hills, and streams! Oh! fairest, could you love
me?' To which I overheard her answer, with a very pretty lisp, 'Oh!
Strephon, you are a dangerous creature: why do you talk these tender
things to me? But you men of wit----' 'Is it then possible,' said the
enamoured Strephon, 'that she regards my sorrows? Oh! Pity, thou balmy
cure to an heart overloaded. If rapture, solicitation, soft desire,
and pleasing anxiety----But still I live in the most afflicting of all
circumstances, doubt----Cannot my charmer name the place and moment?

    _There all those joys insatiably to prove,
    With which rich beauty feeds the glutton love._

Forgive me, madam, it is not that my heart is weary of its chain,
but----' This incoherent stuff was answered by a tender sigh, 'Why
do you put your wit to a weak woman?' Strephon saw he had made some
progress in her heart, and pursued it, by saying that he would
certainly wait upon her at such an hour near Rosamond's Pond;[77] and
then----The sylvian deities, and rural powers of the place, sacred
and inviolable to love; love, the mover of all noble hearts, should
hear his vows repeated by the streams and echoes. The assignation
was accordingly made." This style he calls the unintelligible method
of speaking his mind; and I'll engage, had this gallant spoken plain
English, she had never understood him half so readily: for we may
take it for granted, that he'll be esteemed as a very cold lover, who
discovers to his mistress that he is in his senses.


_From my own Apartment, August 26._

The following letter came to my hand, with a request to have the
subject recommended to our readers, particularly the smart fellows,
who are desired to repair to Major Touchhole,[78] who can help them to
firelocks that are only fit for exercise.


_Just ready for the Press_,

"Mars Triumphant, or, London's Glory: being the whole art of
Encampment, with the method of embattling Armies, marching them off,
posting the Officers, forming Hollow Squares, and the various Ways
of paying the Salute with the Halfpike; as it was performed by the
Trained-bands of London this year One thousand seven hundred and
nine, in that Nursery of Bellona the Artillery-ground.[79] Wherein
you have a new method how to form a strong line of foot, with large
intervals between each platoon, very useful to prevent the breaking in
of horse. A civil way of performing the military ceremony; wherein the
major alights from his horse, and at the head of his company salutes
the lieutenant-colonel; and the lieutenant-colonel, to return the
compliment, courteously dismounts, and after the same manner salutes
his major: exactly as it was performed, with abundance of applause,
on the 5th of July last. Likewise an account of a new invention made
use of in the Red Regiment to quell mutineering captains; with several
other things alike useful for the public. To which is added, An
Appendix by Major Touchhole; proving the method of discipline now used
in our armies to be very defective. With an essay towards an amendment.
Dedicated to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the First Regiment."

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Bickerstaff has now in the press, "A Defence of awkward Fellows
against the Class of the Smarts: with a Dissertation upon the Gravity
which becomes weighty Persons. Illustrated by way of Fable, and a
Discourse on the Nature of the Elephant, the Cow, the Dray-horse,
and the Dromedary, which have motions equally steady and grave. To
this is added, a Treatise written by an Elephant (according to Pliny)
against receiving Foreigners into the Forest. Adapted to some present
Circumstances. Together with Allusions to such Beasts as declare
against the poor Palatines."

FOOTNOTES:

[75] See No. 56.

[76] See No. 57.

[77] This "lake of love" (No. 170) was a sheet of water in the
south-west corner of St. James's Park, "long consecrated," as Warburton
says, "to disastrous love and elegiac poetry." It is frequently
mentioned in plays of the time as a place of assignation. See Pope's
"Rape of the Lock":

    "This the blest lover shall for Venus take,
    And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake."

The anxious father of an heiress, who had given him the slip, says
(_Spectator_, No. 311), "After an hour's search she returned of
herself, having been taking a walk, as she told me, by Rosamond's
Pond." The pond was filled up in 1770.

[78] Said to be a Mr. Gregory, of Thames Street, a train-band major.
See also No. 265.

[79] See Nos. 28, 41.



No. 61. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 27_, to _Tuesday, August 30, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 29._

Among many phrases which have crept into conversation, especially
of such company as frequent this place, there is not one which
misleads me more, than that of a fellow of a great deal of fire. This
metaphorical term, "fire," has done much good in keeping coxcombs in
awe of one another; but at the same time it has made them troublesome
to everybody else. You see in the very air of a fellow of fire,
something so expressive of what he would be at, that if it were not
for self-preservation, a man would laugh out. I had last night the
fate to drink a bottle with two of these firemen, who are indeed
dispersed like the myrmidons[80] in all quarters, and to be met with
among those of the most different education. One of my companions was
a scholar with fire; the other a soldier of the same complexion. My
learned man would fall into disputes, and argue without any manner
of provocation or contradiction: the other was decisive without
words, and would give a shrug or an oath to express his opinion. My
learned man was a mere scholar, and my man of war as mere a soldier.
The particularity of the first was ridiculous; that of the second,
terrible. They were relations by blood, which in some measure moderated
their extravagances towards each other: I gave myself up merely as a
person of no note in the company, but as if brought to be convinced,
that I was an inconsiderable thing, any otherwise than that they would
show each other to me, and make me spectator of the triumph they
alternately enjoyed. The scholar has been very conversant with books,
and the other with men only; which makes them both superficial: for
the taste of books is necessary to our behaviour in the best company,
and the knowledge of men is required for a true relish of books: but
they have both fire, which makes one pass for a man of sense, and
the other for a fine gentleman. I found I could easily enough pass
my time with the scholar; for if I seemed not to do justice to his
parts and sentiments, he pitied me, and let me alone. But the warrior
could not let it rest there; I must know all that happened within his
shallow observations of the nature of the war: to all which he added,
an air of laziness, and contempt of those of his companions who were
eminent for delighting in the exercise and knowledge of their duty.
Thus it is, that all the young fellows of much animal life, and little
understanding, that repair to our armies, usurp upon the conversation
of reasonable men, under the notion of having fire. The word has
not been of greater use to shallow lovers, to supply them with chat
to their mistresses, than it has been to pretended men of pleasure
to support them in being pert and dull, and saying of every fool of
their order, "Such a one has fire." There is a Colonel Truncheon, who
marches with divisions ready on all occasions; a hero who never doubted
in his life, but is ever positively fixed in the wrong, not out of
obstinate opinion, but invincible stupidity. It is very unhappy for
this latitude of London, that it is possible for such as can learn
only fashion, habit, and a set of common phrases of salutation, to
pass with no other accomplishments in this nation of freedom for men
of conversation and sense. All these ought to pretend to, is, not to
offend; but they carry it so far, as to be negligent, whether they
offend or not; for they have fire. But their force differs from true
spirit, as much as a vicious from a mettlesome horse. A man of fire
is a general enemy to all the waiters where you drink, is the only
man affronted at the company's being neglected, and makes the drawers
abroad, his _valet-de-chambre_ and footman at home, know, he is not
to be provoked without danger. This is not the fire that animates the
noble Marinus,[81] a youth of good nature, affability, and moderation.
He commands his ship, as an intelligence moves its orb; he is the
vital life, and his officers the limbs of the machine. His vivacity is
seen in doing all the offices of life with readiness of spirit, and
propriety in the manner of doing them. To be ever active in laudable
pursuits, is the distinguishing character of a man of merit; while the
common behaviour of every gay coxcomb of fire is to be confidently in
the wrong, and dare to persist in it.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 29._

It is a common objection against writings of a satirical mixture, that
they hurt men in their reputations, and consequently in their fortunes
and possessions; but a gentleman who frequents this room declared, he
was of opinion it ought to be so, provided such performances had their
proper restrictions. The greatest evils in human society are such as
no law can come at; as in the case of ingratitude, where the manner of
obliging very often leaves the benefactor without means of demanding
justice, though that very circumstance should be the more binding to
the person who has received the benefit. On such an occasion, shall it
be possible for the malefactor to escape?

And is it not lawful to set marks upon persons who live within the
law, and do base things? Shall not we use the same protection of those
laws to punish them, which they have to defend themselves? We shall
therefore take it for a very moral action to find a good appellation
for offenders, and to turn them into ridicule under feigned names.
I am advertised by a letter of August the 25th, that the name of
Coppersmith[82] has very much wanted explanation in the city, and by
that means unjustly given, by those who are conscious they deserve
it themselves, to an honest and worthy citizen[83]--belonging to the
Copper Office; but that word is framed out of a moral consideration
of wealth amongst men, whereby he that has gotten any part of it by
injustice and extortion, is to be thought in the eye of virtuous men
so much the poorer for such gain. Thus all the gold which is torn from
our neighbours, by making advantage of their wants, is copper; and
I authorise the Lombards to distinguish themselves accordingly. All
the honest, who make a reasonable profit, both for the advantage of
themselves and those they deal with, are goldsmiths; but those who tear
unjustly all they can, coppersmiths. At the same time I desire him who
is most guilty, to sit down satisfied with riches and contempt, and
be known by the title of the Coppersmith; as being the chief of that
respected, contemptible fraternity.

This is the case of all others mentioned in our lucubrations,
particularly of Stentor,[84] who goes on in his vociferations at St.
Paul's with so much obstinacy, that he has received admonition from
St. Peter's for it from a person of eminent wit and piety;[85] but who
is by old age reduced to the infirmity of sleeping at a service, to
which he had been fifty years attentive, and whose death, whenever it
happens, may, with that of the saints, well be called, falling asleep;
for the innocence of his life makes him expect it as indifferently as
he does his ordinary rest. This gives him a cheerfulness of spirit to
rally his own weakness, and hath made him write to Stentor to hearken
to my admonitions. "Brother Stentor," said he, "for the repose of the
church, hearken to Bickerstaff, and consider, that while you are so
devout at St. Paul's, we cannot sleep for you at St. Peter's."


_From my own Apartment, August 29._

There has been lately sent me a much harder question than was ever yet
put to me since I professed astrology; to wit, how far, and to what
age, women ought to make their beauty their chief concern? The regard
and care of their faces and persons are as variously to be considered,
as their complexions themselves differ; but if one may transgress
against the careful practice of the fair sex so much as to give an
opinion against it, I humbly presume, that less care, better applied,
would increase their empire, and make it last as long as life. Whereas
now, from their own example, we take our esteem of their merit; for it
is very just, that she who values herself only on her beauty, should
be regarded by others on no other consideration. There is certainly
a liberal and pedantic education among women as well as men, and the
merit lasts accordingly. She therefore that is bred with freedom,
and in good company, considers men according to their respective
characters and distinctions; while she that is locked up from such
observations, will consider her father's butler not as a butler, but
as a man. In like manner, when men converse with women, the well-bred
and intelligent are looked upon with an observation suitable to their
different talents and accomplishments, without respect to their sex;
while a mere woman can be observed under no consideration but that of a
woman; and there can be but one reason for placing any value upon her,
or losing time in her company. Wherefore I am of opinion, that the rule
for pleasing long, is, to obtain such qualifications as would make them
so were they not women. Let the beauteous Cleomira then show us her
real face, and know, that every stage of life has its peculiar charms,
and that there is no necessity for fifty to be fifteen: that childish
colouring of her cheeks is as ungraceful, as that shape would have been
when her face wore its real countenance. She has sense, and ought to
know, that if she will not follow nature, nature will follow her. Time
then has made that person, which had (when I visited her grandfather)
an agreeable bloom, sprightly air, and soft utterance, now no less
grateful in a lovely aspect, an awful manner, and maternal wisdom. But
her heart was so set upon her first character, that she neglects and
repines at her present; not that she is against a more staid conduct
in others, for she recommends gravity, circumspection, and severity of
countenance, to her daughter. Thus, against all chronology, the girl
is the sage, the mother the fine lady. But these great evils proceed
from an unaccountable wild method in the education of the better half
of the world, the women. We have no such thing as a standard for good
breeding. I was the other day at my Lady Wealthy's, and asked one of
her daughters, how she did? She answered, she never conversed with men.
The same day I visited at Lady Plantwell's, and asked her daughter the
same question. She answers, "What's that to you, you old thief?" and
gives me a slap on the shoulders. I defy any man in England, except
he knows the family before he enters, to be able to judge whether he
shall be agreeable or not, when he comes into it. You find either some
odd old woman, who is permitted to rule as long as she lives, in hopes
of her death, and to interrupt all things; or some impertinent young
woman, who will talk sillily upon the strength of looking beautifully.
I will not answer for it, but that it may be, that I (like all other
old fellows) have a fondness for the fashions and manners which
prevailed when I was young and in fashion myself: but certain it is,
that the taste of grace and beauty is very much lowered! The fine
women they show me nowadays, are at best but pretty girls to me, who
have seen Sacharissa,[86] when all the world repeated the poems she
inspired; and Villaria,[87] when a youthful king was her subject. The
things you follow and make songs on now, should be sent to knit, or sit
down to bobbing or bone-lace: they are indeed neat, and so are their
sempstresses; they are pretty, and so are their handmaids. But that
graceful motion, that awful mien, and that winning attraction, which
grew upon them from the thoughts and conversations they met with in my
time, are now no more seen. They tell me I am old: I am glad I am so;
for I don't like your present young ladies. Those among us who do set
up for anything of decorum, do so mistake the matter, that they offend
on the other side. Five young ladies who are of no small fame for their
great severity of manners and exemplary behaviour, would lately go
nowhere with their lovers but to an organ-loft in a church, where they
had a cold treat, and some few opera songs, to their great refreshment
and edification. Whether these prudent persons had not been as much so
if this had been done at a tavern, is not very hard to determine. It is
such silly starts and incoherences which undervalue the beauteous sex,
and puzzle us in our choice of sweetness of temper and simplicity of
manners, which are the only lasting charms of woman. But I must leave
this important subject at present, for some matters which press for
publication; as you will observe in the following letter:

     "DEAR SIR,

     "It is natural for distant relations to claim kindred with a
     rising family; though at this time, zeal to my country, not
     interest, calls me out. The City forces[88] being shortly to take
     the field, all good Protestants would be pleased that their arms
     and valour should shine with equal lustre. A council of war was
     lately held, the Honourable Colonel Mortar being president. After
     many debates, it was unanimously resolved, that Major Blunder,
     a most expert officer, should be detached for Birmingham to buy
     arms, and to prove his firelocks on the spot, as well to prevent
     expense, as disappointment in the day of battle. The major
     being a person of consummate experience, was invested with a
     discretionary power. He knew from ancient story, that securing
     the rear, and making a glorious retreat, was the most celebrated
     piece of conduct. Accordingly such measures were taken to prevent
     surprise in the rear of his arms, that even Pallas herself, in the
     shape of rust, could not invade them. They were drawn into close
     order, firmly embodied, and arrived securely without touch-holes.
     Great and national actions deserve popular applause; and as
     praise is no expense to the public, therefore, dearest kinsman, I
     communicate this to you, as well to oblige this nursery of heroes,
     as to do justice to my native country. I am

  "Your most
  Affectionate Kinsman,
  OFFSPRING TWIG.

  "London, _August 26_, Artillery Ground.

     "A war-horse, belonging to one of the colonels of the artillery,
     to be let or sold. He may be seen, adorned with ribands, and set
     forth to the best advantage, the next training day."

FOOTNOTES:

[80] See No. 56.

[81] Perhaps Lord Forbes (afterwards third Earl of Granard), a naval
officer on friendly terms with Swift. (See "Journal to Stella," July
21-23, 1711, and No. 271, note.) He was born in 1685, and was therefore
only 24 in 1709.

[82] See No. 57.

[83] Probably Sir Humphrey Mackworth (1657-1727), the governor of
a company formed for working copper mines in England. Yalden wrote
verses "To Sir Humphrey Mackworth on working the mines." In 1709,
after internal quarrels in the Corporation, Mackworth was accused
of peculation, and in 1710 the House of Commons voted him guilty of
fraud; but a bill alienating his estates fell through owing to the
failing power of the Whigs. Mackworth was one of the founders of the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and published some books on
religious subjects, besides many political pamphlets.

[84] See No. 54.

[85] Dr. Robert South, who was, when this paper was written, nearly 75,
and in bad health. In January 1709, Swift wrote to Lord Halifax, "Pray,
my lord, desire Dr. South to die about the fall of the leaf," and in
October Halifax wrote, "Dr. South holds out still, but he cannot be
immortal." He lived until 1716.

[86] Waller's "Sacharissa" was Lady Dorothy Sidney (1617-1684),
daughter of Robert, second Earl of Leicester, and wife of Robert,
second Earl of Sunderland.

[87] The Duchess of Cleveland; see No. 50.

[88] See No. 60.



No. 62. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 30_, to _Thursday, September 1, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 31._

This place being frequented by persons of condition, I am desired to
recommend a dog kennel to any who shall want a pack. It lies not far
from Suffolk Street,[89] and is kept by two who were formerly dragoons
in the French service; but left plundering for the more orderly life of
keeping dogs: besides that, according to their expectation, they find
it more profitable, as well as more conducing to the safety of their
skin, to follow this trade, than the beat of drum. Their residence is
very convenient for the dogs to whelp in, and bring up a right breed to
follow the scent. The most eminent of the kennel are bloodhounds, which
lead the van, and are as follow:


_A List of the Dogs._

Jowler, of a right Irish breed, called Captain.

Rockwood, of French race, with long hair, by the courtesy of England
called also Captain.

Pompey, a tall hound, kennelled in a convent in France, and knows a
rich soil.

The two last hunt in couple, and are followed by,

Ringwood, a French black whelp of the same breed, a fine open-mouthed
dog; and an old sick hound, always in kennel; but of the true blood,
with a good nose, French breed.

There is also an Italian greyhound, with good legs, and knows perfectly
the ground from Ghent to Paris.

Ten setting dogs, right English.

Four mongrels, of the same nation.

And twenty whelps, fit for any game.

These curs are so extremely hungry, that they are too keen at the
sport, and worry their game before the keepers can come in. The other
day a wild boar from the north rushed into the kennel, and at first
indeed defended himself against the whole pack; but they proved at
last too many for him, and tore twenty-five pounds of flesh from off
his back, with which they filled their bellies, and made so great a
noise in the neighbourhood, that the keepers are obliged to hasten the
sale. That quarter of the town where they are kennelled is generally
inhabited by strangers, whose blood the hounds have often sucked in
such a manner, that many a German count, and other _virtuosi_, who come
from the Continent, have lost the intention of their travels, and been
unable to proceed on their journey.

If these hounds are not very soon disposed of to some good purchaser,
as also those at the kennels nearer St. James's, it is humbly proposed,
that they may be altogether transported to America, where the dogs are
few, and the wild beasts many. Or, that during their stay in these
parts, some eminent justice of the peace may have it in particular
direction to visit their harbours; and that the Sheriff of Middlesex
may allow him the assistance of the common hangman to cut off their
ears, or part of them, for distinction-sake, that we may know the
bloodhounds from the mongrels and setters. Till these things are
regulated, you may inquire at a house belonging to Paris at the upper
end of Suffolk Street, or a house belonging to Ghent, opposite to the
lower end of Pall Mall, and know further.

It were to be wished that these curs were disposed of; for it is a
very great nuisance to have them tolerated in cities. That of London
takes care, that the common hunt, assisted by the Sergeants and
bailiffs, expel them wherever they are found within the walls; though
it is said, some private families keep them, to the destruction of
their neighbours: but it is desired, that all who know of any of these
curs, or have been bit by them, would send me their marks, and the
houses where they are harboured, and I do not doubt but I shall alarm
the people so well, as to have them used like mad dogs wherever they
appear. In the meantime, I advise all such as entertain this kind
of vermin, that if they give me timely notice that their dogs are
dismissed, I shall let them go unregarded, otherwise am obliged to
admonish my fellow subjects in this behalf, and instruct them how to
avoid being worried, when they are going about their lawful professions
and callings. There was lately a young gentleman bit to the bone; who
has now indeed recovered his health, but is as lean as a skeleton. It
grieved my heart to see a gentleman's son run among the hounds; but he
is, they tell me, as fleet and as dangerous as the best of the pack.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 31._

This evening was spent at our table in discourse of propriety of
words and thoughts, which is Mr. Dryden's definition of wit;[90] but
a very odd fellow, who would intrude upon us, and has a briskness of
imagination more like madness than regular thought, said,[91] that
Harry Jacks was the first who told him of the taking of the citadel
of Tournay,[92] "and," says he, "Harry deserves a statue more than
the boy who ran to the Senate with a thorn in his foot to tell of a
victory." We were astonished at the assertion, and Spondee asked him,
"What affinity is there between that boy and Harry, that you say their
merit resembles so much as you just now told us?" "Why," says he,
"Harry you know is in the French interest, and it was more pain to him
to tell the story of Tournay, than to the boy to run upon a thorn to
relate a victory which he was glad of." The gentleman who was in the
chair upon the subject of propriety of words and thoughts, would by no
means allow, that there was wit in this comparison; and urged, that to
have anything gracefully said, it must be natural; and that whatsoever
was introduced in common discourse with so much premeditation, was
insufferable. That critic went on: "Had Mr. Jacks," said he, "told
him the citadel was taken, and another had answered, 'He deserves a
statue as well as the Roman boy, for he told it with as much pain';
it might have passed for a sprightly expression: but there is a wit
for discourse, and a wit for writing. The easiness and familiarity of
the first, is not to savour in the least of study; but the exactness
of the other, is to admit of something like the freedom of discourse,
especially in discourses of humanity, and what regards the Belles
Lettres. I do not in this allow, that Bickerstaff's _Tatlers_, or
discourses of wit by retail, and for the penny, should come within the
description of writing." I bowed at his compliment, and--but he would
not let me proceed.

You see in no place of conversation the perfection of speech so much
as in an accomplished woman. Whether it be, that there is a partiality
irresistible when we judge of that sex, or whatever it is, you may
observe a wonderful freedom in their utterance, and an easy flow of
words, without being distracted (as we often are who read much) in the
choice of dictions and phrases. My Lady Courtly is an instance of this:
she was talking the other day of dress, and did it with so excellent an
air and gesture, that you would have sworn she had learned her action
from our Demosthenes. Besides which, her words were particularly
well adapted to the matter she talked of, that the dress was a new
thing to us men. She avoided the terms of art in it, and described an
unaffected garb and manner in so proper terms, that she came up to that
of Horace's "_simplex munditiis_";[93] which, whoever can translate in
two words, has as much eloquence as Lady Courtly. I took the liberty to
tell her, that all she had said with so much good grace, was spoken in
two words in Horace, but would not undertake to translate them; upon
which she smiled, and told me, she believed me a very great scholar,
and I took my leave.


_From my own Apartment, August 31._

I have been just now reading the introduction to the History of
Catiline by Sallust, an author who is very much in my favour; but
when I reflect upon his professing himself wholly disinterested, and
at the same time see how industriously he has avoided saying anything
to the praise of Cicero, to whose vigilance the commonwealth owed its
safety, it very much lessens my esteem for that writer; and is one
argument, among others, for laughing at all who pretend to be out of
the interests of the world, and profess purely to act for the service
of mankind, without the least regard to themselves. I do not deny
but that the rewards are different; some aim at riches, others at
honour, by their public services. However, they are all pursuing some
end to themselves, though indeed those ends differ as much as right
and wrong. The most graceful way then, I should think, would be to
acknowledge, that you aim at serving yourselves; but at the same time
make it appear, it is for the service of others that you have these
opportunities. Of all the disinterested professors I have ever heard
of, I take the boatswain of Dampier's ship to be the most impudent, but
the most excusable.[94] You are to know, that in the wild searches that
navigator was making, they happened to be out at sea, far distant from
any shore, in want of all the necessaries of life; insomuch, that they
began to look, not without hunger, on each other. The boatswain was a
fat, healthy, fresh fellow, and attracted the eyes of the whole crew.
In such an extreme necessity, all forms of superiority were laid aside:
the captain and lieutenant were safe only by being carrion, and the
unhappy boatswain in danger only by being worth eating. To be short,
the company were unanimous, and the boatswain must be cut up. He saw
their intention, and desired he might speak a few words before they
proceeded; which being permitted, he delivered himself as follows:

     "GENTLEMEN SAILORS,

     "Far be it that I should speak it for any private interest of my
     own, but I take it, that I should not die with a good conscience,
     if I did not confess to you that I am not sound. I say, gentlemen,
     justice, and the testimony of a good conscience, as well as love
     of my country, to which I hope you will all return, oblige me
     to own, that Black Kate at Deptford has made me very unsafe to
     eat; and (I speak it with shame) I am afraid, gentlemen, I should
     poison you."

This speech had a good effect in the boatswain's favour; but the
surgeon of the ship protested, he had cured him very well, and offered
to eat the first steak of him himself.

The boatswain replied (like an orator, with a true notion of the
people, and in hopes to gain time) that he was heartily glad if
he could be for their service, and thanked the surgeon for his
information. "However," said he, "I must inform you, for your own
good, that I have ever since my cure been very thirsty and dropsical;
therefore I presume it would be much better to tap me, and drink me
off, than eat me at once, and have no man in the ship fit to be drank."
As he was going on with his harangue, a fresh gale arose, and gave
the crew hopes of a better repast at the nearest shore, to which they
arrived next morning.

Most of the self-denials we meet with are of this sort; therefore I
think he acts fairest who owns, he hopes at least to have brother's
fare, without professing that he gives himself up with pleasure to be
devoured for the preservation of his fellows.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 31._

Letters from the Hague of the 6th of September, N.S., say, that the
governor of the citadel at Tournay having offered their highnesses the
Duke of Marlborough and the Prince of Savoy to surrender that place
on the 31st of the last month, on terms which were not allowed them
by those princes, hostilities were thereupon renewed; but that on the
3rd the place was surrendered, with a seeming condition granted to the
besieged above that of being prisoners of war; for they were forthwith
to be conducted to Condé, but were to be exchanged for prisoners of
the Allies, and particularly those of Warneton were mentioned in the
demand. Both armies having stretched towards Mons with the utmost
diligence, that of the Allies, though they passed the much more
difficult road, arrived first before that town, which they have now
actually invested; and the quartermaster-general was, at the time of
despatching these letters, marking the ground for the encampment of the
covering army.


_To the Booksellers, or others whom this Advertisement may concern._

Mr. Omicron,[95] the unborn poet, gives notice, that he writes all
treatises as well in verse as prose, being a ninth son, and translates
out of all languages, without learning or study.

If any bookseller will treat for his pastoral on the "Siege and
Surrender of the Citadel of Tournay," he must send in his proposals
before the news of a capitulation for any other town.

The undertaker for either play-house may have an opera written by him;
or, if it shall suit their design, a satire upon operas; both ready for
next winter.

This is to give notice, that Richard Farloe, M.A., well known for
his acuteness in dissection of dead bodies, and his great skill in
osteology, has now laid by that practice; and having, by great study,
and much labour, acquired the knowledge of an antidote for all the most
common maladies of the stomach, is removed, and may be applied to, at
any time of the day, in the south entrance from Newgate Street into
Christ's Hospital.

FOOTNOTES:

[89] Gambling-houses were very numerous at this time; they were largely
supported by foreign adventurers, many of whom lived in Suffolk Street,
Haymarket.

[90] Dryden defines wit as "a propriety of thoughts and words; or,
in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject"
(Preface to "The State of Innocence"). Addison observes that this "is
not so properly a definition of wit, as of good writing in general"
(_Spectator_, No. 62).

[91] "Told us" (folio).

[92] See news paragraph below.

[93] I Od. v. 5. See No. 212, for Steele's remarks on a well-dressed
woman, in reply to a lady who asked what was the meaning of these words.

[94] William Dampier (1652-1715), captain, traveller and buccaneer,
tells another story of a voyage in 1686, when provisions were nearly
exhausted. "The men had contrived first to kill Captain Swan and eat
him when the victuals were gone, and after him all of us who were
accessory in promoting the undertaking this voyage. This made Captain
Swan say to me, after our arrival at Guam, 'Ah, Dampier, you would have
made them but a poor meal'; for I was as lean as the captain was lusty
and fleshy."

[95] It has been suggested that there is here a reference to John
Oldmixon, the Whig historian and journalist; but in No. 71 Steele seems
to disclaim such an intention.



No. 63. [STEELE, ETC.

From _Thursday September 1_, to _Saturday, September 3, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, September 2._


_Of the Enjoyment of Life with Regard to others._[96]

I have ever thought it the greatest diminution to the Roman glory
imaginable, that in their institution of public triumphs, they led
their enemies in chains when they were prisoners. It is to be allowed,
that doing all honour to the superiority of heroes above the rest of
mankind, must needs conduce to the glory and advantage of a nation;
but what shocks the imagination to reflect upon, is, that a polite
people should think it reasonable, that an unhappy man, who was no way
inferior to the victor, but by the chance of war, should be led like a
slave at the wheels of his chariot. Indeed these other circumstances
of a triumph, that it was not allowed in a civil war, lest part of it
should be in tears, while the other was making acclamations; that it
should not be allowed, except such a number were slain in battle; that
the general should be disgraced who made a false muster of his dead:
these, I say, had great and politic ends in their being established,
and tended to the apparent benefit of the commonwealth. But this
behaviour to the conquered had no foundation in nature or policy,
only to gratify the insolence of a haughty people, who triumphed
over barbarous nations, by acting what was fit only for those very
barbarians to practise. It seems wonderful, that they who were so
refined as to take care, that to complete the honour done to the
victorious officer, no power should be known above him in the Empire
on the day of his triumph, but that the consuls themselves should be
but guests at his table that evening, could not take it into thought
to make the man of chief note among his prisoners one of the company.
This would have improved the gladness of the occasion, and the victor
had made a much greater figure, in that no other man appeared unhappy
on his day, than in that no other man appeared great. But we will waive
at present such important incidents, and turn our thoughts rather to
the familiar part of human life, and we shall find, that the great
business we contend for, is in a less degree what those Romans did on
more solemn occasions, to triumph over our fellow creatures; and there
is hardly a man to be found, who would not rather be in pain to appear
happy, than be really happy and thought miserable. This men attempt
by sumptuous equipages, splendid houses, numerous servants, and all
the cares and pursuits of an ambitious or fashionable life. Bromeo
and Tabio are particularly ill-wishers to each other, and rivals in
happiness. There is no way in nature so good to procure the esteem of
the one, as to give him little notices of certain secret points wherein
the other is uneasy. Gnatho has the skill of doing this, and never
applauds the improvements Bromeo has been many years making, and ever
will be making; but he adds, "Now this very thing was my thought when
Tabio was pulling up his underwood, yet he never would hear of it; but
now your gardens are in this posture, he is ready to hang himself.
Well, to be sincere, that situation of his can never make an agreeable
seat: he may make his house and appurtenances what he pleases; but he
cannot remove them to the same ground where Bromeo stands. But of all
things under the sun, a man that is happy at second-hand is the most
monstrous." "It is a very strange madness," answers Bromeo, "if a
man on these occasions can think of any end but pleasing himself. As
for my part, if things are convenient, I hate all ostentation: there
is no end of the folly of adapting our affairs to the imagination of
others." Upon which, the next thing he does, is to enlarge whatever he
hears his rival has attempted to imitate him in; but their misfortune
is, that they are in their time of life, in their estates, and in their
understandings equal; so that the emulation may continue to the last
day of their lives. As it stands now, Tabio has heard Bromeo has lately
purchased two hundred a year in the annuities since he last settled the
account of their happiness, in which he thought himself to have the
balance. This may seem a very fantastical way of thinking in these men;
but there is nothing so common, as a man's endeavouring rather to go
farther than some other person towards an easy fortune, than to form
any certain standard that would make himself happy.


_Will's Coffee-house, September 2._

Mr. Dactile has been this evening very profuse of his eloquence upon
the talent of turning things into ridicule; and seemed to say very
justly, that there was generally in it something too disingenuous
for the society of liberal men, except it were governed by the
circumstances of persons, time, and place. "This talent," continued
he, "is to be used as a man does his sword, not to be drawn but in
his own defence, or to bring pretenders and impostors in society to
a true light." But we have seen this faculty so mistaken, that the
burlesque of Virgil himself has passed, among men of little taste, for
wit; and the noblest thoughts that can enter into the heart of man,
levelled with ribaldry and baseness: though by the rules of justice,
no man ought to be ridiculed for any imperfection, who does not set
up for eminent sufficiency in that way wherein he is defective. Thus
cowards, who would hide themselves by an affected terror in their mien
and dress; and pedants, who would show the depth of their knowledge
by a supercilious gravity, are equally the objects of laughter. Not
that they are in themselves ridiculous for their want of courage, or
weakness of understanding, but that they seem insensible of their
own place in life, and unhappily rank themselves with those, whose
abilities, compared to their defects, make them contemptible. At the
same time, it must be remarked, that risibility being the effect of
reason, a man ought to be expelled from sober company who laughs
without it. "Ha! ha!" says Will. Truby, who sat by, "will any man
pretend to give me laws when I should laugh, or tell me what I should
laugh at?" "Look ye," answered Humphrey Slyboots, "you are mightily
mistaken; you may, if you please, make what noise you will, and nobody
can hinder an English gentleman from putting his face into what posture
he thinks fit; but, take my word for it, that motion which you now
make with your mouth open, and the agitation of your stomach, which
you relieve by holding your sides, is not laughter: laughter is a more
weighty thing than you imagine; and I'll tell you a secret, you never
did laugh in your life; and truly I am afraid you never will, except
you take great care to be cured of those convulsive fits." Truby left
us, and when he had got two yards from us, "Well," said he, "you are
strange fellows," and was immediately taken with another fit.

The Trubies are a well-natured family, whose particular make is such,
that they have the same pleasure out of good Will, which other people
have in that scorn which is the cause of laughter: therefore their
bursting into the figures of men when laughing, proceeds only from a
general benevolence they are born with; as the Slyboots smile only on
the greatest occasion of mirth; which difference is caused rather from
a different structure of their organs, than that one is less moved than
the other. I know Sowerly frets inwardly when Will. Truby laughs at
him; but when I meet him, and he bursts out, I know it is out of his
abundant joy to see me, which he expresses by that vociferation which
is in others laughter. But I shall defer considering this subject at
large, till I come to my treatise of oscitation, laughter, and ridicule.


_From my own Apartment, September 2._

The following letter being a panegyric upon me for a quality which
every man may attain, an acknowledgment of his faults; I thought it for
the good of my fellow writers to publish it.[97]

     "SIR,

     "It must be allowed, that Esquire Bickerstaff is of all authors
     the most ingenuous. There are few, very few, that will own
     themselves in a mistake, though all the world see them to be
     in downright nonsense. You'll be pleased, sir, to pardon this
     expression, for the same reason for which you once desired us to
     excuse you when you seemed anything dull. Most writers, like the
     generality of Paul Lorrain's Saints,[98] seem to place a peculiar
     vanity in dying hard. But you, sir, to show a good example to
     your brethren, have not only confessed, but of your own accord
     mended the indictment. Nay, you have been so good-natured as to
     discover beauties in it, which, I'll assure you, he that drew it
     never dreamed of: and to make your civility the more accomplished,
     you have honoured him with the title of your kinsman, which,
     though derived by the left hand, he is not a little proud of. My
     brother (for such Obadiah is) being at present very busy about
     nothing, has ordered me to return you his sincere thanks for
     all these favours; and, as a small token of his gratitude to
     communicate to you the following piece of intelligence, which,
     he thinks, belongs more properly to you than to any other of
     our modern historians. Madonella,[99] who as it was thought had
     long since taken her flight towards the ethereal mansions, still
     walks, it seems, in the regions of mortality; where she has
     found, by deep reflections on the revolution mentioned in yours
     of June 23rd, that where early instructions have been wanting
     to imprint true ideas of things on the tender souls of those of
     her sex, they are never after able to arrive at such a pitch of
     perfection, as to be above the laws of matter and motion; laws
     which are considerably enforced by the principles usually imbibed
     in nurseries and boarding-schools. To remedy this evil, she has
     laid the scheme of a college for young damsels; where, instead
     of scissors, needles, and sampler; pens, compasses, quadrants,
     books, manuscripts, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, are to take up their
     whole time. Only on holidays the students will, for moderate
     exercise, be allowed to divert themselves with the use of some of
     the lightest and most voluble weapons; and proper care will be
     taken to give them at least a superficial tincture of the ancient
     and modern Amazonian tactics. Of these military performances, the
     direction is undertaken by Epicene,[100] the writer of Memoirs
     from the Mediterranean, who, by the help of some artificial
     poisons conveyed by smells, has within these few weeks brought
     many persons of both sexes to an untimely fate; and, what is more
     surprising, has, contrary to her profession, with the same odours,
     revived others who had long since been drowned in the whirlpools
     of Lethe. Another of the professors is to be a certain lady,[101]
     who is now publishing two of the choicest Saxon novels, which are
     said to have been in as great repute with the ladies of Queen
     Emma's Court, as the Memoirs from the new Atalantis are with those
     of ours. I shall make it my business to inquire into the progress
     of this learned institution, and give you the first notice of
     their philosophical transactions, and searches after nature.

  "Yours, &c.,
  TOBIAH GREENHAT."



_St. James's Coffee-house, September 2._

This day we have received advices by the way of Ostend, which give an
account of an engagement between the French and the Allies on the 11th
instant, N.S.[102] Marshal Boufflers arrived in the enemy's camp on
the 5th, and acquainted Marshal Villars, that he did not come in any
character, but to receive his commands for the king's service, and
communicate to him his orders upon the present posture of affairs.
On the 9th, both armies advanced towards each other, and cannonaded
all the ensuing day till the close of the evening, and stood on their
arms all that night. On the day of battle, the cannonading was renewed
about seven: the Duke of Argyle had orders to attack the wood Saar on
the right, which he executed so successfully, that he pierced through
it, and won a considerable post. The Prince of Orange had the same
good fortune in a wood on the left: after which, the whole body of
the confederates, joined by the forces from the siege, marched up,
and engaged the enemy, who were drawn up at some distance from these
woods. The dispute was very warm for some time; but towards noon the
French began to give ground from one wing to the other: which advantage
being observed by our generals, the whole army was urged on with fresh
vigour, and in a few hours the day ended with the entire defeat of the
enemy.

FOOTNOTES:

[96] Probably this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[97] Nichols suggested that this letter was by Swift, and it is printed
in Scott's edition of his works.

[98] Paul Lorrain (died 1719) was the Ordinary of Newgate. In their
"dying speeches," compiled by Lorrain, criminals commonly professed to
be penitent, and were thus called "Lorrain's Saints." See _Spectator_,
Nos. 338, 341.

[99] Mary Astell; see No. 32.

[100] Mrs. de la Rivière Manley (1672-1724), who afterwards attacked
Steele, without ground, as the author of this article. Subsequently she
became a writer for the Tories. She is best known by her scandalous
"Secret Memoirs and Manners of several Persons of Quality, of both
Sexes, from the New Atalantis," 1709, which was continued in "Memoirs
of Europe towards the close of the Eighth Century," 1710.

[101] Elizabeth Elstob published, in 1709, an excellent English
translation of an Anglo-Saxon homily. In 1715 she brought out "English
Rudiments of Grammar for the Anglo-Saxon Tongue." Afterwards, being in
poor circumstances, she kept a school with indifferent success, until
1739, when she was appointed governess to the Duchess of Portland's
children. She died in 1756, aged 73, and was buried at St. Margaret's,
Westminster.

[102] The Battle of Malplaquet.



No. 64. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, September 3_, to _Tuesday, September 6, 1709_.

    Quæ caret ora cruore nostro?--HOR. I Od. ii. 36.


_From my own Apartment, September 5._

When I lately spoke of triumphs, and the behaviour of the Romans on
those occasions,[103] I knew by my skill in astrology, that there was a
great event approaching to our advantage; but not having yet taken upon
me to tell fortunes, I thought fit to defer the mention of the battle
of Mons[104] till it happened; which moderation was no final pain to
me: but I should wrong my art, if I concealed that some of my aërial
intelligencers had signified to me the news of it even from Paris,
before the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Graham[105] in England. All
nations, as well as persons, have their good and evil genius attending
them; but the kingdom of France has three, the last of which is neither
for it nor against it in reality, but has for some months past acted
an ambiguous part, and attempted to save its ward from the incursion
of its powerful enemies, by little subterfuges and tricks, which a
nation is more than undone when it is reduced to practise. Thus,
instead of giving exact accounts and representations of things, they
tell what is indeed true, but at the same time a falsehood when all the
circumstances come to be related.

Pacolet was at the Court of France on Friday night last, when this
genius of that kingdom came thither in the shape of a post-boy, and
cried out, that Mons was relieved, and the Duke of Marlborough marched.
Pacolet was much astonished at this account, and immediately changed
his form, and flew to the neighbourhood of Mons, from whence he found
the Allies had really marched, and began to inquire into the reasons of
this sudden change, and half feared he had heard a truth of the posture
of the French affairs, even in their own country. But upon diligent
inquiry among the aërials who attend these regions, and consultation
with the neighbouring peasants, he was able to bring me the following
account of the motions of the armies since they retired from about that
place, and the action which followed thereupon.

On Saturday the 7th of September, N.S., the confederate army was
alarmed in their camp at Havre by intelligence, that the enemy were
marching to attack the Prince of Hesse. Upon this advice, the Duke of
Marlborough commanded that the troops should immediately move, which
was accordingly performed, and they were all joined on Sunday the 8th
at noon. On that day in the morning it appeared, that instead of being
attacked, the advanced guard of the detachment commanded by the Prince
of Hesse had dispersed and taken prisoners a party of the enemy's
horse, which was sent out to observe the march of the confederates.
The French moved from Quiverain on Sunday in the morning, and inclined
to the right from thence all that day. The 9th, the Monday following,
they continued their march till on Tuesday the 10th they possessed
themselves of the woods of Dour and Blaugies. As soon as they came
into that ground, they threw up entrenchments with all expedition.
The Allies arrived within few hours after the enemy was posted; but
the Duke of Marlborough thought fit to wait for the arrival of the
reinforcement which he expected from the siege of Tournay. Upon notice
that these troops were so far advanced as to be depended on for an
action the next day, it was accordingly resolved to engage the enemy.

It will be necessary for understanding the greatness of the action,
and the several motions made in the time of the engagement, that you
have in your mind an idea of the place. The two armies on the 11th
instant were both drawn up before the woods of Dour, Blaugies, Sart and
Jansart; the army of the Prince of Savoy on the right before that of
Blaugies; the forces of Great Britain in the centre on his left; those
of the High Allies, with the wood Sart, as well as a large interval
of plain ground, and Jansart, on the left of the whole. The enemy
were entrenched in the paths of the woods, and drawn up behind two
entrenchments over against them, opposite to the armies of the Duke of
Marlborough and Prince Eugene. There were also two lines entrenched in
the plains over against the army of the States. This was the posture
of the French and confederate forces when the signal was given, and
the whole line moved on to the charge. The Dutch army, commanded by
the Prince of Hesse, attacked with the most undaunted bravery; and
after a very obstinate resistance, forced the first entrenchment of
the enemy in the plain between Sart and Jansart; but were repulsed in
their attack on the second with great slaughter on both sides. The Duke
of Marlborough, while this was transacting on the left, had with very
much difficulty marched through Sart, and beaten the enemy from the
several entrenchments they had thrown up in it. As soon as the Duke had
marched into the plain, he observed the main body of the enemy drawn
up and entrenched in the front of his army. This situation of the
enemy, in the ordinary course of war, is usually thought an advantage
hardly to be surmounted; and might appear impracticable to any but that
army which had just overcome greater difficulties. The Duke commanded
the troops to form, but to forbear charging till further order. In
the meantime he visited the left of our line, where the troops of the
States had been engaged. The slaughter on this side had been very
great, and the Dutch incapable of making further progress, except
they were suddenly reinforced. The right of our line was attacked
soon after their coming upon the plain; but they drove back the enemy
with such bravery, that the victory began to incline to the Allies
by the precipitate retreat of the French to their works, from whence
they were immediately beaten. The Duke upon observing this advantage
on the right, commanded the Earl of Orkney to march with a sufficient
number of battalions to force the enemy from their entrenchments on the
plain between the woods of Sart and Jansart; which being performed,
the horse of the Allies marched into the plains, covered by their own
foot, and forming themselves in good order, the cavalry of the enemy
attempted no more, but to cover the foot in their retreat. The Allies
made so good use of the beginning of the victory, that all their troops
moved on with fresh resolution, till they saw the enemy fly before
them towards Condé and Maubeuge; after whom proper detachments were
made, who made a terrible slaughter in the pursuit. In this action it
is said Prince Eugene was wounded, as also the Duke of Aremberg, and
Lieutenant-General Webb. The Count of Oxenstern, Colonel Lalo, and Sir
Thomas Pendergrass, killed. This wonderful success, obtained under all
the difficulties that could be opposed in the way of an army, must be
acknowledged as owing to the genius, courage and conduct of the Duke of
Marlborough, a consummate hero; who has lived not only beyond the time
in which Cæsar said, he was arrived at a satiety of life and glory; but
also been so long the subject of panegyric, that it is as hard to say
anything new in his praise, as to add to the merit which requires such
eulogiums.


_Will's Coffee-house, September 5._

The following letter[106] being very explanatory of the true design
of our Lucubrations, and at the same time an excellent model for
performing it, it is absolutely necessary, for the better understanding
our works, to publish it.

  "_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

     "Though I have not the honour to be of the family of the Staffs,
     nor related to any branch of it, yet I applaud your wholesome
     project of making wit useful.

     "This is what has been, or should have been, intended by the
     best comedies. But nobody (I think) before you thought of a way
     to bring the stage as it were into the coffee-house, and there
     attack those gentlemen who thought themselves out of the reach of
     raillery, by prudently avoiding its chief walks and districts. I
     smile when I see a solid citizen of threescore read the article
     from Will's Coffee-house, and seem to be just beginning to learn
     his alphabet of wit in spectacles; and to hear the attentive table
     sometimes stop him with pertinent queries which he is puzzled
     to answer, and then join in commending it the sincerest way, by
     freely owning he don't understand it.

     "In pursuing this design, you will always have a large scene
     before you, and can never be at a loss for characters to entertain
     a town so plentifully stocked with them. The follies of the finest
     minds, which a philosophic surgeon knows how to dissect, will best
     employ your skill: and of this sort, I take the liberty to send
     you the following sketch.

     "Cleontes is a man of good family, good learning, entertaining
     conversation, and acute wit. He talks well, is master of style,
     and writes not contemptibly in verse. Yet all this serves but to
     make him politely ridiculous; and he is above the rank of common
     characters, only to have the privilege of being laughed at by
     the best. His family makes him proud and scornful; his learning,
     assuming and absurd; and his wit, arrogant and satirical. He mixes
     some of the best qualities of the head with the worst of the
     heart. Everybody is entertained by him, while nobody esteems him.
     I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most affectionate Monitor,
  _Josiah Couplet._"


Lost from the Tree in Pall Mall, two Irish dogs, belonging to the
pack of London; one a tall white wolf-dog; the other a black nimble
greyhound (not very sound) and supposed to be gone to the Bath by
instinct for cure. The man of the inn from whence they ran being now
there, is desired, if he meets either of them, to tie them up. Several
others are lost about Tunbridge and Epsom;[107] which whoever will
maintain, may keep.

FOOTNOTES:

[103] No. 63.

[104] Now known as the battle of Malplaquet. It was soon followed by
the fall of Mons.

[105] Colonel Graham travelled express with a letter from the Duke of
Marlborough to Mr. Secretary Boyle. See "Annals of Queen Anne," 1709,
p. 64.

[106] By John Hughes; see his "Correspondence," iii. 3.

[107] Bath, Tunbridge, and Epsom were the favourite watering-places
of Queen Anne's time, and were naturally frequented by sharpers and
adventurers.



No. 65. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, September 6_, to _Thursday, September 8, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_Will's Coffee-house, September 7._

I came hither this evening, and expected nothing else but mutual
congratulations in the company on the late victory; but found our
room, which one would have hoped to have seen full of good humour and
alacrity upon so glorious an occasion, full of sour animals, inquiring
into the action, in doubt of what had happened, and fearful of the
success of their countrymen. It is natural to believe easily what we
wish heartily; and a certain rule, that they are not friends to a glad
occasion, who speak all they can against the truth of it; who end their
argument against our happiness, that they wish it otherwise. When I
came into the room, a gentleman was declaiming; "If," says he, "we
have so great and complete a victory, why have we not the names of the
prisoners? Why is not an exact relation of the conduct of our generals
laid before the world? Why do we not know where or whom to applaud?
If we are victorious, why do we not give an account of our captives
and our slain? But we are to be satisfied with general notices we are
conquerors, and to believe it so. Sure this is approving the despotic
way of treating the world, which we pretend to fight against, if we
sit down satisfied with such contradictory accounts, which have the
words of triumph, but do not bear the spirit of it." I whispered Mr.
Greenhat Pray what can that dissatisfied man be?" "He is," answered
he, "a character you have not yet perhaps observed. You have heard
of battle-painters, have mentioned a battle-poet; but this is a
battle-critic. He is a fellow that lives in a government so gentle,
that though it sees him an enemy, suffers his malice because they know
his impotence. He is to examine the weight of an advantage before the
company will allow it." Greenhat was going on in his explanation,
when Sir George England thought fit to take up the discourse in the
following manner:

"Gentlemen, the action you are in so great doubt to approve of, is
greater than ever has been performed in any age; and the value of it
I observe from your dissatisfaction: for battle-critics are like all
others; you are the more offended, the more you ought to be, and are
convinced you ought to be, pleased. Had this engagement happened in the
time of the old Romans, and such things been acted in their service,
there would not be a foot of the wood which was pierced but had been
consecrated to some deity, or made memorable by the death of him who
expired in it for the sake of his country. It had on some monument
at the entrance been said, 'Here the Duke of Argyle drew his sword,
and said, March. Here Webb, after having an accomplished fame for
gallantry, exposed himself like a common soldier. Here Rivet, who was
wounded at the beginning of the day, and carried off as dead, returned
to the field, and received his death.'[108] Medals had been struck
for our general's behaviour when he first came into the plain. Here
was the fury of the action, and here the hero stood as fearless as if
invulnerable. Such certainly had been the cares of that state for their
own honour, and in gratitude to their heroic subjects. But the wood
entrenched, the plain made more impassable than the wood, and all the
difficulties opposed to the most gallant army and most intrepid leaders
that ever the sun shone upon, are treated by the talk of some in this
room as objections to the merit of our general and our army; but,"
continued he, "I leave all the examination of this matter, and a proper
discourse on our sense of public actions, to my friend Mr. Bickerstaff,
who may let beaus and gamesters rest, till he has examined into the
reasons of men's being malcontents in the only nation that suffers
professed enemies to breathe in open air."


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 7._

The following letters are sent to me from relations; and though I do
not know who and who are intended, I publish them. I have only written
nonsense if there is nothing in them; and done a good action if they
alarm any heedless men against the fraternity of the knights whom the
Greeks call #Raskals#.[109]

     "MR. BICKERSTAFF,

     "It is taken very ill by several gentlemen here, that you are
     so little vigilant as to let the dogs run from their kennels to
     this place. Had you done your duty, we should have had notice
     of their arrival; but the sharpers are now become so formidable
     here, that they have divided themselves into nobles and commons.
     Beau Bogg, beau Pert, Rake, and Tallboy are of their upper
     house; broken captains, ignorant attorneys, and such other
     bankrupts from industrious professions, compose their lower
     order. Among these two sets of men, there happened here lately
     some unhappy differences: Squire Humphry came down among us with
     four hundred guineas. His raw appearance, and certain signals in
     the good-natured muscles of Humphry's countenance, alarmed the
     societies. For sharpers are as skilful as beggars in physiognomy,
     and know as well where to hope for plunder, as the others to ask
     for alms. Pert was the man exactly fitted for taking with Humphry
     as a fine gentleman; for a raw fool is ever enamoured with his
     contrary, a coxcomb; and a coxcomb is what the booby, who wants
     experience, and is unused to company, regards as the first of men.
     He ever looks at him with envy, and would certainly be such, if he
     were not oppressed by his rusticity or bashfulness. There arose
     an entire friendship by this sympathy between Pert and Humphry,
     which ended in stripping the latter. We now could see this forlorn
     youth for some days moneyless, without sword, and one day without
     his hat, and with secret melancholy pining for his snuff-box; the
     jest of the whole town, but most of those who robbed him. At last
     fresh bills came down, when immediately their countenances cleared
     up, ancient kindnesses and familiarity renewed, and to dinner he
     was invited by the fraternity. You are to know, that while he was
     in his days of solitude, a commoner who was excluded from his
     share of the prey, had whispered the squire, that he was bit, and
     cautioned him of venturing again. However, hopes of recovering his
     snuff-box, which was given him by his aunt, made him fall to play
     after dinner; yet mindful of what he was told, he saw something
     that provoked him to tell them they were a company of sharpers.
     Presently Tallboy fell on him, and being too hard at fisticuffs,
     drove him out of doors. The valiant Pert followed, and kicked
     him in his turn; which the squire resented, as being nearer his
     match; so challenged him: but differing about time and place,
     friends interposed (for he had still money left) and persuaded him
     to ask pardon for provoking them to beat him, and they asked his
     for doing it. The house consulting whence Humphry could have his
     information, concluded it must be from some malicious commoner;
     and to be revenged, beau Bogg watched their haunts, and in a
     shop where some of them were at play with ladies, showed dice
     which he found, or pretended to find upon them; and declaring how
     false they were, warned the company to take care who they played
     with. By his seeming candour, he cleared his reputation at least
     to fools, and some silly women; but it was still blasted by the
     squire's story with thinking men: however, he gained a great point
     by it; for the next day he got the company shut up with himself
     and fellow-members, and robbed them at discretion.

     "I cannot express to you with what indignation I behold the noble
     spirit of gentlemen degenerated to that of private cut-purses.
     'Tis in vain to hope a remedy while so many of the fraternity get
     and enjoy estates of twenty, thirty, and fifty thousand pounds
     with impunity, creep into the best conversations, and spread the
     infectious villainy through the nation, while the lesser rogues,
     that rob for hunger or nakedness, are sacrificed by the blind, and
     in this respect partial and defective law. Could you open men's
     eyes against the occasion of all this, the great corrupter of our
     manners and morality, the author of more bankrupts than the war,
     and sure bane of all industry, frugality, and good nature; in a
     word, of all virtues; I mean, public or private play at cards or
     dice; how willingly would I contribute my utmost, and possibly
     send you some memoirs of the lives and politics of some of the
     fraternity of great figure, that might be of use to you in setting
     this in a clear light against next session; that all who care for
     their country or posterity, and see the pernicious effects of such
     a public vice, may endeavour its destruction by some effectual
     laws. In concurrence to this good design, I remain,

  "Your humble Servant, &c.

  "Bath, _Aug. 30_."


  "MR. BICKERSTAFF,

  _Friday, Sept. 2._

     "I heartily join with you in your laudable design against the
     myrmidons, as well as your late insinuations against coxcombs of
     fire;[110] and I take this opportunity to congratulate you on the
     success of your labours, which I observed yesterday in one of the
     hottest firemen in town, who not only affects a soft smile, but
     was seen to be thrice contradicted without showing any sign of
     impatience. These, I say, so happy beginnings promise fair, and on
     this account I rejoice you have undertaken to unkennel the curs;
     a work of such use that I admire[111] it so long escaped your
     vigilance; and exhort you, by the concern you have for the good
     people of England, to pursue your design; and that these vermin
     may not flatter themselves that they pass undiscovered, I desire
     you'd acquaint Jack Haughty that the whole secret of his bubbling
     his friend with the Swiss[112] at the Thatched House is well
     known, as also his sweetening the knight; and I shall acknowledge
     the favour.

  "Your most humble Servant, &c."


FOOTNOTES:

[108] Colonel Rivet was one of the officers killed at the battle
of Malplaquet. The Duke of Argyle received seven shots through his
clothes, but was unhurt. General Webb, who distinguished himself by
his victory at Wynendale in 1708, much to Marlborough's chagrin, was
dangerously wounded at Malplaquet.

[109] Rascals. See No. 56.

[110] See No. 61.

[111] Wonder.



No. 66. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Sept. 8_, to _Saturday, Sept. 10, 1709_.


_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 9._[113]

The subject of the discourse this evening was Eloquence and Graceful
Action. Lysander, who is something particular in his way of thinking
and speaking, told us, a man could not be eloquent without action: for
the deportment of the body, the turn of the eye, and an apt sound to
every word that is uttered, must all conspire to make an accomplished
speaker. Action in one that speaks in public, is the same thing as a
good mien in ordinary life. Thus, as a certain insensibility in the
countenance recommends a sentence of humour and jest, so it must be a
very lively consciousness that gives grace to great sentiments. The
jest is to be a thing unexpected; therefore your undesigning manner
is a beauty in expressions of mirth; but when you are to talk on a
set subject, the more you are moved yourself, the more you will move
others. "There is," said he, "a remarkable example of that kind:
Æschines, a famous orator of antiquity, had pleaded at Athens in
a great cause against Demosthenes; but having lost it, retired to
Rhodes. Eloquence was then the quality most admired among men; and the
magistrates of that place having heard he had a copy of the speech of
Demosthenes, desired him to repeat both their pleadings. After his own,
he recited also the oration of his antagonist. The people expressed
their admiration of both, but more of that of Demosthenes. 'If you
are,' said he, 'thus touched with hearing only what that great orator
said, how would you have been affected had you seen him speak? For he
who hears Demosthenes only, loses much the better part of the oration.'
Certain it is, that they who speak gracefully, are very lamely
represented in having their speeches read or repeated by unskilful
people; for there is something native to each man, so inherent to his
thoughts and sentiments, which it is hardly possible for another to
give a true idea of. You may observe in common talk, when a sentence
of any man's is repeated, an acquaintance of his shall immediately
observe, 'That is so like him, methinks I see how he looked when he
said it.' But of all the people on the earth, there are none who puzzle
me so much as the clergy of Great Britain, who are, I believe, the most
learned body of men now in the world; and yet this art of speaking,
with the proper ornaments of voice and gesture, is wholly neglected
among them; and I'll engage, were a deaf man to behold the greater part
of them preach, he would rather think they were reading the contents
only of some discourse they intended to make, than actually in the
body of an oration, even when they are upon matters of such a nature
as one would believe it were impossible to think of without emotion.
I own there are exceptions to this general observation, and that the
Dean[114] we heard the other day together, is an orator. He has so
much regard to his congregation, that he commits to his memory what
he is to say to them; and has so soft and graceful a behaviour, that
it must attract your attention. His person, it is to be confessed,
is no small recommendation; but he is to be highly commended for not
losing that advantage, and adding to the propriety of speech (which
might pass the criticism of Longinus) an action which would have been
approved by Demosthenes. He has a peculiar force in his way, and has
many of his audience[115] who could not be intelligent hearers of his
discourse, were there not explanation as well as grace in his action.
This art of his is used with the most exact and honest skill. He
never attempts your passions till he has convinced your reason. All
the objections which he can form are laid open and dispersed, before
he uses the least vehemence in his sermon; but when he thinks he has
your head, he very soon wins your heart; and never pretends to show
the beauty of holiness till he hath convinced you of the truth of it.
Would every one of our clergymen be thus careful to recommend truth
and virtue in their proper figures, and show so much concern for them
as to give them all the additional force they were able, it is not
possible that nonsense should have so many hearers as you find it has
in dissenting congregations, for no reason in the world but because it
is spoken extempore; for ordinary minds are wholly governed by their
eyes and ears, and there is no way to come at their hearts but by
power over their imaginations. There is my friend and merry companion
Daniel:[116] he knows a great deal better than he speaks, and can form
a proper discourse as well as any orthodox neighbour. But he knows very
well, that to bawl out, My beloved! and the words, Grace! Regeneration!
Sanctification! A new light! The day! the day! ay, my beloved, the day!
or rather, the night! the night is coming! and judgment will come, when
we least think of it! and so forth--he knows to be vehement is the only
way to come at his audience. Daniel, when he sees my friend Greenhat
come in, can give him a good hint, and cry out, This is only for the
saints! the regenerated! By this force of action, though mixed with
all the incoherence and ribaldry imaginable, Daniel can laugh at his
diocesan, and grow fat by voluntary subscription, while the parson of
the parish goes to law for half his dues. Daniel will tell you, it is
not the shepherd, but the sheep with the bell, which the flock follows.
Another thing very wonderful this learned body should omit, is,
learning to read; which is a most necessary part of eloquence in one
who is to serve at the altar: for there is no man but must be sensible,
that the lazy tone and inarticulate sound of our common readers,
depreciates the most proper form of words that were ever extant in any
nation or language, to speak our own wants, or His power from whom we
ask relief. There cannot be a greater instance of the power of action
than in little Parson Dapper,[117] who is the common relief to all the
lazy pulpits in town. This smart youth has a very good memory, a quick
eye, and a clean handkerchief. Thus equipped, he opens his text, shuts
his book fairly, shows he has no notes in his Bible, opens both palms,
and shows all is fair there too. Thus, with a decisive air, my young
man goes on without hesitation; and though, from the beginning to the
end of his pretty discourse, he has not used one proper gesture, yet at
the conclusion the church-warden pulls his gloves from off his head;
'Pray, who is this extraordinary young man?' Thus the force of action
is such, that it is more prevalent, even when improper, than all the
reason and argument in the world without it." This gentleman concluded
his discourse by saying, "I do not doubt but if our preachers would
learn to speak, and our readers to read, within six months' time we
should not have a dissenter within a mile of a church in Great Britain."


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 9._

I have a letter from a young fellow who complains to me, that he was
bred a mercer, and is now just out of his time, but unfortunately (for
he has no manner of education suitable to his present estate) an uncle
has left him £1000 per annum.

The young man is sensible that he is so spruce, that he fears he shall
never be genteel as long as he lives, but applies himself to me, to
know what method to take to help his air and be a fine gentleman. He
adds, that several of those ladies who were formerly his customers,
visit his mother on purpose to fall in his way, and fears he shall
be obliged to marry against his will; "for," says he, "if any one of
them should ask me, I shall not be able to deny her. I am," says he
further, "utterly at a loss how to deal with them; for though I was
the most pert creature in the world when I was foreman, and could
hand a woman of the first quality to her coach, as well as her own
gentleman-usher, I am now quite out of my way, and speechless in their
company. They commend my modesty to my face. No one scruples to say, I
should certainly make the best husband in the world, a man of my sober
education. Mrs. Would-be watches all opportunities to be alone with me.
Therefore, good Mr. Bickerstaff, here are my writings enclosed; if you
can find any flaw in my title, so as it may go to the next heir, who
goes to St. James's Coffee-house, and White's, and could enjoy it, I
should be extremely well pleased with two thousand pounds to set up my
trade, and live in a way I know I should become, rather than be laughed
at all my life among too good company. If you could send for my cousin,
and persuade him to take the estate on these terms, and let nobody know
it, you would extremely oblige me."

Upon first sight, I thought this a very whimsical proposal; however,
upon more mature consideration, I could not but admire the young
gentleman's prudence and good sense; for there is nothing so irksome
as living in a way a man knows he does not become. I consulted Mr.
Obadiah Greenhat on this occasion, and he is so well pleased with
the man, that he has half a mind to take the estate himself; but
upon second thoughts he proposed this expedient. "I should be very
willing," said he, "to keep the estate where it is, if we could make
the young man any way easy; therefore I humbly propose he should take
to drinking for one half-year, and make a sloven of him, and from
thence begin his education anew: for it is a maxim, that one who is
ill taught is in a worse condition than he who is wholly ignorant;
therefore a spruce mercer is further off the air of a fine gentleman
than a downright clown. To make our patient anything better, we must
unmake him what he is." I indeed proposed to flux him; but Greenhat
answered, that if he recovered, he would be as prim and feat as ever
he was: therefore he would have it his way; and our friend is to drink
till he is carbuncled, and tun-bellied; after which we will send him
down to smoke, and be buried with his ancestors in Derbyshire. I am
indeed desirous he should have his life in the estate, because he
has such a just sense of himself and his abilities, to know that it
is an unhappiness to him to be a man of fortune. This youth seems
to understand, that a gentleman's life is that of all others the
hardest to pass through with propriety of behaviour; for though he
has a support without art or labour, yet his manner of enjoying that
circumstance is a thing to be considered; and you see among men
who are honoured with the common appellation of gentlemen, so many
contradictions to that character, that it is the utmost ill-fortune to
bear it: for which reason I am obliged to change the circumstances of
several about this town. Harry Lacker is so very exact in his dress,
that I shall give his estate to his younger brother, and make him a
dancing master. Nokes Lightfoot is so nimble, and values himself so
much upon it, that I have thoughts of making him huntsman to a pack of
beagles, and give his land to somebody that will stay upon it.

Now I am upon the topic of becoming what we enjoy, I forbid all persons
who are not of the first quality, or who do not bear some important
office that requires so much distinction, to go to Hyde Park with six
horses, for I cannot but esteem it the highest insolence: therefore
hereafter no man shall do it merely because he is able, without any
other pretension. But what may serve all purposes quite as well, it
shall be allowed all such who think riches the chief distinction, to
appear in the Ring[118] with two horses only, and a rent-roll hanging
out of each side of their coach. This is a thought of Mr. Greenhat's,
who designs very soon to publish a sumptuary discourse upon the subject
of equipage, wherein he will give us rules on that subject, and assign
the proper duties and qualifications of masters and servants, as well
as that of husbands and wives; with a treatise of economy without
doors, or the complete art of appearing in the world. This will be very
useful to all who are suddenly rich, or are ashamed of being poor.

    ----_Sunt certa piacula, quæ te
    Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello._[119]

I have notice of a new pack of dogs, of quite another sort than
hitherto mentioned. I have not an exact account of their way of
hunting, the following letter giving only a bare notice of them.

  "SIR,

  _September 7._

     "There are another pack of dogs to be disposed of, who kennel
     about Charing Cross, at the old Fat Dog's at the corner of
     Buckingham Court,[120] near Spring Garden:[121] two of them are
     said to be whelped in Alsatia,[122] now in ruins; but they, with
     the rest of the pack, are as pernicious as if the old kennel had
     never been broken down. The ancients distinguished this sort of
     curs by the name of Hæredipetes,[123] the most pernicious of all
     biters, for seizing young heirs, especially when their estates are
     entailed, whom they reduce by one good bite to such a condition,
     that they cannot ever after come to the use of their teeth, or
     get smelling of a crust. You are desired to dispose of these as
     soon as you can, that the breed may not increase; and your care in
     tying them up will be acknowledged by,

  "SIR,
  Humble Servant,
  PHILANTHROPOS."[124]



_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 9._

We have received letters from the Duke of Marlborough's camp, which
bring us further particulars of the great and glorious victory obtained
over the enemy on the 11th instant, N.S. The number of the wounded and
prisoners is much greater than was expected from our first account.
The day was doubtful till after twelve o'clock; but the enemy made
little resistance after their first line on the left began to give
way. An exact narration of the whole affair is expected next post. The
French have had two days allowed them to bury their dead, and carry off
their wounded men upon parole. Those regiments of Great Britain which
suffered most, are ordered into garrison, and fresh troops commanded to
march into the field. The States have also directed troops to march out
of the towns, to relieve those who lost so many men in attacking the
second entrenchment of the French in the plain between Sart and Jansart.

FOOTNOTES:

[112] Probably Heidegger. See No. 1.

[113] This article is printed in Scott's edition of Swift's Works.
But Steele cites the character of Atterbury as evidence of his own
impartiality (Preface to the _Tatler_); and the passage is quoted in
his "Apology for Himself and his Writings" (1714), with a marginal
note, "written by Mr. Steele himself." The bulk of this paper on
Eloquence and Action may nevertheless be, and probably is, by Swift.

[114] Dr. Francis Atterbury (1662-1732), afterwards Bishop of Rochester
(see Steele's Preface). He had been appointed Dean of Carlisle in 1704.

[115] At the chapel of Bridewell Hospital, where Atterbury was preacher
for many years.

[116] Daniel Burgess (1645-1713), minister to a congregation of
Independents in Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn. His meeting-house was
wrecked by the Sacheverell mob in 1710. Tom Brown speaks of his
"pop-gun way of delivery."

[117] Joseph Trapp, Professor of Poetry at Oxford, who published,
in 1711, "A Character of the Present Set of Whigs." "Your new Lord
Chancellor sets out to-morrow for Ireland. I never saw him. He carries
over one Trapp, a parson, as his chaplain, a sort of pretender to wit,
a second-rate pamphleteer for the cause, whom they pay by sending him
to Ireland. I never saw Trapp neither." (Swift's "Journal," Jan. 7,
1711.)

[118] The Ring was a fashionable ride and promenade in Hyde Park,
destroyed when the Serpentine was formed. It is often referred to in
the _Spectator_. See Nos. 15, 73, &c.

[119] Horace, 1 Ep. i. 36.

[120] Buckingham Court, on the north side of the Admiralty, led into
Spring Garden. One of its best known inhabitants was Duncan Campbell,
the fortune-teller, whose life was written by Defoe.

[121] Spring Garden, between St. James's Park and Charing Cross, dates
from the time of James I. The popular entertainments there provided
were moved, after the Restoration, to the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall.

[122] A name given to the precinct of Whitefriars, a place of refuge
for debtors. The privilege of sanctuary was abolished in 1697.

[123] Usurers who rob minors. See Moliere's "L'Avare," act ii., sec. I.

[124] Perhaps by John Hughes.



No. 67. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Sept. 10, to Tuesday, Sept. 13, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 12._

No man can conceive, till he comes to try it, how great a pain it is
to be a public-spirited person. I am sure I am unable to express to
the world, how much anxiety I have suffered, to see of how little
benefit my lucubrations have been to my fellow-subjects. Men will go
on in their own way in spite of all my labour. I gave Mr. Didapper
a private reprimand for wearing red-heeled shoes, and at the same
time was so indulgent as to connive at him for fourteen days, because
I would give him the wearing of them out; but after all this, I am
informed, he appeared yesterday with a new pair of the same sort. I
have no better success with Mr. Whatdee'call,[125] as to his buttons:
Stentor[126] still roars; and box and dice rattle as loud as they did
before I writ against them. Partridge[127] walks about at noonday, and
Æsculapius[128] thinks of adding a new lace to his livery. However, I
must still go on in laying these enormities before men's eyes, and let
them answer for going on in their practice.

My province[129] is much larger than at first sight men would imagine,
and I shall lose no part of my jurisdiction, which extends not only to
futurity, but also is retrospect to things past; and the behaviour of
persons who have long ago acted their parts, is as much liable to my
examination as that of my own contemporaries.

In order to put the whole race of mankind in their proper distinctions,
according to the opinion their cohabitants conceived of them, I have,
with very much care, and depth of meditation, thought fit to erect
a Chamber of Fame, and established certain rules, which are to be
observed in admitting members into this illustrious society.

In this Chamber of Fame there are to be three tables, but of different
lengths: the first is to contain exactly twelve persons; the second,
twenty; the third, an hundred. This is reckoned to be the full number
of those who have any competent share of fame. At the first of these
tables are to be placed in their order the twelve most famous persons
in the world, not with regard to the things they are famous for, but
according to the degree of their fame, whether in valour, wit, or
learning. Thus, if a scholar be more famous than a soldier, he is to
sit above him. Neither must any preference be given to virtue, if the
person be not equally famous.

When the first table is filled, the next in renown must be seated
at the second, and so on in like manner to the number of twenty; as
also in the same order at the third, which is to hold an hundred. At
these tables no regard is to be had to seniority: for if Julius Cæsar
shall be judged more famous than Romulus and Scipio, he must have the
precedence. No person who has not been dead an hundred years must
be offered to a place at any of these tables; and because this is
altogether a lay society, and that sacred persons move upon greater
motives than that of fame, no persons celebrated in Holy Writ, or any
ecclesiastical men whatsoever, are to be introduced here.

At the lower end of the room is to be a side-table for persons of
great fame, but dubious existence, such as Hercules, Theseus, Æneas,
Achilles, Hector, and others. But because it is apprehended that there
may be great contention about precedence, the proposer humbly desires
the opinion of the learned towards his assistance in placing every
person according to his rank, that none may have just occasion of
offence.

The merits of the cause shall be judged by plurality of voices.

For the more impartial execution of this important affair, it is
desired that no man will offer his favourite hero, scholar, or poet;
and that the learned will be pleased to send to Mr. Bickerstaff, at Mr.
Morphew's, near Stationers' Hall, their several lists for the first
table only, and in the order they would have them placed; after which
the composer will compare the several lists, and make another for the
public, wherein every name shall be ranked according to the voices it
has had. Under this chamber is to be a dark vault for the same number
of persons of evil fame.

It is humbly submitted to consideration, whether the project would not
be better if the persons of true fame meet in a middle room, those of
dubious existence in an upper room, and those of evil fame in a lower
dark room.

It is to be noted that no historians are to be admitted at any of these
tables, because they are appointed to conduct the several persons to
their seats, and are to be made use of as ushers to the assemblies.

I call upon the learned world to send me their assistance towards this
design, it being a matter of too great moment for any one person to
determine. But I do assure them, their lists shall be examined with
great fidelity, and those that are exposed to the public, made with all
the caution imaginable.

In the meantime, while I wait for these lists, I am employed in keeping
people in a right way to avoid the contrary to fame and applause, to
wit, blame and derision. For this end I work upon that useful project
of the penny-post,[130] by the benefit of which it is proposed that a
charitable society be established: from which society there shall go
every day circular letters to all parts within the bills of mortality,
to tell people of their faults in a friendly and private manner,
whereby you may know what the world thinks of them, before it is
declared to the world that they are thus faulty. This method cannot
fail of universal good consequences: for it is further added, that they
who will not be reformed by it, must be contented to see the several
letters printed, which were not regarded by them, that when they will
not take private reprehension, they may be tried further by a public
one. I am very sorry I am obliged to print the following epistles of
that kind to some persons, and the more because they are of the fair
sex. This went on Friday last to a very fine lady.

     "MADAM,


     "I am highly sensible that there is nothing of so tender a nature
     as the reputation and conduct of ladies; and that when there is
     the least stain got into their fame, it is hardly ever to be
     washed out. When I have said this, you will believe I am extremely
     concerned to hear at every visit I make, that your manner of
     wearing your hair is a mere affectation of beauty, as well as
     that your neglect of powder has been a common evil to your sex.
     It is to you an advantage to show that abundance of fine tresses;
     but I beseech you to consider that the force of your beauty, and
     the imitation of you, costs Eleonora great sums of money to her
     tire-woman for false locks, besides what is allowed to her maid
     for keeping the secret that she is grey. I must take leave to add
     to this admonition, that you are not to reign above four months
     and odd days longer. Therefore I must desire you to raise and
     frizz your hair a little, for it is downright insolence to be thus
     handsome without art; and you'll forgive me for entreating you to
     do now out of compassion, what you must soon do out of necessity.
     I am,

  "Madam,
  Your most obedient and most humble Servant."


This person dresses just as she did before I writ: as does also the
lady to whom I addressed the following billet the same day:

     "MADAM,

     "Let me beg of you to take off the patches at the lower end of
     your left cheek, and I will allow two more under your left eye,
     which will contribute more to the symmetry of your face; except
     you would please to remove the ten black atoms on your ladyship's
     chin, and wear one large patch instead of them. If so, you may
     properly enough retain the three patches above-mentioned. I am,
     &c."

This, I thought, had all the civility and reason in the world in it;
but whether my letters are intercepted, or whatever it is, the lady
patches as she used to do. It is to be observed by all the charitable
society, as an instruction in their epistles, that they tell people
of nothing but what is in their power to mend. I shall give another
instance of this way of writing: Two sisters in Essex Street are
eternally gaping out of the window, as if they knew not the value of
time, or would call in companions. Upon which I writ the following line:

     "DEAR CREATURES,

     "On the receipt of this, shut your casements."

But I went by yesterday, and found them still at the window. What
can a man do in this case, but go on, and wrap himself up in his own
integrity, with satisfaction only in this melancholy truth, that
virtue is its own reward, and that if no one is the better for his
admonitions, yet he is himself the more virtuous in that he gave those
advices.


_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 12._

Letters of the 18th instant from the Duke of Marlborough's camp at
Havre advise, that the necessary dispositions were made for opening the
trenches before Mons. The direction of the siege is to be committed to
the Prince of Orange, who designed to take his post accordingly with
thirty battalions and thirty squadrons on the day following. On the
17th, Lieutenant-General Cadogan set out for Brussels, to hasten the
ammunition and artillery which is to be employed in this enterprise;
and the confederate army was extended from the Aisne to the Trouille,
in order to cover the siege. The loss of the confederates in the late
battle is not exactly known; but it appears by a list transmitted
to the States-General, that the number of the killed and wounded in
their service amounts to about eight thousand. It is computed that
the English have lost 1500 men, and the rest of the allies about five
thousand, including the wounded. The States-General have taken the most
speedy and effectual measures for reinforcing their troops; and 'tis
expected that in eight or ten days the army will be as numerous as
before the battle. The affairs in Italy afford us nothing remarkable;
only that it is hoped the difference between the Courts of Vienna and
Turin will be speedily accommodated. Letters from Poland present us
with a near prospect of seeing King Augustus re-established on the
throne, all parties being very industrious to reconcile themselves to
his interests.


_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 12._

Of all the pretty arts in which our modern writers excel, there is
not any which is more to be recommended to the imitation of beginners
than the skill of transition from one subject to another. I know not
whether I make myself well understood; but it is certain, that the
way of stringing a discourse, used in the _Mercury Gallant_,[131] the
_Gentleman's Journal_,[132] and other learned writings, not to mention
how naturally things present themselves to such as harangue in pulpits,
and other occasions which occur to the learned, are methods worthy
commendation. I shall attempt this style myself in a few lines. Suppose
I were discoursing upon the King of Sweden's passing the Boristhenes.
The Boristhenes is a great river, and puts me in mind of the Danube
and the Rhine. The Danube I cannot think of without reflecting on that
unhappy prince who had such fair territories on the banks of it; I mean
the Duke of Bavaria, who by our last letters is retired from Mons. Mons
is as strong a fortification as any which has no citadel; and places
which are not completely fortified, are, methinks, lessons to princes,
that they are not omnipotent, but liable to the strokes of fortune. But
as all princes are subject to such calamities, it is the part of men
of letters to guard them from the observations of all small writers:
for which reason I shall conclude my present remarks by publishing the
following advertisement, to be taken notice of by all who dwell in the
suburbs of learning.

     "Whereas the King of Sweden has been so unfortunate to receive
     a wound in his heel; we do hereby prohibit all epigrammatists
     in either language, and both universities, as well as all other
     poets, of what denomination soever, to make any mention of
     Achilles having received his death's wound in the same part.

     "We do likewise forbid all comparisons in coffee-houses between
     Alexander the Great and the said King of Sweden, and from making
     any parallels between the death of Patkul and Philotas;[133]
     we being very apprehensive of the reflections that several
     politicians have ready by them to produce on this occasion, and
     being willing, as much as in us lies, to free the town from all
     impertinences of this nature."

FOOTNOTES:

[125] See No. 21.

[126] See Nos. 54, 61.

[127] See Nos. 1, 56, 59.

[128] See Nos. 44, 47.

[129] A portion of this paper, commencing here, and ending with "all
the caution imaginable" (p. 130), is printed in Scott's edition of
Swift's Works, and was no doubt by the Dean. See No. 81, note.

[130] A penny postal system was established in London in 1683 by
William Dockwra, a merchant, who was dismissed from his position as
comptroller in 1700. In 1709, Charles Povey, a projector, started a
halfpenny carriage of letters for the Metropolis, but in November the
postmasters-general brought an action against him for an infringement
of their monopoly, and Povey was fined £100.

[131] The _Mercure Gallant_ was published in 1673 and following years.
A new periodical of the same name was begun in 1710.

[132] The _Gentleman's Journal; or, the Monthly Miscellany_, was
published by Motteux between 1692 and 1694, in quarto.



No. 68. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Sept. 13_, to _Thursday, Sept. 15, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 14._[134]

The progress of our endeavours will of necessity be very much
interrupted, except the learned world will please to send their lists
to the chamber of fame[135] with all expedition. There is nothing can
so much contribute to create a noble emulation in our youth, as the
honourable mention of such whose actions have outlived the injuries of
time, and recommended themselves so far to the world, that it is become
learning to know the least circumstance of their affairs. It is a great
incentive to see that some men have raised themselves so highly above
their fellow-creatures; that the lives of ordinary men are spent in
inquiries after the particular actions of the most illustrious. True
it is, that without this impulse to fame and reputation, our industry
would stagnate, and that lively desire of pleasing each other die
away. This opinion was so established in the heathen world, that their
sense of living appeared insipid, except their being was enlivened
with a consciousness that they were esteemed by the rest of the world.
Upon examining the proportion of men's fame for my table of twelve, I
thought it no ill way, since I had laid it down for a rule, that they
were to be ranked simply as they were famous, without regard to their
virtue, to ask my sister Jenny's advice, and particularly mentioned
to her the name of Aristotle. She immediately told me, he was a very
great scholar, and that she had read him at the boarding-school. She
certainly means a trifle sold by the hawkers, called "Aristotle's
Problems." But this raised a great scruple in me, whether a fame
increased by imposition of others is to be added to his account, or
that these excrescences, which grow out of his real reputation, and
give encouragement to others to pass things under the cover of his
name, should be considered in giving him his seat in the chamber? This
punctilio is referred to the learned. In the meantime, so ill-natured
are mankind, that I believe I have names already sent me sufficient to
fill up my lists for the dark room, and every one is apt enough to send
in their accounts of ill deservers. This malevolence does not proceed
from a real dislike of virtue, but a diabolical prejudice against it,
which makes men willing to destroy what they care not to imitate. Thus
you see the greatest characters among your acquaintance, and those you
live with, are traduced by all below them in virtue, who never mention
them but with an exception. However, I believe I shall not give the
world much trouble about filling my tables for those of evil fame, for
I have some thoughts of clapping up the sharpers there as fast as I can
lay hold of them.

At present, I am employed in looking over the several notices which
I have received of their manner of dexterity, and the way at dice of
making all rugg,[136] as the cant is. The whole art of securing a
die has lately been sent me by a person who was of the fraternity,
but is disabled by the loss of a finger, by which means he cannot
practise that trick as he used to do. But I am very much at a loss how
to call some of the fair sex who are accomplices with the knights of
industry; for my metaphorical dogs are easily enough understood; but
the feminine gender of dog has so harsh a sound, that we know not how
to name it. But I am credibly informed that there are female dogs as
voracious as the males, and make advances to young fellows, without
any other design but coming to a familiarity with their purses. I have
also long lists of persons of condition, who are certainly of the same
regimen with these banditti, and instrumental to their cheats upon
undiscerning men of their own rank. These add their good reputation
to carry on the impostures of others, whose very names would else be
defence enough against falling into their hands. But for the honour
of our nation, these shall be unmentioned, provided we hear no more
of such practices, and that they shall not from henceforward suffer
the society of such as they know to be the common enemies of order,
discipline, and virtue. If it appear that they go on in encouraging
them, they must be proceeded against according to severest rules of
history, where all is to be laid before the world with impartiality,
and without respect to persons.

    _So let the stricken deer go weep._[137]


_Will's Coffee-house, September 14._

I find left here for me the following epistle:

     "SIR,

     "Having lately read your discourse about the family of
     Trubies,[138] wherein you observe that there are some who fall
     into laughter out of a certain benevolence in their temper, and
     not out of the ordinary motive, viz., contempt and triumph over
     the imperfections of others, I have conceived a good idea of your
     knowledge of mankind. And as you have a tragi-comic genius, I beg
     the favour of you to give us your thoughts of a quite different
     effect, which also is caused by other motives than what are
     commonly taken notice of. What I would have you treat of, is, the
     cause of shedding tears. I desire you would discuss it a little,
     with observations upon the various occasions which provoke us to
     that expression of our concern, &c."

To obey this complaisant gentleman, I know no way so short as examining
the various touches of my own bosom, on several occurrences in a long
life, to the evening of which I am arrived, after as many various
incidents as anybody has met with. I have often reflected, that there
is a great similitude in the motions of the heart in mirth and in
sorrow; and I think the usual occasion of the latter, as well as the
former, is something which is sudden and unexpected. The mind has
not a sufficient time to recollect its force, and immediately gushes
into tears before we can utter ourselves by speech or complaint. The
most notorious causes of these drops from our eyes, are pity, sorrow,
joy, and reconciliation. The fair sex, who are made of man, and not
of earth, have a more delicate humanity than we have, and pity is the
most common cause of their tears: for as we are inwardly composed of an
aptitude to every circumstance of life, and everything that befalls any
one person might have happened to any other of human race, self-love,
and a sense of the pain we ourselves should suffer in the circumstances
of any whom we pity, is the cause of that compassion. Such a reflection
in the breast of a woman immediately inclines her to tears; but in a
man, it makes him think how such a one ought to act on that occasion,
suitable to the dignity of his nature. Thus a woman is ever moved for
those whom she hears lament, and a man for those whom he observes to
suffer in silence. It is a man's own behaviour in the circumstances he
is under which procures him the esteem of others, and not merely the
affliction itself which demands our pity: for we never give a man that
passion which he falls into for himself. He that commends himself never
purchases our applause; nor he who bewails himself, our pity. Going
through an alley the other day, I observed a noisy impudent beggar bawl
out, that he was wounded in a merchantman, that he had lost his poor
limbs, and showed a leg clouted up. All that passed by, made what haste
they could out of sight and hearing. But a poor fellow at the end of
the passage, with a rusty coat, a melancholy air, and a soft voice,
desired them to look upon a man not used to beg. The latter received
the charity of almost every one that went by. The strings of the heart,
which are to be touched to give us compassion, are not so played on
but by the finest hand. We see in tragical representations it is not
the pomp of language, or magnificence of dress, in which the passion
is wrought that touches sensible spirits, but something of a plain and
simple nature which breaks in upon our souls, by that sympathy which
is given us for our mutual good-will and service.[139] In the tragedy
of "Macbeth," where Wilks[140] acts the part of a man whose family
has been murdered in his absence, the wildness of his passion, which
is run over in a torrent of calamitous circumstances, does but raise
my spirits, and give me the alarm; but when he skilfully seems to be
out of breath, and is brought too low to say more, and upon a second
reflection, cry, only wiping his eyes, "What, both children! Both, both
my children gone!" there is no resisting a sorrow which seems to have
cast about for all the reasons possible for its consolation, but has
no recourse. There is not one left, but both, both are murdered![141]
Such sudden starts from the thread of the discourse, and a plain
sentiment expressed in an artless way, are the irresistible strokes of
eloquence and poetry. The same great master, Shakespeare, can afford us
instances of all the places where our souls are accessible, and ever
commands our tears; but it is to be observed, that he draws them from
some unexpected source, which seems not wholly of a piece with the
discourse. Thus when Brutus and Cassius had a debate in the tragedy
of "Cæsar," and rose to warm language against each other, insomuch
that it had almost come to something that might be fatal, till they
recollected themselves; Brutus does more than make an apology for the
heat he had been in, by saying, "Porcia is dead."[142] Here Cassius is
all tenderness, and ready to dissolve, when he considers that the mind
of his friend had been employed on the greatest affliction imaginable,
when he had been adding to it by a debate on trifles; which makes him
in the anguish of his heart cry out, "How scaped I killing when I thus
provoked you?"[143] This is an incident which moves the soul in all
its sentiments; and Cassius's heart was at once touched with all the
soft pangs of pity, remorse, and reconciliation. It is said indeed by
Horace, "If you would have me weep, you must first weep yourself."[144]
This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly said,
if we observe nature, that I shall certainly weep if you do not; but
what is intended by that expression is, that it is not possible to give
passion except you show that you suffer yourself. Therefore the true
art seems to be, that when you would have the person you represent
pitied, you must show him at once, in the highest grief and struggling,
to bear it with decency and patience. In this case, we sigh for him,
and give him every groan he suppresses.[145] I remember, when I was
young enough to follow the sports of the field, I have more than
once rode off at the death of a deer, when I have seen the animal in
an affliction which appeared human without the least noise, let fall
tears when he was reduced to extremity; and I have thought of the
sorrow I saw him in when his haunch came to the table. But our tears
are not given only to objects of pity, but the mind has recourse to
that relief on all occasions which give us much emotion. Thus, to be
apt to shed tears is a sign of a great as well as little spirit. I
have heard say, the present Pope[146] never passes through the people,
who always kneel in crowds and ask his benediction, but the tears are
seen to flow from his eyes. This must proceed from an imagination that
he is the father of all those people, and that he is touched with so
extensive a benevolence that it breaks out into a passion of tears. You
see friends, who have been long absent, transported in the same manner:
a thousand little images crowd upon them at their meeting, as all the
joys and griefs they have known during their separation; and in one
hurry of thought, they conceive how they should have participated in
those occasions, and weep, because their minds are too full to wait the
slow expression of words.

    _His lacrimis vitam damus, et miseressimus ultro._[147]

There is lately broke loose from the London Pack[148] a very tall
dangerous biter. He is now at the Bath, and it is feared will make
a damnable havoc amongst the game. His manner of biting is new, and
called the Top. He secures one die betwixt his two fingers: the other
is fixed by the help of a famous wax invented by an apothecary, since a
gamester; a little of which he puts upon his forefinger, and that holds
the die in the box at his devotion. Great sums have been lately won by
these ways; but it is hoped that this hint of his manner of cheating
will open the eyes of many who are every day imposed upon.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is now in the press, and will be suddenly published, a book
entitled "An Appendix to the Contempt of the Clergy,"[149] wherein
will be set forth at large, that all our dissensions are owing to
the laziness of persons in the sacred ministry, and that none of the
present schisms could have crept into the flock but by the negligence
of the pastors. There is a digression in this treatise, proving that
the pretences made by the priesthood from time to time that the Church
was in danger, is only a trick to make the laity passionate for that of
which they themselves have been negligent. The whole concludes with an
exhortation to the clergy, to the study of eloquence, and practice of
piety, as the only method to support the highest of all honours, that
of a priest, who lives and acts according to his character.

FOOTNOTES:

[133] Philotas, son of Parmenion, was one of the generals of Alexander
the Great. He was arrested for treason, made a confession under
torture, and was stoned before the troops. Jean Reinhold de Patkul
(1660-1707), a Livonian nobleman in disgrace at the Swedish Court,
found his way to King Augustus, in Poland, and was charged with
having instigated that monarch to attack Livonia. When a treaty of
peace was drawn up, Charles XII. made the surrender of Patkul one of
the conditions; and after much delay he was handed over to General
Meyerfeldt, and broken upon the wheel in October 1707. In the _Review_
for August 20, 1709, Defoe criticised the conduct of Charles XII. in
this matter, and said that since his barbarous action he had had no
success. He paid dear for the blood of Patkul.

[134] This article is printed in Scott's edition of Swift's Works.

[135] See No. 67.

[136] See No. 39.

[137] "Why, let the stricken deer go weep" ("Hamlet," act iii. sc. 2,
l. 282.)

[138] See No. 63.

[139] _Cf._ No. 47.

[140] See No. 19.

[141] "Julius Cæsar," act iv. sc. 3.

[142] Steevens brought forward the fact that the author of the _Tatler_
here quotes from Davenant's alteration of Shakespeare's play as an
argument to prove how little Shakespeare was read. De Quincey made
some excellent remarks on this subject in his "Life of Shakespeare."
("Encyclopædia Britannica," 7th ed.)

[143] "How scaped I killing when I crossed you so?" ("Julius Cæsar,"
act iv. sc. 3.)

[144] _Ars Poetica_, 102.

[145] "There is no criticism of Shakespeare in that day at all
comparable to this of Steele's, at the outset and to the close of the
_Tatler_. With no set analysis or fine-spun theory, but dropped only
here and there, and from time to time with a careless grace, it is yet
of the subtlest discrimination.... He ranks him as high in philosophy
as in poetry, and in the ethics of human life and passion quotes his
authority as supreme. None but Steele then thought of criticising him
in that strain." (Forster.)

[146] Clement XI.

[147] Virgil, "Æneid," ii. 145.

[148] See No. 56, &c.

[149] "The Grounds and Occasion of the Contempt of the Clergy and
Religion Inquired into" was published by Dr. John Eachard in 1670.



No. 69. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Sept. 15_, to _Saturday, Sept. 17, 1709_.

                  ----Quid oportet
    Nos facere, a vulgo longe latèque remotos?

  HOR., 1 Sat. vi. 18.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 16._

It is, as far as it relates to our present being, the great end of
education to raise ourselves above the vulgar; but what is intended by
the vulgar, is not, methinks, enough understood. In me, indeed, that
word raises a quite different idea from what it usually does in others;
but perhaps that proceeds from my being old, and beginning to want the
relish of such satisfactions as are the ordinary entertainment of men.
However, such as my opinion is in this case, I will speak it; because
it is possible that turn of thought may be received by others, who may
reap as much tranquillity from it as I do myself. It is to me a very
great meanness, and something much below a philosopher, which is what I
mean by a gentleman, to rank a man among the vulgar for the condition
of life he is in, and not according to his behaviour, his thoughts
and sentiments, in that condition. For if a man be loaded with riches
and honours, and in that state of life has thoughts and inclinations
below the meanest artificer; is not such an artificer, who within his
power is good to his friends, moderate in his demands for his labour,
and cheerful in his occupation, very much superior to him who lives
for no other end but to serve himself, and assumes a preference in
all his words and actions to those who act their part with much more
grace than himself? Epictetus has made use of the similitude of a
stage-play to human life with much spirit. "It is not," says he, "to be
considered among the actors, who is prince, or who is beggar, but who
acts prince or beggar best."[150] The circumstance of life should not
be that which gives us place, but our behaviour in that circumstance
is what should be our solid distinction. Thus, a wise man should think
no man above him or below him, any further than it regards the outward
order and discipline of the world: for if we take too great an idea
of the eminence of our superiors, or subordination of our inferiors,
it will have an ill effect upon our behaviour to both. But he who
thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his
vice, can never be obsequious or assuming in a wrong place, but will
frequently emulate men in rank below him, and pity those above him.
This sense of mankind is so far from a levelling principle, that it
only sets us upon a true basis of distinction, and doubles the merit
of such as become their condition. A man in power, who can, without
the ordinary prepossessions which stop the way to the true knowledge
and service of mankind, overlook the little distinctions of fortune,
raise obscure merit, and discountenance successful indesert,[151]
has, in the minds of knowing men, the figure of an angel rather than
a man, and is above the rest of men in the highest character he can
be, even that of their benefactor. Turning my thoughts as I was taking
my pipe this evening after this manner, it was no small delight to me
to receive advice from Felicia,[152] that Eboracensis was appointed a
governor of one of their plantations.[153] As I am a great lover of
mankind, I took part in the happiness of that people who were to be
governed by one of so great humanity, justice, and honour. Eboracensis
has read all the schemes which writers have formed of government and
order, and been long conversant with men who have the reins in their
hands; so that he can very well distinguish between chimerical and
practical politics. It is a great blessing (when men have to deal with
such different characters in the same species as those of free-men
and slaves) that they who command have a just sense of human nature
itself, by which they can temper the haughtiness of the master, and
soften the servitude of the slave. "Hæ tibi erunt artes."[154] This is
the notion with which those of the plantation receive Eboracensis: and
as I have cast his nativity, I find it will be a record made of this
person's administrations; and on that part of the shore from whence he
embarks to return from his government, there will be a monument with
these words: "Here the people wept, and took leave of Eboracensis, the
first governor our mother Felicia sent, who, during his command here,
believed himself her subject."



_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 16._

The following letter wants such sudden despatch, that all things else
must wait for this time.

  "SIR,

  _Sept. 13, equal day and night._

     "There are two ladies, who, having a good opinion of your taste
     and judgment, desire you to make use of them in the following
     particular, which perhaps you may allow very particular. The two
     ladies before mentioned have a considerable time since contracted
     a more sincere and constant friendship than their adversaries the
     men will allow consistent with the frailty of female nature; and
     being from a long acquaintance convinced of the perfect agreement
     of their tempers, have thought upon an expedient to prevent their
     separation, and cannot think any so effectual (since it is common
     for love to destroy friendship) as to give up both their liberties
     to the same person in marriage. The gentleman they have pitched
     upon, is neither well-bred nor agreeable, his understanding
     moderate, and his person never designed to charm women; but
     having so much self-interest in his nature, as to be satisfied
     with making double contracts, upon condition of receiving double
     fortunes; and most men being so far sensible of the uneasiness
     that one woman occasions, they think him for these reasons
     the most likely person of their acquaintance to receive these
     proposals. Upon all other accounts, he is the last man either of
     them would choose, yet for this preferable to all the rest. They
     desire to know your opinion the next post, resolving to defer
     further proceeding, till they have received it. I am, Sir,

  "Your unknown, unthought-of,
  Humble Servant,
  BRIDGET EITHERSIDE."

     #/

This is very extraordinary, and much might be objected by me,
who am something of a civilian, to the case of two marrying the
same man; but these ladies are, I perceive, free-thinkers, and
therefore I shall speak only to the prudential part of this design,
merely as a philosopher, without entering into the merit of it in
the ecclesiastical or civil law. These constant friends, Piledea
and Orestea, are at a loss to preserve their friendship from the
encroachments of love, for which end they have resolved upon a fellow
who cannot be the object of affection or esteem to either, and
consequently cannot rob one of the place each has in her friend's
heart. But in all my reading (and I have read all that the sages in
love have written), I have found the greatest danger in jealousy. The
ladies indeed, to avoid this passion, choose a sad fellow; but if they
would be advised by me, they had better have each their worthless
man; otherwise, he that was despicable while he was indifferent to
them, will become valuable when he seems to prefer one to the other.
I remember in the history of Don Quixote of the Manca, there is a
memorable passage which opens to us the weakness of our nature in
such particulars. The Don falls into discourse with a gentleman[155]
whom he calls the Knight of the Green Cassock, and is invited to his
house. When he comes there, he runs into discourse and panegyric upon
the economy, the government and order of his family, the education of
his children; and lastly, on the singular wisdom of him who disposed
things with that exactness. The gentleman makes a soliloquy to himself,
"Oh irresistible power of flattery! Though I know this is a madman, I
cannot help being taken with his applause."

The ladies will find this much more true in the case of their lover;
and the woman he most likes, will certainly be more pleased; she whom
he flights, more offended, than she can imagine before she has tried.
Now I humbly propose, that they both marry coxcombs whom they are
sure they cannot like, and then they may be pretty secure against the
change of affection, which they fear; and by that means, preserving the
temperature under which they now write, enjoy during life, "equal day
and night."


_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 16._

There is no manner of news; but people now spend their time in
coffee-houses in reflections upon the particulars of the late glorious
day,[156] and collecting the several parts of the action, as they are
produced in letters from private hands, or notices given to us by
accounts in public papers. A pleasant gentleman, alluding to the great
fences through which we pierced, said this evening, "The French thought
themselves on the right side of the hedge, but it proved otherwise."
Mr. Kidney, who has long conversed with, and filled tea for the most
consummate politicians, was pleased to give me an account of this piece
of ribaldry, and desired me on that occasion to write a whole paper
on the subject of valour, and explain how that quality, which must be
possessed by whole armies, is so highly preferable in one man rather
than another, and how the same actions are but mere acts of duty in
some, and instances of the most heroic virtue in others. He advised me
not to fail in this discourse to mention the gallantry of the Prince
of Nassau in this last engagement, who (when a battalion made a halt
in the face of the enemy) snatched the colours out of the hands of the
ensign, and planted them just before the line of the enemy, calling to
that battalion to take care of their colours, if they had no regard to
him. Mr. Kidney has my promise to obey him in this particular on the
first occasion that offers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Bickerstaff is now compiling exact accounts of the pay of the
militia, and the commission officers under the respective Lieutenancies
of Great Britain: in the first place, of those of London and
Westminster; and in regard that there are no common soldiers, but all
house-keepers, or representatives of house-keepers in these bodies,
the sums raised by the officers shall be looked into, and their
fellow-soldiers, or rather fellow-travellers from one part of the
town to the other, not defrauded of the ten pounds allowed for the
subsistence of the troops.

Whereas not very long since, at a tavern between Fleet Bridge and
Charing Cross, some certain polite gentlemen thought fit to perform
the bacchanalian exercises of devotion, by dancing without clothes on,
after the manner of the pre-Adamites; this is to certify those persons,
that there is no manner of wit or humour in the said practice, and that
the beadles of the parish are to be at their next meeting, where it is
to be examined, whether they are arrived at want of feeling, as well as
want of shame.

Whereas a chapel clerk was lately taken in a garret on a flock-bed
with two of the fair sex, who are usually employed in sifting cinders;
this is to let him know, that if he persists in being a scandal both
to laity and clergy (as being as it were both and neither), the names
of the nymphs who were with him shall be printed; therefore he is
desired, as he tenders the reputation of his ladies, to repent.

Mr. Bickerstaff has received information, that an eminent and noble
preacher in the chief congregation of Great Britain, for fear of being
thought guilty of presbyterian fervency and extemporary prayer, lately
read his, before sermon; but the same advices acknowledging that he
made the congregation large amends by the shortness of his discourse,
it is thought fit to make no further observation upon it.[157]

FOOTNOTES:

[150] "Encheiridion," sect. xvii. Dobson.

[151] Want of merit. _Cf._ "The Lying Lover," act ii.: "'Tis my own
indesert that gives me fears."

[152] England.

[153] Robert Hunter, a friend of Addison and Swift, was appointed
Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia in 1707, but was taken by the French
in his voyage thither. Having been exchanged for the French Bishop
of Quebec, he was appointed Governor of New York, and in 1710 took
charge of 2700 Protestant refugees from the Palatinate, who were to
settle there. During his government of New York, he was directed by her
Majesty to provide subsistence for about 3000 palatines sent from Great
Britain to be employed in raising and manufacturing naval stores; and
by 1734 he had disbursed _£21,000_ and upwards in that undertaking, no
part of which was ever repaid. He returned to England in 1719; and,
after being made Major-General, he was appointed Governor of Jamaica in
1729. He died March 31, 1734, and was buried in that island.

[154] "Æneid," vi. 853.

[155] Don Diego de Miranda. See "Don Quixote," Part II., chaps. xvii.,
xviii.

[156] The battle of Malplaquet.



No. 70. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Sept. 17_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 20, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. i. 85, 86.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 19._

The following letter,[158] in prosecution of what I have lately
asserted, has urged that matter so much better than I had, that I
insert it as I received it. These testimonials are customary with us
learned men, and sometimes are suspected to be written by the author;
but I fear no one will suspect me of this.

  "SIR,

  _London, Sept. 15, 1709._

     "Having read your lucubrations of the 10th instant,[159] I can't
     but entirely agree with you in your notions of the scarcity of
     men who can either read or speak. For my part, I have lived these
     thirty years in the world, and yet have observed but a very few
     who could do either in any tolerable manner; among which few,
     you must understand that I reckon myself. How far eloquence,
     set off with the proper ornaments of voice and gesture, will
     prevail over the passions, and how cold and unaffecting the
     best oration in the world would be without them, there are two
     remarkable instances in the case of Ligarius and that of Milo.
     Cæsar had condemned Ligarius. He came indeed to hear what might
     be said; but thinking himself his own master, resolved not to be
     biassed by anything Cicero could say in his behalf: but in this
     he was mistaken; for when the orator began to speak, the hero is
     moved, he is vanquished, and at length the criminal absolved. It
     must be observed, that this famous orator was less renowned for
     his courage than his eloquence; for though he came at another
     time, prepared to defend Milo with one of the best orations that
     antiquity has produced; yet being seized with a sudden fear by
     seeing some armed men surrounding the Forum, he faltered in his
     speech, and became unable to exert that irresistible force and
     beauty of action which would have saved his client, and for want
     of which he was condemned to banishment. As the success the former
     of these orations met with, appears chiefly owing to the life and
     graceful manner with which it was recited (for some there are who
     think it may be read without transport), so the latter seems to
     have failed of success for no other reason, but because the orator
     was not in a condition to set it off with those ornaments. It
     must be confessed, that artful sound will with the crowd prevail
     even more than sense; but those who are masters of both, will
     ever gain the admiration of all their hearers: and there is, I
     think, a very natural account to be given of this matter; for the
     sensation of the head and heart are caused in each of these parts
     by the outward organs of the eye and ear: that therefore which is
     conveyed to the understanding and passions by only one of these
     organs, will not affect us so much as that which is transmitted
     through both.[160] I can't but think your charge is just against
     a great part of the learned clergy of Great Britain, who deliver
     the most excellent discourses with such coldness and indifference,
     that it is no great wonder the unintelligent many of their
     congregations fall asleep. Thus it happens that their orations
     meet with a quite contrary fate to that of Demosthenes you
     mentioned; for as that lost much of its beauty and force by being
     repeated to the magistrates of Rhodes without the winning action
     of that great orator, so the performances of these gentlemen never
     appear with so little grace, and to so much disadvantage, as when
     delivered by themselves from the pulpit. Hippocrates being sent
     for to a patient in this city, and having felt his pulse, inquired
     into the symptoms of his distemper, and finding that it proceeded
     in great measure from want of sleep, advises his patient, with
     an air of gravity, to be carried to church to hear a sermon, not
     doubting but that it would dispose him for the rest he wanted.
     If some of the rules Horace gives for the theatre, were (not
     improperly) applied to our pulpits, we should not hear a sermon
     prescribed as a good opiate.

    "----_Si vis me flere, dolendum est
    Primum ipsi tibi_----[161]

     "A man must himself express some concern and affection in
     delivering his discourse, if he expects his auditory should
     interest themselves in what he proposes: for otherwise,
     notwithstanding the dignity and importance of the subject he
     treats of, notwithstanding the weight and argument of the
     discourse itself, yet too many will say,

    "----_Male si mandata loqueris,
    Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo._----[162]

     "If there be a deficiency in the speaker, there will not be
     a sufficient attention and regard paid to the things spoken:
     but, Mr. Bickerstaff, you know, that as too little action is
     cold, so too much is fulsome. Some indeed may think themselves
     accomplished speakers, for no other reason than because they can
     be loud and noisy (for surely Stentor[163] must have some design
     in his vociferations). But, dear Mr. Bickerstaff, convince them,
     that as harsh and irregular sound is not harmony, so neither is
     banging a cushion, oratory; and therefore, in my humble opinion,
     a certain divine[164] of the first order, whom I allow otherwise
     to be a great man, would do well to leave this off; for I think
     his sermons would be more persuasive if he gave his auditory
     less disturbance. Though I cannot say that this action would be
     wholly improper to a profane oration, yet I think, in a religious
     assembly, it gives a man too warlike, or perhaps too theatrical a
     figure to be suitable to a Christian congregation. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your humble Servant, &c."


The most learned and ingenious Mr. Rosehat is also pleased to write to
me on this subject.

     /# "SIR,

     "I read with great pleasure in the _Tatler_ of Saturday last the
     conversation upon eloquence. Permit me to hint to you one thing
     the great Roman orator observes upon this subject, 'Caput enim
     arbitrabatur oratoris' (he quotes Menedemus, an Athenian), 'ut
     ipsis apud quos ageret talis qualem ipse optaret videretur, id
     fieri vitæ dignitate.[165] It is the first rule in oratory, that a
     man must appear such as he would persuade others to be, and that
     can be accomplished only by the force of his life. I believe it
     might be of great service to let our public orators know, that
     an unnatural gravity, or an unbecoming levity in their behaviour
     out of the pulpit, will take very much from the force of their
     eloquence in it. Excuse another scrap of Latin; it is from one of
     the Fathers: I think it will appear a just observation to all,
     as it may have authority with some: 'Qui autem docent tantum,
     nec faciunt, ipsi præceptis suis detrahunt pondus; quis enim
     obtemperet, quum ipsi præceptores doceant non obtemperare?' I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  JONATHAN ROSEHAT.

     "_P.S._--You were complaining in that paper, that the clergy of
     Great Britain had not yet learned to speak: a very great defect
     indeed; and therefore I shall think myself a well-deserver of
     the Church, in recommending all the dumb clergy to the famous
     speaking doctor at Kensington.[166] This ingenious gentleman,
     out of compassion to those of a bad utterance, has placed his
     whole study in the new modelling the organs of voice, which art
     he has so far advanced, as to be able even to make a good orator
     of a pair of bellows. He lately exhibited a specimen of his skill
     in this way, of which I was informed by the worthy gentlemen
     then present, who were at once delighted and amazed to hear an
     instrument of so simple an organisation use an exact articulation
     of words, a just cadency in its sentences, and a wonderful pathos
     in its pronunciation; not that he designs to expatiate in this
     practice, because he cannot (as he says) apprehend what use it may
     be of to mankind, whose benefit he aims at in a more particular
     manner: and for the same reason he will never more instruct the
     feathered kind, the parrot having been his last scholar in that
     way. He has a wonderful faculty in making and mending echoes, and
     this he will perform at any time for the use of the solitary in
     the country, being a man born for universal good, and for that
     reason recommended to your patronage by, Sir, Yours, &c." #/

Another learned gentleman gives me also this encomium:

  "SIR,

  _September 16._

     "You are now got into a useful and noble subject; take care to
     handle it with judgment and delicacy. I wish every young divine
     would give yours of Saturday last a serious perusal; and now you
     are entered upon the action of an orator, if you would proceed to
     favour the world with some remarks on the mystical enchantments
     of pronunciation, what a secret force there is in the accents of
     a tunable voice, and wherefore the works of two very great men of
     the profession could never please so well when read as heard, I
     shall trouble you with no more scribble. You are now in the method
     of being truly profitable and delightful. If you can keep up to
     such great and sublime subjects, and pursue them with a suitable
     genius, go on and prosper. Farewell."


_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 19._

This was left for me here for the use of the company of the house.

  "_To_ ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.

  "SIR,

  _September 15._

     "The account you gave lately of a certain dog-kennel or near
     Suffolk Street,[167] was not so punctual as to the list of
     the dogs as might have been expected from a person of Mr.
     Bickerstaff's intelligence; for if you'll despatch Pacolet thither
     some evening, it is ten to one but he finds, besides those you
     mentioned, "Towzer, a large French mongrel, that was not long ago
     in a tattered condition, but has now got new hair; is not fleet;
     but when he grapples, bites even to the marrow.

     "Spring, a little French greyhound, that lately made a false trip
     to Tunbridge.

     "Sly, an old battered foxhound, that began the game in France.

     "Lightfoot, a fine-skinned Flanders dog, that belonged to a pack
     at Ghent; but having lost flesh, is come to Paris for the benefit
     of the air.

     "With several others, that in time may be worth notice.

     "Your familiar will see also, how anxious the keepers are about
     the prey, and indeed not without very good reason, for they have
     their share of everything; nay, not so much as a poor rabbit can
     be run down, but these carnivorous curs swallow a quarter of it.
     Some mechanics in the neighbourhood, that have entered into this
     civil society (and who furnish part of the carrion and oatmeal
     for the dogs) have the skin; and the bones are picked clean by a
     little French shock that belongs to the family, &c. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your humble Servant, &c.

     "I had almost forgotten to tell you, that Ringwood bites at
     Hampstead with false teeth."[168] #/

FOOTNOTES:

[157] See No. 66.

[158] Printed in Swift's Works.

[159] No. 66.

[160] _Cf._ Rabelais, Book I., chap. xli.

[161] "Ars Poet.," 102.

[162] "Ars Poet.," 104.

[163] See No. 54.

[164] Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, whom Dryden describes as "a
portly prince, and goodly to the sight," "black-browed and bluff."

[165] Cicero, "De Oratore," i. 19.

[166] James Ford. In answer to an application for advice from a
stammerer, the _British Apollo_ for Jan. 23 to 25, 1710, said: "For
further advice we refer you to Mr. Ford at Kensington, who has not only
recovered several who stammered to a regular speech, but also brought
the deaf and dumb to speak, an instance whereof hath been known by a
gentleman of our society." The _Postman_ for Oct. 21, 1703, contained
the following advertisement: "James Ford, formerly living at Christ's
Hospital, in Charterhouse Yard and Cecil Street, who removes stammering
and other impediments in speech, and teaches foreigners to pronounce
English like natives; and has lately brought a child to speak, that
was born deaf and dumb; is now removed to Newington Green, where he
keeps a tutor in his house, that children may not lose their learning.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays he is to be met with at Mr. Meriden's,
sword cutler, at the corner of Exchange Alley, at Exchange time, and
at the Rainbow Coffee-house, by Temple Bar, at six in the evening on
Thursdays." In a letter now in the British Museum (Sloane MS., 4044),
Ford asked Sir Hans Sloane to examine certain persons whom he claimed
to have cured.

[167] See No. 62.

[168] False dice.



No. 71. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Sept. 20_, to _Thursday, Sept. 22, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 21._

I have long been against my inclination employed in satire, and that
in prosecution of such persons who are below the dignity of the true
spirit of it; such who I fear are not to be reclaimed by making them
only ridiculous. The sharpers therefore shall have a month's time to
themselves free from the observation of this paper; but I must not make
a truce without letting them know, that at the same time I am preparing
for a more vigorous war; for a friend of mine has promised me, he will
employ his time in compiling such a tract before the session of the
ensuing Parliament, as shall lay gaming home to the bosoms of all who
love their country or their families; and he doubts not but it will
create an Act, that shall make these rogues as scandalous as those less
mischievous ones on the highroad. I have received private intimations
to take care of my walks, and remember there are such things as stabs
and blows: but as there never was anything in this design which ought
to displease a man of honour, or which was not designed to offend the
rascals, I shall give myself very little concern for finding what I
expected, that they would be highly provoked at these lucubrations. But
though I utterly despise the pack, I must confess I am at a stand at
the receipt of the following letter, which seems to be written by a man
of sense and worth, who has mistaken some passage that I am sure was
not levelled at him. This gentleman's complaints give me compunction,
when I neglect the threats of the rascals. I can't be in jest with the
rogues any longer, since they pretend to threaten. I don't know whether
I shall allow them the favour of transportation.

  "MR. BICKERSTAFF,

  _Sept. 13._

     "Observing you are not content with lashing the many vices of the
     age, without illustrating each with particular characters, it is
     thought nothing would more contribute to the impression you design
     by such, than always having regard to truth. In your _Tatler_ of
     this day,[169] I observe you allow, that nothing is so tender as a
     lady's reputation; that a stain once got in their fame, is hardly
     ever to be washed out. This you grant even when you give yourself
     leave to trifle. If so, what caution is necessary in handling
     the reputation of a man, whose wellbeing in this life perhaps
     entirely depends on preserving it from any wound, which once there
     received, too often becomes fatal and incurable? Suppose some
     villainous hand, through personal prejudice, transmits materials
     for this purpose, which you publish to the world, and afterwards
     become fully convinced you were imposed on (as by this time you
     may be of a character you have sent into the world); I say,
     supposing this, I would be glad to know, what reparation you think
     ought to be made the person so injured, admitting you stood in his
     place. It has always been held, that a generous education is the
     surest mark of a generous mind. The former is indeed perspicuous
     in all your papers; and I am persuaded, though you affect often
     to show the latter, yet you would not keep any measures (even
     of Christianity) with those who should handle you in the manner
     you do others. The application of all this is from your having
     very lately glanced at a man, under a character, that were he
     conscious to deserve, he would be the first to rid the world of
     himself; and would be more justifiable in it to all sorts of men,
     than you in your committing such a violence on his reputation,
     which perhaps you may be convinced of in another manner than you
     deserve from him.

     "A man of your capacity, Mr. Bickerstaff, should have more noble
     views, and pursue the true spirit of satire; but I will conclude,
     lest I grow out of temper, and will only beg for your own
     preservation, to remember the proverb of the pitcher.

  "I am Yours,
  A. J."


The proverb of the pitcher I have no regard to; but it would be an
insensibility not to be pardoned, if a man could be untouched at so
warm an accusation, and that laid with so much seeming temper. All I
can say to it is, that if the writer, by the same method whereby he
conveyed this letter, shall give me an instance wherein I have injured
any good man, or pointed at anything which is not the true object
of raillery, I shall acknowledge the offence in as open a manner
as the press can do it, and lay down this paper for ever. There is
something very terrible in unjustly attacking men in a way that may
prejudice their honour or fortune; but when men of too modest a sense
of themselves will think they are touched, it is impossible to prevent
ill consequences from the most innocent and general discourses. This I
have known happen in circumstances the most foreign to theirs who have
taken offence at them. An advertisement lately published, relating to
Omicron,[170] alarmed a gentleman of good sense, integrity, honour, and
industry, which is, in every particular, different from the trifling
pretenders pointed at in that advertisement. When the modesty of some
is as excessive as the vanity of others, what defence is there against
misinterpretation? However, giving disturbance, though not intended, to
men of virtuous characters, has so sincerely troubled me, that I will
break from this satirical vein; and to show I very little value myself
upon it, shall for this month ensuing leave the sharper, the fop, the
pedant, the proud man, the insolent; in a word, all the train of knaves
and fools, to their own devices, and touch on nothing but panegyric.
This way is suitable to the true genius of the Staffs, who are much
more inclined to reward than punish. If therefore the author of the
above-mentioned letter does not command my silence wholly, as he shall
if I do not give him satisfaction, I shall for the above-mentioned
space turn my thoughts to raising merit from its obscurity, celebrating
virtue in its distress, and attacking vice by no other method but
setting innocence in a proper light.


_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 20._

I find here for me the following letter:[171]

     "SQUIRE BICKERSTAFF,

     "Finding your advice and censure to have a good effect, I
     desire your admonition to our vicar and schoolmaster, who in
     his preaching to his auditors, stretches his jaws so wide, that
     instead of instructing youth, it rather frightens them: likewise
     in reading prayers, he has such a careless loll, that people
     are justly offended at his irreverent posture; besides the
     extraordinary charge they are put to in sending their children
     to dance, to bring them off of those ill gestures. Another evil
     faculty he has, in making the bowling-green his daily residence,
     instead of his church, where his curate reads prayers every day.
     If the weather is fair, his time is spent in visiting; if cold or
     wet, in bed, or at least at home, though within a hundred yards
     of the church. These, out of many such irregular practices, I
     write for his reclamation: but two or three things more before I
     conclude; to wit, that generally when his curate preaches in the
     afternoon, he sleeps sitting in the desk on a hassock. With all
     this, he is so extremely proud, that he will go but once to the
     sick, except they return his visit."

I was going on in reading my letter, when I was interrupted by Mr.
Greenhat, who has been this evening at the play of "Hamlet." "Mr.
Bickerstaff," said he, "had you been to-night at the play-house,
you had seen the force of action in perfection: your admired Mr.
Betterton[172] behaved himself so well, that, though now about seventy,
he acted youth; and by the prevalent power of proper manner, gesture
and voice, appeared through the whole drama a young man of great
expectation, vivacity, and enterprise. The soliloquy, where he began
the celebrated sentence of, 'To be, or not to be;' the expostulation
where he explains with his mother in her closet; the noble ardour,
after seeing his father's ghost, and his generous distress for the
death of Ophelia, are each of them circumstances which dwell strongly
upon the minds of the audience, and would certainly affect their
behaviour on any parallel occasions in their own lives. Pray, Mr.
Bickerstaff, let us have virtue thus represented on the stage with its
proper ornaments, or let these ornaments be added to her in places more
sacred. As for my part," said he, "I carried my cousin Jerry, this
little boy, with me, and shall always love the child for his partiality
in all that concerned the fortune of Hamlet. This is entering youth
into the affections and passions of manhood beforehand, and as it were
antedating the effects we hope from a long and liberal education."

I cannot in the midst of many other things which press, hide the
comfort that this letter from my ingenious kinsman gives me.

  "_To my Honoured Kinsman_, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.

  "DEAR COUSIN,

  _Oxford, Sept. 18._

     "I am sorry, though not surprised, to find that you have rallied
     the men of dress in vain; that the amber-headed cane still
     maintains its unstable post; that pockets are but a few inches
     shortened; and a beau is still a beau, from the crown of his
     nightcap to the heels of his shoes. For your comfort, I can
     assure you, that your endeavours succeed better in this famous
     seat of learning. By them, the manners of our young gentlemen are
     in a fair way of amendment, and their very language is mightily
     refined. To them it is owing, that not a servitor will sing a
     catch, not a senior fellow make a pun, not a determining bachelor
     drink a bumper; and I believe a gentleman commoner would as soon
     have the heels of his shoes red as his stockings. When a witling
     stands at a coffee-house door, and sneers at those who pass by,
     to the great improvement of his hopeful audience, he is no longer
     surnamed a slicer, but a man of fire is the word. A beauty, whose
     health is drunk from Heddington to Hinksey,[173] who has been the
     theme of the Muses (her cheeks painted with roses, and her bosom
     planted with orange boughs), has no more the title of lady, but
     reigns an undisputed toast. When to the plain garb of gown and
     band a spark adds an inconsistent long wig, we do not say now
     he boshes, but there goes a smart fellow. If a virgin blushes,
     we no longer cry the blues. He that drinks till he stares, is
     no more tow-row, but honest. A youngster in a scrape, is a word
     out of date; and what bright man says, I was Joabed by the dean:
     bamboozling is exploded; a shat is a tattler; and if the muscular
     motion of a man's face be violent, no mortal says, he raises a
     horse, but he is a merry fellow.

     "I congratulate you, my dear kinsman, upon these conquests; such
     as Roman emperors lamented they could not gain; and in which you
     rival your correspondent Lewis le Grand, and his dictating academy.

     "Be yours the glory to perform, mine to record (as Mr. Dryden
     has said before me to his kinsman);[174] and while you enter
     triumphant into the temple of the Muses, I, as my office requires,
     will, with my staff on my shoulder, attend and conduct you. I am,
     Dear cousin,

  "Your most affectionate Kinsman,
  BENJAMIN BEADLESTAFF."[175]


Upon the humble application of certain persons who have made heroic
figures in Mr. Bickerstaff's narrations, notice is hereby given, that
no such shall ever be mentioned for the future, except those who have
sent menaces, and not submitted to admonition.

FOOTNOTES:

[169] No. 67.

[170] See No. 62.

[171] Printed in Swift's Works.

[172] Thomas Betterton was born in Westminster about 1635, and was
apprenticed to a bookseller. There are various accounts of how he came
to go on to the stage, but in 1661 he joined Sir William Davenant's
company at Lincoln's Inn Fields. Davenant's son afterwards gave
Betterton a share in the management, and the company ("the Duke's")
moved to Dorset Garden. In 1682 this company united with the King's
company. Betterton lost all his savings in a speculation in 1692. Soon
afterwards the patentee of the theatre quarrelled with the actors about
their salaries, and Betterton and his friends obtained a licence to set
up a theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Betterton does not seem to have
been a good manager, and he was often in straitened circumstances. In
April 1709 the benefit described in No. 1 of the _Tatler_ was arranged
for his benefit; on that occasion Betterton, though over seventy, acted
the youthful part of Valentine in "Love for Love." The performance
brought Betterton £500. Writing on the occasion of his death, Steele
paid a high tribute to the actor's powers in No. 167.

It is interesting to note what Zachary Baggs, treasurer at Drury Lane,
stated to be the salary paid to, and the amount made by benefits by,
the principal performers. I quote from a rare quarto paper of two
leaves, issued by Baggs in July 1709 upon the threatened secession of
the actors. He says that during the season, October 1708 to June 1709,
135 days--

                                                 £.   _s._      _d._

  Wilks was paid by salary                      168     6         8
  By his benefit play                            90    14         9
  Betterton was paid, by his salary £4 a week, and
  £1 a week for his wife, although she does
  not act                                       112    10         0
  By a benefit, besides what he got by high prices
  and guineas                                    76     4         5
  Estcourt was paid at £5 a week salary         112    10         0
  By his benefit play                            51     8         6
  Cibber was paid at £5 a week salary           112    10         0
  By his benefit play                            51     0        10
  Mills was paid £4 a week salary, and £1 for
  his wife, for little or nothing               112    10         0
  By his benefit play (not including hers)       58     1         4
  Mrs. Oldfield had £4 a week salary, making
  for fourteen weeks and a day                   56    13         4
  She was also paid for costumes                  2    10         7
  And by her benefit play she had                62     7         8
                                                -------------------
                                    In all    £1077     3         8

But Baggs adds that at each benefit performance the actor gained much
by the special prices paid for seats, and estimating those extra
profits at the benefits above mentioned at £880, he arrives at the
conclusion that the six actors named earned £1957 in all during the
season, though it was broken in upon by the death of Prince George, and
brought to a premature close in June.

[173] Villages near Oxford.

[174] Epistle "To my honoured kinsman John Driden, of Chesterton,
Esq.," 204:--

    "Two of a house few ages can afford,
    One to perform, another to record."



[175] See No. 45.



No. 72. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Sept. 22_, to _Saturday, Sept. 24, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 23._

I have taken upon me no very easy task in turning all my thoughts
on panegyric, when most of the advices I receive tend to the quite
contrary purpose; and I have few notices but such as regard follies and
vices. But the properest way for me to treat, is to keep in general
upon the passions and affections of men, with as little regard to
particulars as the nature of the thing will admit. However, I think
there is something so passionate in the circumstances of the lovers
mentioned in the following letter, that I am willing to go out of my
way to obey what is commanded in it.

  "SIR,

  _London, September 17._

     "Your design of entertaining the town with the characters of the
     ancient heroes, as persons shall send an account to Mr. Morphew's,
     encourages me and others to beg of you, that in the meantime (if
     it is not contrary to the method you have proposed) you would give
     us one paper upon the subject of Pætus and his wife's death, when
     Nero sent him an order to kill himself: his wife setting him the
     example, died with these words, 'Pætus, it is not painful.' You
     must know the story, and your observations upon it will oblige,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant."


When the worst man that ever lived in the world had the highest station
in it, human life was the object of his diversion; and he sent orders
frequently, out of mere wantonness, to take off such-and-such, without
so much as being angry with them. Nay, frequently his tyranny was so
humorous, that he put men to death because he could not but approve of
them. It came one day to his ear, that a certain married couple, Pætus
and Arria, lived in a more happy tranquillity and mutual love than any
other persons who were then in being. He listened with great attention
to the account of their manner of spending their time together, of
the constant pleasure they were to each other in all their words and
actions; and found by exact information, that they were so treasonable
as to be much more happy than his Imperial Majesty himself. Upon which
he wrote Pætus the following billet:--

     "Pætus, you are hereby desired to despatch yourself. I have heard
     a very good character of you; and therefore leave it to yourself,
     whether you will die by dagger, sword, or poison. If you outlive
     this order above an hour, I have given directions to put you to
     death by torture.

  NERO."


This familiar epistle was delivered to his wife Arria, who opened it.

One must have a soul very well turned for love, pity, and indignation,
to comprehend the tumult this unhappy lady was thrown into upon this
occasion. The passion of love is no more to be understood by some
tempers than a problem in a science by an ignorant man: but he that
knows what affection is, will have, upon considering the condition of
Arria, ten thousand thoughts flow in upon him, which the tongue was not
formed to express. But the charming statue is now before my eyes, and
Arria, in her unutterable sorrow, has more beauty than ever appeared
in youth, in mirth, or in triumph. These are the great and noble
incidents which speak the dignity of our nature, in our sufferings
and distresses. Behold her tender affection for her husband sinks her
features into a countenance which appears more helpless than that of an
infant: but, again, her indignation shows in her visage and her bosom a
resentment as strong as that of the bravest man. Long she stood in this
agony of alternate rage and love; but at last composed herself for her
dissolution, rather than survive her beloved Pætus. When he came into
her presence, he found her with the tyrant's letter in one hand, and a
dagger in the other. Upon his approach to her, she gave him the order;
and at the same time, stabbing herself, "Pætus," said she, "it is not
painful," and expired. Pætus immediately followed her example. The
passion of these memorable lovers was such, that it eluded the rigour
of their fortune, and baffled the force of a blow, which neither felt,
because each received it for the sake of the other. The woman's part in
this story is by much the more heroic, and has occasioned one of the
best epigrams transmitted to us from antiquity.

    _When Arria pulled the dagger from her side,
    Thus to her consort spoke the illustrious bride:
    "The wound I gave myself I do not grieve,
    I die by that which Pætus must receive._"[176]



_From my own Apartment, Sept. 23._

The boy says, one in a black hat left the following letter:

  "FRIEND,

  _19th of the 7th month._

     "Being of that part of Christians whom men call Quakers; and
     being a seeker of the right way, I was persuaded yesterday to
     hear one of your most noted teachers. The matter he treated was
     the necessity of well-living, grounded upon a future state. I was
     attentive; but the man did not appear in earnest. He read his
     discourse (notwithstanding thy rebukes) so heavily, and with so
     little air of being convinced himself, that I thought he would
     have slept, as I observed many of his hearers did. I came home
     unedified, and troubled in mind. I dipped into the Lamentations,
     and from thence turning to the 34th chapter of Ezekiel, I found
     these words: 'Woe be to the shepherds of Israel, that do feed
     themselves! Should not the shepherds feed the flock? Ye eat the
     fat, and ye clothe you with the wool: ye kill them that are fed;
     but ye feed not the flock. The diseased have ye not strengthened;
     neither have ye healed that which was sick; neither have ye bound
     up that which was broken; neither have ye brought again that which
     was driven away; neither have ye sought that which was lost; but
     with force and with cruelty have ye ruled them,' &c. Now I pray
     thee, friend, as thou art a man skilled in many things, tell me,
     who is meant by the diseased, the sick, the broken, the driven
     away, and the lost? and whether the prophecy in this chapter be
     accomplished, or yet to come to pass? And thou wilt oblige thy
     friend, though unknown."

This matter is too sacred for this paper; but I can't see what injury
it would do any clergyman, to have it in his eye, and believe, all that
are taken from him by his want of industry, are to be demanded of him.
I daresay, Favonius[177] has very few of these losses. Favonius, in the
midst of a thousand impertinent assailants of the divine truths, is an
undisturbed defender of them. He protects all under his care, by the
clearness of his understanding, and the example of his life: he visits
dying men with the air of a man who hoped for his own dissolution, and
enforces in others a contempt of this life, by his own expectation of
the next. His voice and behaviour are the lively images of a composed
and well-governed zeal. None can leave him for the frivolous jargon
uttered by the ordinary teachers among Dissenters, but such who cannot
distinguish vociferation from eloquence, and argument from railing.
He is so great a judge of mankind, and touches our passions with so
superior a command, that he who deserts his congregation must be a
stranger to the dictates of nature, as well as to those of grace.

But I must proceed to other matters, and resolve the questions of other
inquirers; as in the following:

  "SIR,

  _Heddington, Sept. 19._

     "Upon reading that part of the _Tatler_, No. 69, where mention is
     made of a certain chapel-clerk, there arose a dispute, and that
     produced a wager, whether by the words chapel-clerk was meant a
     clergyman or a layman? By a clergyman, I mean one in holy orders.
     It was not that anybody in the company pretended to guess who the
     person was; but some asserted, that by Mr. Bickerstaff's words
     must be meant a clergyman only: others said, that those words
     might have been said of any clerk of a parish; and some of them
     more properly, of a layman. The wager is half-a-dozen bottles of
     wine; in which (if you please to determine it) your health, and
     all the family of the staffs, shall certainly be drunk; and you
     will singularly oblige another very considerable family. I mean
     that of

  "Your humble Servants,
  THE TRENCHER-CAPS."


It is very customary with us learned men, to find perplexities where
no one else can see any. The honest gentlemen who wrote me this, are
much at a loss to understand what I thought very plain; and in return,
their epistle is so plain that I can't understand it. This, perhaps, is
at first a little like nonsense; but I desire all persons to examine
these writings with an eye to my being far gone in the occult sciences;
and remember, that it is the privilege of the learned and the great to
be understood when they please: for as a man of much business may be
allowed to leave company when he pleases; so one of high learning may
be above your capacity when he thinks fit. But without further speeches
or fooling, I must inform my friends the Trencher-Caps in plain words,
that I meant in the place they speak of, a drunken clerk of a church:
and I will return their civility among my relations, and drink their
healths as they do ours.

FOOTNOTES:

[176] Martial, "Epig.," i. 14. See Pliny, "Epist.," iii. 18.

[177] Dr. Smalridge; see Preface to the _Tatler_, and No. 114.
Smalridge was born in 1663 at Lichfield, the son of a dyer. In 1678
he was sent to Westminster by Ashmole, and in 1682 was elected to
Christ Church, Oxford, where he became a tutor, and was associated
with Aldrich and Atterbury against Obadiah Walker, the Popish Master
of University College. In 1692 Smalridge became minister of Tothill
Fields Chapel; in 1693 he was collated to a prebend at Lichfield; in
1700 he was made D.D.; and in 1708 he was appointed Lecturer at St.
Dunstan's-in-the-West. In 1710 he presented Atterbury to the Upper
House of Convocation; in 1711 he became Canon of Christ Church and
Dean of Carlisle; in 1713 Dean of Christ Church, and in 1714 Bishop of
Bristol. He died in 1719, at Christ Church. Though a Tory, he was not
a violent politician, and both Addison and Steele were his friends.
Addison, writing to Swift, October 1, 1718, says, "The greatest
pleasure I have met with for some months is the conversation of my old
friend Dr. Smalridge, who, since the death of the excellent friend you
mention, is to me the most candid and agreeable of all bishops."



No. 73. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Sept. 24_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 27, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 26._

I cannot express the confusion the following letter gave me, which
I received by Sir Thomas this morning. There cannot be a greater
surprise, than to meet with sudden enmity in the midst of a familiar
and friendly correspondence; which is my case in relation to this
epistle: and I have no way to purge myself to the world, but publishing
both it and my answer.

     "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

     "You are a very impudent fellow to put me[178] into the _Tatler_.
     Rot you, sir, I have more wit than you; and rot me, I have more
     money than most fools I have bubbled. All persons of quality
     admire me; though, rot me, if I value a Blue Garter any more than
     I do a blue apron. Everybody knows I am brave; therefore have a
     care how you provoke

  "MONOCULUS."

     #/

THE ANSWER.

     "SIR,

     "Did I not very well know your hand, as well by the spelling as
     the character, I should not have believed yours of to-day had come
     from you. But when all men are acquainted, that I have had all
     my intelligence from you relating to your fraternity, let them
     pronounce who is the more impudent.[179] I confess I have had a
     peculiar tenderness for you, by reason of that luxuriant eloquence
     of which you are master, and have treated you accordingly; for
     which you have turned your florid violence against your ancient
     friend and schoolfellow. You know in your own conscience, you gave
     me leave to touch upon your vein of speaking, provided I hid your
     other talents; in which I believed you sincere, because, like the
     ancient Sinon,[180] you have before now suffered yourself to be
     defaced to carry on a plot. Besides, sir, 'Rot me,' language for a
     person of your present station. Fie, fie, I am really ashamed for
     you, and I shall no more depend upon your intelligence. Keep your
     temper, wash your face, and go to bed.

  "ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."


For aught I know, this fellow may have confused the description of the
pack, on purpose to ensnare the game, while I have all along believed
he was destroying them as well as myself. But because they pretend to
bark more than ordinary, I shall let them see, that I will not throw
away the whip, until they know better how to behave themselves. But I
must not at the same time omit the praises of their economy expressed
in the following advice:

  "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,[181]

  _Sept. 17._

     "Though your thoughts are at present employed upon the tables
     of fame, and marshalling your illustrious dead, it is hoped the
     living may not be neglected, nor defrauded of their just honours:
     and since you have begun to publish to the world the great
     sagacity and vigilance of the knights of the industry, it will be
     expected you should proceed to do justice to all the societies
     of them you can be informed of, especially since their own great
     industry covers their actions as much as possible from that public
     notice which is their due.

    "_Paullum sepultæ distat inertiæ
    Celata virtus._[182]

     Hidden vice, and concealed virtue, are much alike.

     "Be pleased therefore to let the following memoirs have a place in
     their history.

     "In a certain part of the town, famous for the freshest oysters
     and the plainest English, there is a house, or rather a college,
     sacred to hospitality, and the industrious arts. At the entrance
     is hieroglyphically drawn, a cavalier contending with a monster,
     with jaws expanded, just ready to devour him.[183]

     "Hither the brethren of the industry resort; but to avoid
     ostentation, they wear no habits of distinction, and perform
     their exercises with as little noise and show as possible. Here
     are no undergraduates, but each is a master of his art. They are
     distributed according to their various talents, and detached
     abroad in parties, to divide the labours of the day. They have
     dogs as well nosed and as fleet as any, and no sportsmen show
     greater activity. Some beat for the game, some hunt it, others
     come in at the death; and my honest landlord makes very good
     venison sauce, and eats his share of the dinner.

     "I would fain pursue my metaphors; but a venerable person who
     stands by me, and waits to bring you this letter, and whom, by a
     certain benevolence in his look, I suspect to be Pacolet, reproves
     me, and obliges me to write in plainer terms; that the society had
     fixed their eyes on a gay young gentleman who has lately succeeded
     to a title and an estate; the latter of which they judged would
     be very convenient for them. Therefore, after several attempts to
     get into his acquaintance, my landlord finds an opportunity to
     make his court to a friend of the young spark's, in the following
     manner:

     "'Sir, as I take you to be a lover of ingenuity and plain-dealing,
     I shall speak very freely to you. In few words then, you are
     acquainted with Sir Liberal Brisk. Providence has for our
     emolument sent him a fair estate, for men are not born for
     themselves. Therefore, if you'll bring him to my house, we will
     take care of him, and you shall have half the profits. There's
     Ace and Cutter will do his business to a hair. You'll tell me,
     perhaps, he's your friend: I grant it, and it is for that I
     propose it, to prevent his falling into ill hands.

    "'_We'll carve him like a dish fit for the gods,
    Not hew him like a carcass fit for hounds._[184]

     "'In short, there are to my certain knowledge a hundred mouths
     open for him. Now if we can secure him to ourselves, we shall
     disappoint all those rascals that don't deserve him. Nay, you
     need not start at it, sir, it is for your own advantage. Besides,
     Partridge has cast me his nativity, and I find by certain destiny,
     his oaks must be felled.'

     "The gentleman to whom this honest proposal was made, made little
     answer; but said he would consider of it, and immediately took
     coach to find out the young baronet, and told him all that had
     passed, together with the new salvo to satisfy a man's conscience
     in sacrificing his friend. Sir Brisk was fired, swore a dozen
     oaths, drew his sword, put it up again, called for his man, beat
     him, and bade him fetch a coach. His friend asked him, what he
     designed, and whither he was going? He answered, to find out the
     villains and fight them. To which his friend agreed, and promised
     to be his second, on condition he would first divide his estate to
     them, and reserve only a proportion to himself, that so he might
     have the justice of fighting his equals. His next resolution was
     to play with them, and let them see he was not the bubble they
     took him for. But he soon quitted that, and resolved at last to
     tell Bickerstaff of them, and get them enrolled in the order of
     the industry, with this caution to all young landed knights and
     squires, that whenever they are drawn to play, they would consider
     it as calling them down to a sentence already pronounced upon
     them, and think of the sound of those words, 'His oaks must be
     felled.'[185] I am,

  "Sir,
  Your faithful, humble Servant,
  WILL. TRUSTY."



_From my own Apartment, Sept. 26._

It is wonderful to consider to what a pitch of confidence this world
is arrived: do people believe I am made up of patience? I have long
told them, that I will suffer no enormity to pass, without I have an
understanding with the offenders by way of hush-money; and yet the
candidates at Queenhithe send all the town coals but me. All the public
papers have had this advertisement:

  _London, Sept. 22, 1709._

  _To the Electors of an Alderman for the Ward of Queenhithe._[186]

     "Whereas an evil and pernicious custom has of late very much
     prevailed at the election of aldermen for this city, by treating
     at taverns and alehouses, thereby engaging many unwarily to give
     their votes: which practice appearing to Sir Arthur de Bradly
     to be of dangerous consequence to the freedom of elections,
     he hath avoided the excess thereof. Nevertheless, to make an
     acknowledgment to this ward for their intended favour, he hath
     deposited in the hands of Mr.----, one of the present Common
     Council, four hundred and fifty pounds, to be disposed of as
     follows, provided the said Sir Arthur de Bradly be the alderman,
     viz.

     "All such that shall poll for Sir Arthur de Bradly, shall have one
     chaldron of good coals gratis.

     "And half a chaldron to every one that shall not poll against him.

     "And the remainder to be laid out in a clock, dial, or otherwise,
     as the Common Council-men of the said ward shall think fit.

     "And if any person shall refuse to take the said coals to himself,
     he may assign the same to any poor electors in the ward.

     "I do acknowledge to have received the said four hundred and fifty
     pounds, for the purposes above mentioned, for which I have given a
     receipt.

  Witness,  J----s H----t,
            J----y G----h,    J----n M----y.[187]
            E----d D----s.

     "_N.B._--Whereas several persons have already engaged to poll
     for Sir Humphry Greenhat, it is hereby further declared, that
     every such person as doth poll for Sir Humphry Greenhat, and doth
     also poll for Sir Arthur de Bradly, shall each of them receive a
     chaldron of coals gratis, on the proviso above mentioned."

This is certainly the most plain dealing that ever was used, except
that the just quantity which an elector may drink without excess,
and the difference between an acknowledgment and a bribe, wants
explanation. Another difficulty with me is, how a man who is bargained
with for a chaldron of coals for his vote, shall be said to have
that chaldron gratis? If my kinsman Greenhat had given me the least
intimation of his design, I should have prevented his publishing
nonsense; nor should any knight in England have put my relation at the
bottom of the leaf as a postscript, when after all it appears Greenhat
has been the more popular man. There is here such open contradiction,
and clumsy art to palliate the matter, and prove to the people, that
the freedom of election is safer when laid out in coals, than strong
drink, that I can turn this only to a religious use, and admire the
dispensation of things; for if these fellows were as wise as they
are rich, where would soon be our liberty? This reminds me of a
memorable speech[188] made to a city almost in the same latitude with
Westminster. "When I think of your wisdom, I admire your wealth; when I
think of your wealth, I admire your wisdom."

FOOTNOTES:

[178] Sir Humphry Monoux. See No. 36.

[179] "As for the satirical part of these writings, those against the
gentlemen who profess gaming are the most licentious: but the main of
them I take to come from losing gamesters, as invectives against the
fortunate; for in very many of them I was very little else but the
transcriber. If any have been more particularly marked at, such persons
may impute it to their own behaviour before they were touched upon, in
publicly speaking their resentment against the author, and professing
they would support any man who should insult him." (No. 271.)

[180] The story of the capture of Troy through Sinon's treachery, by
help of a wooden horse, is told in the second book of the "Æneid."
Sinon, as Dryden puts it, was

    "Taken, to take--who made himself their prey,
    T'impose on their belief, and Troy betray."

In the original editions "Sinon" is misprinted "Simon."

[181] This letter was by John Hughes.

[182] Horace, 4 Od., ix. 29.

[183] There was a public-house called the George and Dragon at
Billingsgate.

[184] "Julius Cæsar," act ii. sc. 1 ("Let's carve," &c.).

[185] _Cf._ the story of Mr. Thomas Charlton in the "Memoirs of
Gamesters," &c., p. 150. Tickell alludes to this letter in his verses
to the _Spectator_, printed in No. 532:--

    "From felon gamesters the raw squire is free,
    And Britain owes her rescued oaks to thee."



[186] The original handbill in the British Museum (Harl. MSS.,
Badford's Coll. 5996) shows that the real names of the two candidates,
called in the _Tatler_ Sir Arthur de Bradly and Sir Humphry Greenhat,
were Sir Ambrose Crowley and Sir Benjamin Green. The name of Crowley's
agent, and those of his witnesses, are only marked by Steele with their
initial and final letters. In every other respect, dates not excepted,
the papers are word for word the same. The candidates were Sir Ambrose
Crowley and Deputy Gough on one side; and Sir Benj. Green and Deputy
Tooley on the other. On Sept. 23, 1709, the majority was declared for
the two latter without a poll. (_Post Boy_, Sept. 22-24, 1709.)

[187] John Midgley. The witnesses were James Hallet, Jeremy Gough, and
Edward Davis (Harl. MSS., 5996).

[188] By Queen Elizabeth.



No. 74. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Sept. 27_, to _Thursday, Sept. 29, 1709_.


_Whites Chocolate-house, Sept. 28._

The writer of the following letter has made a use of me, which I did
not foresee I should fall into. But the gentleman having assured me,
that he has a most tender passion for the fair one, and speaking his
intentions with so much sincerity, I am willing to let them contrive an
interview by my means.

     "SIR,

     "I earnestly entreat you to publish the enclosed; for I have no
     other way to come at her, or return to myself. A. L.

     "_P.S._--Mr. Bickerstaff,

     "You can't imagine how handsome she is: the superscription of my
     letter will make her recollect the man that gazed at her. Pray put
     it in."

I can assure the young lady, the gentleman is in the true trammels of
love: how else would he make his superscription so very much longer
than his billet? He superscribes:

     "To the younger of the two ladies in mourning (who sat in
     the hindmost seat of the middle box at Mr. Winstanley's
     water-works,[189] on Tuesday was fortnight, and had with them a
     brother, or some acquaintance that was as careless of that pretty
     creature as a brother; which seeming brother ushered them to their
     coach), with great respect. Present.

  "MADAM,

     "I have a very good estate, and wish myself your husband. Let me
     know by this way where you live, for I shall be miserable till we
     live together.

  ALEXANDER LANDLORD."


This is the modern way of bargain and sale; a certain shorthand
writing, in which laconic elder brothers are very successful. All my
fear is, that the nymph's elder sister is unmarried. If she is, we are
undone: but perhaps the careless fellow was her husband; and then she
will let us go on.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 28._

The following letter has given me a new sense of the nature of my
writings. I have the deepest regard to conviction, and shall never act
against it. However, I do not yet understand what good man he thinks
I have injured: but his epistle has such weight in it, that I shall
always have respect for his admonition, and desire the continuance of
it. I am not conscious that I have spoken any faults a man may not mend
if he pleases.

  "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

  _Sept. 25._

     "When I read your paper of Thursday,[190] I was surprised to find
     mine of the 13th inserted at large; I never intended myself or
     you a second trouble of this kind, believing I had sufficiently
     pointed out the man you had injured, and that by this time you
     were convinced that silence would be the best answer; but finding
     your reflections are such as naturally call for a reply, I take
     this way of doing it; and, in the first place, return you thanks
     for the compliment made me of my seeming sense and worth. I do
     assure you, I shall always endeavour to convince mankind of the
     latter, though I have no pretence to the former. But to come a
     little nearer, I observe you put yourself under a very severe
     restriction, even the laying down the _Tatler_ for ever, if I can
     give you an instance, 'wherein you have injured any good man, or
     pointed at anything which is not the true object of raillery.'

     "I must confess, Mr. Bickerstaff, if the making a man guilty of
     vices that would shame the gallows, be the best methods to point
     at the true object of raillery, I have until this time been very
     ignorant; but if it be so, I will venture to assert one thing, and
     lay it down as a maxim, even to the Staffian race, viz., that that
     method of pointing ought no more to be pursued, than those people
     ought to cut your throat who suffer by it, because I take both
     to be murder, and the law is not in every private man's hands to
     execute: but indeed, sir, were you the only person would suffer by
     the _Tatler's_ discontinuance, I have malice enough to punish you
     in the manner you prescribe; but I am not so great an enemy to the
     town or my own pleasures, as to wish it; nor that you would lay
     aside lashing the reigning vices, so long as you keep to the true
     spirit of satire, without descending to rake into characters below
     its dignity; for as you well observe, 'there is something very
     terrible in unjustly attacking men in a way that may prejudice
     their honour or fortune;' and indeed, where crimes are enormous,
     the delinquent deserves little pity, yet the reporter may deserve
     less: and here I am naturally led to that celebrated author of
     'The Whole Duty of Man,' who hath set this matter in a true light
     in his treatise of 'The Government of the Tongue;'[191] where,
     speaking of uncharitable truths, he says, a discovery of this kind
     serves not to reclaim, but enrage the offender, and precipitate
     him into further degrees of ill. Modesty and fear of shame is
     one of those natural restraints, which the wisdom of heaven has
     put upon mankind; and he that once stumbles, may yet by a check
     of that bridle recover again: but when by a public detection
     he is fallen under that infamy he feared, he will then be apt
     to discard all caution, and to think he owes himself the utmost
     pleasures of vice, as the price of his reputation. Nay, perhaps
     he advances further, and sets up for a reversed sort of fame, by
     being eminently wicked, and he who before was but a clandestine
     disciple, becomes a doctor of impiety, &c. This sort of reasoning,
     sir, most certainly induced our wise legislators very lately to
     repeal that law which put the stamp of infamy in the face of
     felons; therefore you had better give an act of oblivion to your
     delinquents, at least for transportation, than continue to mark
     them in so notorious a manner. I cannot but applaud your designed
     attempt of raising merit from obscurity, celebrating virtue
     in distress, and attacking vice in another method, by setting
     innocence in a proper light. Your pursuing these noble themes,
     will make a greater advance to the reformation you seem to aim
     at, than the method you have hitherto taken, by putting mankind
     beyond the power of retrieving themselves, or indeed to think it
     possible. But if after all your endeavours in this new way, there
     should then remain any hardened impenitents, you must even give
     them up to the rigour of the law, as delinquents not within the
     benefit of their clergy. Pardon me, good Mr. Bickerstaff, for
     the tediousness of this epistle, and believe it is not from any
     self-conviction I have taken up so much of your time, or my own;
     but supposing you mean all your lucubrations should tend to the
     good of mankind, I may the easier hope your pardon, being,

  "Sir,
  Yours, &c."

     #/


_Grecian Coffee-house, Sept. 29._[192]

This evening I thought fit to notify to the literati of this house,
and by that means to all the world, that on Saturday the 15th of
October next ensuing, I design to fix my first table of fame;[193] and
desire that such as are acquainted with the characters of the twelve
most famous men that have ever appeared in the world, would send in
their lists, or name any one man for that table, assigning also his
place at it before that time, upon pain of having such his man of
fame postponed, or placed too high for ever. I shall not, upon any
application whatsoever, alter the place which upon that day I shall
give to any of these worthies. But whereas there are many who take upon
them to admire this hero, or that author, upon second-hand, I expect
each subscriber should underwrite his reason for the place he allots
his candidate.

The thing is of the last consequence; for we are about settling the
greatest point that has ever been debated in any age, and I shall take
precautions accordingly. Let every man who votes consider, that he is
now going to give away that, for which the soldier gave up his rest,
his pleasure, and his life; the scholar resigned his whole series of
thought, his midnight repose, and his morning slumbers. In a word, he
is (as I may say) to be judge of that after-life, which noble spirits
prefer to their very real being. I hope I shall be forgiven therefore,
if I make some objections against their jury as they shall occur to
me. The whole of the number by whom they are to be tried, are to be
scholars. I am persuaded also, that Aristotle will be put up by all
of that class of men. However, in behalf of others, such as wear the
livery of Aristotle, the two famous universities are called upon on
this occasion; but I except the men of Queen's, Exeter, and Jesus
Colleges,[194] in Oxford, who are not to be electors, because he shall
not be crowned from an implicit faith in his writings, but to receive
his honour from such judges as shall allow him to be censured. Upon
this election (as I was just now going to say) I banish all who think
and speak after others to concern themselves in it. For which reason
all illiterate distant admirers are forbidden to corrupt the voices,
by sending, according to the new mode, any poor students coals and
candles for their votes[195] in behalf of such worthies as they pretend
to esteem. All news-writers are also excluded, because they consider
fame as it is a report which gives foundation to the filling up their
rhapsodies, and not as it is the emanation or consequence of good and
evil actions. These are excepted against as justly as butchers in case
of life and death: their familiarity with the greatest names takes off
the delicacy of their regard, as dealing in blood makes the _lanii_
less tender of spilling it.


_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 28._

Letters from Lisbon of the 25th inst., N. S., speak of a battle which
has been fought near the river Cinca, in which General Staremberg had
overthrown the army of the Duke of Anjou. The persons who send this,
excuse their not giving particulars, because they believed an account
must have arrived here before we could hear from them. They had advices
from different parts, which concurred in the circumstances of the
action; after which the army of his Catholic Majesty advanced as far as
Fraga, and the enemy retired to Saragossa. There are reports that the
Duke of Anjou was in the engagement; but letters of good authority say,
that prince was on the road towards the camp when he received the news
of the defeat of his troops. We promise ourselves great consequences
from such an advantage, obtained by so accomplished a general as
Staremberg; who, among the men of this present age, is esteemed the
third in military fame and reputation.

FOOTNOTES:

[189] Henry Winstanley, son of Hamlet Winstanley, the projector and
builder of Eddystone light-house, was designed for a painter, but
became an engraver, and clerk of the works at Audley Inn in 1694, and
New-market in 1700. Walpole supposes that he learned in Italy the
tricks and contrivances which amused the public at Piccadilly and
Littlebury.

Winstanley's mathematical water theatre stood at the lower end of
Piccadilly, distinguishable by a windmill at the top. The exhibitions
here were diversified to suit the seasons and the company; and the
prices, except that of the sixpenny gallery, varied accordingly.
Boxes were from four shillings to half-a-crown, pit from three to
two shillings, and a seat in the shilling gallery sometimes cost
eighteen-pence. The quantity of water used on extraordinary occasions
was from 300 to 800 tons. Winstanley had another house of this sort
at Littlebury, in Essex, where there were similar exhibitions. On his
death, his houses came into the possession of his widow, for whose
benefit they were shown in 1713.

From contemporary advertisements we learn, that the mathematical barrel
was at times turned into a tavern, and supplied the company with
different sorts of wine, biscuits, spa-water, and cold tankards; it
was also converted into a coffee-house, and a flying cupid presented
tea, coffee, and newspapers to the gentlemen; fruits, flowers, and
sweetmeats to the ladies. In the month of May there was the addition
of a May-pole and garland, a milkmaid, a fiddler, and syllabubs.
Soft music was heard at a distance, or sirens sung on the rocks.
An advertisement in the _Daily Courant_ for Jan. 20, 1713, speaks
of "great additions, to the expense of 300 tons of water, and fire
mingling with the water, and two flying boys, and a flaming torch with
water flowing out of the burning flame."

[190] No. 71.

[191] Published in 1674. "The Whole Duty of Man" has been attributed to
various authors; but probably it was written by Richard Allestree.

[192] This article is often ascribed to Swift; but looking to the date
at the head of it, such a theory seems disproved by Steele's letter to
Swift of October 8: "I wonder you do not write sometimes to me" (see
note to No. 81). The article cannot have been held over for any time
by Steele, because of the allusions in it to the Queenhithe election;
this was a matter respecting which Steele had written in the preceding
number, whereas Swift could not have heard of it in Dublin.

[193] See Nos. 67, 81.

[194] They were obliged by the statutes of these colleges to keep to
Aristotle for their texts (Nichols).

[195] See the account of the Queenhithe election in No. 73.



No. 75. [STEELE and ADDISON.[196]

From _Thursday, Sept. 29_, to _Saturday, Oct. 1, 1709_


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 30._

I am called off from public dissertations by a domestic affair of great
importance, which is no less than the disposal of my sister Jenny for
life. The girl is a girl of great merit, and pleasing conversation;
but I being born of my father's first wife, and she of his third, she
converses with me rather like a daughter than a sister. I have indeed
told her, that if she kept her honour, and behaved herself in such
manner as became the Bickerstaffs, I would get her an agreeable man for
her husband; which was a promise I made her after reading a passage in
Pliny's Epistles.[197] That polite author had been employed to find out
a consort for his friend's daughter, and gives the following character
of the man he had pitched upon:

"Aciliano plurimum vigoris et industriæ quanqum in maxima verecundia:
est illi facies liberalis, multo sanguine, multo rubore, suffusa: est
ingenua totius corporis pulchritudo, et quidum senatorius decor, quæ
ego nequaquam arbitror negligenda: debet enim hoc castitati puellarum
quasi præmium dari."

"Acilianus (for that was the gentleman's name) is a man of
extraordinary vigour and industry, accompanied with the greatest
modesty. He has very much of the gentleman, with a lively colour, and
flush of health in his aspect. His whole person is finely turned,
and speaks him a man of quality: which are qualifications that, I
think, ought by no means to be overlooked, and should be bestowed on a
daughter as the reward of her chastity."

A woman that will give herself liberties, need not put her parents
to so much trouble; for if she does not possess these ornaments in a
husband, she can supply herself elsewhere. But this is not the case
of my sister Jenny, who, I may say without vanity, is as unspotted
a spinster as any in Great Britain. I shall take this occasion to
recommend the conduct of our own family in this particular.

We have in the genealogy of our house, the descriptions and pictures
of our ancestors from the time of King Arthur; in whose days there was
one of my own name, a Knight of his Round Table, and known by the name
of Sir Isaac Bickerstaff. He was low of stature, and of a very swarthy
complexion, not unlike a Portuguese Jew. But he was more prudent than
men of that height usually are, and would often communicate to his
friends his design of lengthening and whitening his posterity. His
eldest son Ralph, for that was his name, was for this reason married to
a lady who had little else to recommend her, but that she was very tall
and very fair. The issue of this match, with the help of high shoes,
made a tolerable figure in the next age; though the complexion of the
family was obscure until the fourth generation from that marriage. From
which time, till the reign of William the Conqueror, the females of
our house were famous for their needlework and fine skins. In the male
line, there happened an unlucky accident in the reign of Richard the
Third; the eldest son of Philip, then chief of the family, being born
with an hump-back and very high nose. This was the more astonishing,
because none of his forefathers ever had such a blemish; nor indeed was
there any in the neighbourhood of that make, except the butler, who was
noted for round shoulders, and a Roman nose: what made the nose the
less excusable, was the remarkable smallness of his eyes.

These several defects were mended by succeeding matches; the eyes were
opened in the next generation, and the hump fell in a century and a
half; but the greatest difficulty was, how to reduce the nose; which
I do not find was accomplished till about the middle of Henry the
Seventh's reign, or rather the beginning of that of Henry the Eighth.

But while our ancestors were thus taken up in cultivating the eyes and
nose, the face of the Bickerstaffs fell down insensibly into chin;
which was not taken notice of (their thoughts being so much employed
upon the more noble features) till it became almost too long to be
remedied.

But length of time, and successive care in our alliances, have cured
this also, and reduced our faces into that tolerable oval which we
enjoy at present. I would not be tedious in this discourse, but cannot
but observe, that our race suffered very much about three hundred years
ago, by the marriage of one of our heiresses with an eminent courtier,
who gave us spindle-shanks, and cramps in our bones, insomuch that we
did not recover our health and legs till Sir Walter Bickerstaff married
Maud the milkmaid, of whom the then Garter King-at-arms (a facetious
person) said pleasantly enough, that she had spoiled our blood, but
mended our constitutions. After this account of the effect our prudent
choice of matches has had upon our persons and features, I cannot
but observe, that there are daily instances of as great changes made
by marriage upon men's minds and humours. One might wear any passion
out of a family by culture, as skilful gardeners blot a colour out of
a tulip that hurts its beauty. One might produce an affable temper
out of a shrew, by grafting the mild upon the choleric; or raise a
Jack-pudding from a prude, by inoculating mirth and melancholy. It
is for want of care in the disposing of our children, with regard to
our bodies and minds, that we go into a house and see such different
complexions and humours in the same race and family. But to me it is
as plain as a pikestaff, from what mixture it is, that this daughter
silently lowers, the other steals a kind look at you, a third is
exactly well behaved, a fourth a splenetic, and a fifth a coquette. In
this disposal of my sister, I have chosen, with an eye to her being
a wit, and provided, that the bridegroom be a man of a sound and
excellent judgment, who will seldom mind what she says when she begins
to harangue: for Jenny's only imperfection is an admiration of her
parts, which inclines her to be a little, but a very little, sluttish;
and you are ever to remark, that we are apt to cultivate most, and
bring into observation, what we think most excellent in ourselves, or
most capable of improvement. Thus my sister, instead of consulting her
glass and her toilet for an hour and a half after her private devotion,
sits with her nose full of snuff,[198] and a man's nightcap on her
head, reading plays and romances. Her wit she thinks her distinction;
therefore knows nothing of the skill of dress, or making her person
agreeable. It would make you laugh to see me often with my spectacles
on lacing her stays; for she is so very a wit, that she understands no
ordinary thing in the world. For this reason I have disposed of her to
a man of business, who will soon let her see, that to be well dressed,
in good humour, and cheerful in the command of her family, are the arts
and sciences of female life. I could have bestowed her upon a fine
gentleman, who extremely admired her wit, and would have given her a
coach and six: but I found it absolutely necessary to cross the strain;
for had they met, they had eternally been rivals in discourse, and in
continual contention for the superiority of understanding, and brought
forth critics, pedants, or pretty good poets. As it is, I expect an
offspring fit for the habitation of city, town, or country; creatures
that are docile and tractable in whatever we put them to. To convince
men of the necessity of taking this method, let but one, even below the
skill of an astrologer, behold the turn of faces he meets as soon as he
passes Cheapside Conduit, and you see a deep attention and a certain
unthinking sharpness in every countenance. They look attentive, but
their thoughts are engaged on mean purposes. To me it is very apparent
when I see a citizen pass by, whether his head is upon woollen, silks,
iron, sugar, indigo, or stocks. Now this trace of thought appears or
lies hid in the race for two or three generations. I know at this time
a person of a vast estate, who is the immediate descendant of a fine
gentleman, but the great-grandson of a broker, in whom his ancestor is
now revived. He is a very honest gentleman in his principles, but can't
for his blood talk fairly: he is heartily sorry for it; but he cheats
by constitution, and overreaches by instinct.

The happiness of the man who marries my sister will be, that he has
no faults to correct in her but her own, a little bias of fancy, or
particularity of manners, which grew in herself, and can be amended by
her. From such an untainted couple, we can hope to have our family rise
to its ancient splendour of face, air, countenance, manner, and shape,
without discovering the product of ten nations in one house. There is
Obadiah Greenhat says, he never comes into any company in England, but
he distinguishes the different nations of which we are composed: there
is scarce such a living creature as a true Briton. We sit down indeed
all friends, acquaintance, and neighbours; but after two bottles, you
see a Dane start up and swear, the kingdom is his own. A Saxon drinks
up the whole quart, and swears, he'll dispute that with him. A Norman
tells them both, he'll assert his liberty: and a Welshman cries, they
are all foreigners and intruders of yesterday, and beats them out of
the room. Such accidents happen frequently among neighbours' children,
and cousins-german. For which reason I say, study your race, or the
soil of your family will dwindle into cits or squires, or run up into
wits or madmen[199].

FOOTNOTES:

[196] In the list given by Steele to Tickell this paper was marked as
written by Addison and Steele in conjunction.

[197] Book i., Epist. xiv.

[198] See No. 35.

[199] "In the _Tatler_, about the conduct of our family in their
marriages [_Tatler_, No. 75], put in where you think best: 'It is to
be noted, that the women of our family never change their name.' This
amendment must be made, or we have writ nonsense." (No. 79, folio
issue.)



No. 76. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 1_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 4, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 3._

It is a thing very much to be lamented, that a man must use a certain
cunning to speak to people of what it is their interest to avoid. All
men will allow, that it is a great and heroic work to correct men's
errors, and at the price of being called a common enemy, to go on in
being a common friend to my fellow-subjects and citizens. But I am
forced in this work to revolve the same thing in ten thousand lights,
and cast them in as many forms, to come at men's minds and affections,
in order to lead the innocent in safety, as well as disappoint the
artifices of betrayers. Since therefore I can make no impression upon
the offending side, I shall turn my observations upon the offended:
that is to say, I must whip my children for going into bad company,
instead of railing at bad company for ensnaring my children. The
greatest misfortunes men fall into, arise from themselves; and that
temper, which is called very often, though with great injustice,
good-nature, is the source of a numberless train of evils. For which
reason we are to take this as a rule, that no action is commendable
which is not voluntary; and we have made this a maxim--that man who
is commonly called good-natured, is hardly to be thanked for anything
he does, because half that is acted about him, is done rather by his
sufferance than approbation. It is generally a laziness of disposition,
which chooses rather to let things pass the worst way, than to go
through the pain of examination. It must be confessed, such a one has
so great a benevolence in him, that he bears a thousand uneasinesses,
rather than he will incommode others; nay, often when he has just
reason to be offended, chooses to sit down with a small injury, than
bring it into reprehension, out of pure compassion to the offender.
Such a person has it usually said of him, he is no man's enemy but
his own; which is in effect saying, he is a friend to every man but
himself and his friends: for by a natural consequence of his neglecting
himself, he either incapacitates himself to be another's friend, or
makes others cease to be his. If I take no care of my own affairs, no
man that is my friend can take it ill if I am negligent also of his.
This soft disposition, if it continues uncorrected, throws men into a
sea of difficulties. There is Euphusius, with all the good qualities in
the world, deserves well of nobody: that universal good-will which is
so strong in him, exposes him to the assault of every invader upon his
time, his conversation, and his property. His diet is butcher's meat,
his wenches are in plain pinners and Norwich crapes,[200] his dress
like other people, his income great, and yet has he seldom a guinea at
command. From these easy gentlemen, are collected estates by servants
or gamesters; which latter fraternity are excusable, when we think of
this clan, who seem born to be their prey. All therefore of the family
of Actæon[201] are to take notice, that they are hereby given up to
the brethren of the industry, with this reserve only, that they are to
be marked as stricken deer, not for their own sakes, but to preserve
the herd from following them and coming within the scent. I am obliged
to leave this important subject, without telling whose quarters are
severed, who has the humbles, who the haunch, and who the legs, of the
last stag that was pulled down; but this is only deferred in hopes
my deer will make their escape without more admonitions or examples,
of which they have had (in mine and the town's opinion) too great a
plenty. I must, I say, at present go to other matters of moment.


_White's Chocolate-house, October 3._

The lady has answered the letter of Mr. Alexander Landlord, which was
published on Thursday last,[202] but in such a manner as I do not
think fit to proceed in the affair; for she has plainly told him, that
love is her design, but marriage her aversion. Bless me! What is this
age come to, that people can think to make a pimp of an astronomer?
I shall not promote such designs, but shall leave her to find out
her admirer, while I speak to another case sent to me by a letter of
September 30, subscribed Lovewell Barebones, where the author desires
me to suspend my care of the dead, till I have done something for the
dying. His case is, that the lady he loves is ever accompanied by a
kinswoman, one of those gay, cunning women, who prevent all the love
which is not addressed to themselves. This creature takes upon her in
his mistress's presence to ask him, whether Mrs. Florimel (that is the
cruel one's name) is not very handsome; upon which he looks silly;
then they both laugh out, and she will tell him, that Mrs. Florimel
had an equal passion for him, but desired him not to expect the first
time to be admitted in private; but that now he was at liberty before
her only, who was her friend, to speak his mind, and that his mistress
expected it. Upon which Florimel acts a virgin-confusion, and with
some disorder waits his speech. Here ever follows a deep silence;
after which a loud laugh. Mr. Barebones applies himself to me on this
occasion. All the advice I can give him is, to find a lover for the
confidant, for there is no other bribe will prevail; and I see by her
carriage, that it is no hard matter, for she is too gay to have a
particular passion, or to want a general one.

Some days ago the town had a full charge laid against my Essays, and
printed at large. I altered not one word of what he of the contrary
opinion said; but have blotted out some warm things said for me;
therefore please to hear the counsel for the defendant, though I shall
be so no otherwise than to take a middle way, and, if possible, keep
commendations from being insipid to men's taste, or raillery pernicious
to their characters.

  "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

  _Sept. 30._

     "As I always looked upon satire as the best friend to reformation,
     whilst its lashes were general, so that gentleman[203] must excuse
     me, if I do not see the inconvenience of a method he is so much
     concerned at. The errors he assigns in it, I think, are comprised
     in the desperation men are generally driven to, when by a public
     detection they fall under the infamy they feared, who otherwise,
     by checking their bridle, might have recovered their stumble, and
     through a self-conviction become their own reformers: so he that
     was before but a clandestine disciple (to use his own quotation),
     is now become a doctor in impiety, The little success that is to
     be expected by these methods from a hardened offender, is too
     evident to insist on; yet it is true, there is a great deal of
     charity in this sort of reasoning, whilst the effects of those
     crimes extend not beyond themselves. But what relation has this
     to your proceedings? It is not a circumstantial guessing will
     serve turn, for there are more than one to pretend to any of your
     characters; but there must at least be something that must amount
     to a nominal description, before even common fame can separate me
     from the rest of mankind to dart at. A general representation of
     an action, either ridiculous or enormous, may make those wince who
     find too much similitude in the character with themselves to plead
     not guilty; but none but a witness to the crime can charge them
     with the guilt, whilst the indictment is general, and the offender
     has the asylum of the whole world to protect him. Here can then
     be no injustice, where no one is injured; for it is themselves
     must appropriate the saddle, before scandal can ride them. Your
     method then, in my opinion, is no way subject to the charge
     brought against it; but on the contrary, I believe this advantage
     is too often drawn from it, that whilst we laugh at, or detest the
     uncertain subject of the satire, we often find something in the
     error a parallel to ourselves; and being insensibly drawn to the
     comparison we would get rid of, we plunge deeper into the mire,
     and shame produces that which advice has been too weak for; and
     you, sir, get converts you never thought of. As for descending to
     characters below the dignity of satire, what men think are not
     beneath commission, I must assure him, I think are not beneath
     reproof: for as there is as much folly in a ridiculous deportment,
     as there is enormity in a criminal one, so neither the one nor the
     other ought to plead exemption. The kennel of curs are as much
     enemies to the state, as Gregg[204] for his confederacy; for as
     this betrayed our Government, so the other does our property,
     and one without the other is equally useless. As for the act of
     oblivion he so strenuously insists on, _Le Roi s'avisera_ is a
     fashionable answer; and for his modus of panegyric, the hint was
     unnecessary, where Virtue need never ask twice for her laurel.
     But as for his reformation by opposites, I again must ask his
     pardon, if I think the effects of these sort of reasonings (by
     the paucity of converts) are too great an argument, both of their
     imbecility and unsuccessfulness, to believe it will be any better
     than misspending of time, by suspending a method that will turn
     more to advantage, and which has no other danger of losing ground,
     but by discontinuance. And as I am certain (of what he supposes)
     that your lucubrations are intended for the public benefit, so I
     hope you will not give them so great an interruption, by laying
     aside the only method that can render you beneficial to mankind,
     and (among others) agreeable to,

  "Sir,
  Your humble Servant, &c."[205]



_St. James's Coffee-house, October 3._

Letters from the camp at Havre on the 7th instant, N.S., advise, that
the trenches were opened before Mons on the 27th of last month, and the
approaches were carried on at two attacks with great application and
success, notwithstanding the rains which had fallen; that the besiegers
had made themselves masters of several redoubts, and other outworks,
and had advanced the approaches within ten paces of the counterscarps
of the hornwork. Lieutenant-General Cadogan received a slight wound in
the neck soon after opening the trenches.

The enemy were throwing up entrenchments between Quesnoy and
Valenciennes, and the Chevalier de Luxemburg was encamped near
Charleroi with a body of 10,000 men. Advices from Catalonia by the
way of Genoa import, that Count Staremberg, having passed the Segra,
advanced towards Balaguier, which place he took after a few hours'
resistance, and made the garrison, consisting of three Spanish
battalions, prisoners of war. Letters from Berne say, that the army
under the command of Count Thaun had begun to repass the mountains, and
would shortly evacuate Savoy.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whereas Mr. Bickerstaff has received intelligence, that a young
gentleman, who has taken my discourses upon John Partridge and others
in too literal a sense, and is suing an elder brother to an ejectment;
the aforesaid young gentleman is hereby advised to drop his action, no
man being esteemed dead in law, who eats and drinks, and receives his
rents.

FOOTNOTES:

[200] A reversible dress material of mingled silk and worsted,
produced at Norwich, and therefore called Norwich crape. It attained
such popularity early in the present century, says Beck's "Drapers'
Dictionary," that it superseded bombazine.

[201] See No. 59.

[202] See No. 74.

[203] See _Tatler_, No. 74, Sept. 29 (Steele).

[204] William Gregg, a clerk in Harley's office, was detected in
a treasonable correspondence with the French Government, and was
executed. He left behind him a paper exonerating Harley, who had been
suspected of complicity.

[205] This letter may, as Nichols suggested, be by John Hughes. See
letters in Nos. 64, 66, and 73.



No. 77. [STEELE.[206]

From _Tuesday, Oct. 4_, to _Thursday, Oct. 6, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 5._

As bad as the world is, I find by very strict observation upon virtue
and vice, that if men appeared no worse than they really are, I should
have less work than at present I am obliged to undertake for their
reformation.

They have generally taken up a kind of inverted ambition, and affect
even faults and imperfections of which they are innocent. The other
day in a coffee-house I stood by a young heir, with a fresh, sanguine,
and healthy look, who entertained us with an account of his claps and
his diet-drink; though, to my knowledge, he is as sound as any of his
tenants. This worthy youth put me into reflections upon that subject;
and I observed the fantastical humour to be so general, that there is
hardly a man who is not more or less tainted with it. The first of
this order of men are the valetudinarians, who are never in health,
but complain of want of stomach or rest every day till noon, and then
devour all which comes before them. Lady Dainty[207] is convinced, that
it is necessary for a gentlewoman to be out of order; and to preserve
that character, she dines every day in her closet at twelve, that she
may become her table at two, and be unable to eat in public. About
five years ago, I remember it was the fashion to be short-sighted: a
man would not own an acquaintance until he had first examined him with
his glass. At a lady's entrance into the play-house, you might see
tubes immediately levelled at her from every quarter of the pit and
side-boxes.[208] However, that mode of infirmity is out, and the age
has recovered its sight; but the blind seem to be succeeded by the
lame, and a jaunty limp is the present beauty. I think I have formerly
observed, a cane is part of the dress of a prig, and always worn upon
a button, for fear he should be thought to have an occasion for it, or
be esteemed really, and not genteelly, a cripple. I have considered,
but could never find out the bottom of this vanity. I indeed have heard
of a Gascon general, who, by the lucky grazing of a bullet on the roll
of his stocking, took occasion to halt all his life after. But as for
our peaceable cripples, I know no foundation for their behaviour,
without it may be supposed that in this warlike age, some think a
cane the next honour to a wooden leg. This sort of affectation I have
known run from one limb or member to another. Before the limpers came
in, I remember a race of lispers, fine persons, who took an aversion
to particular letters in our language: some never uttered the letter
H; and others had as mortal an aversion for S. Others have had their
fashionable defect in their ears, and would make you repeat all you
said twice over. I know an ancient friend of mine, whose table is every
day surrounded with flatterers, that makes use of this, sometimes as a
piece of grandeur, and at others as an art, to make them repeat their
commendations. Such affectations have been indeed in the world in
ancient times; but they fell into them out of politic ends. Alexander
the Great had a wry neck, which made it the fashion in his court to
carry their heads on one side when they came into the presence. One
who thought to outshine the whole court, carried his head so very
complaisantly, that this martial prince gave him so great a box on the
ear as set all the heads of the court upright.

This humour takes place in our minds as well as bodies. I know at
this time a young gentleman, who talks atheistically all day in
coffee-houses, and in his degrees of understanding sets up for a
free-thinker; though it can be proved upon him, he says his prayers
every morning and evening. But this class of modern wits I shall
reserve for a chapter by itself. Of the like turn are all your
marriage-haters, who rail at the noose, at the words, "For ever and
aye," and are secretly pining for some young thing or other that makes
their hearts ache by her refusal. The next to these, are those who
pretend to govern their wives, and boast how ill they use them; when
at the same time, go to their houses, and you shall see them step as
if they feared making a noise, and are as fond as an alderman. I don't
know, but sometimes these pretences may arise from a desire to conceal
a contrary defect than that they set up for. I remember, when I was a
young fellow, we had a companion of a very fearful complexion, who,
when we sat in to drink, would desire us to take his sword from him
when he grew fuddled, for it was his misfortune to be quarrelsome.
There are many, many of these evils, which demand my observation; but
because I have of late been thought somewhat too satirical, I shall
give them warning, and declare to the whole world, that they are not
true, but false hypocrites; and make it out, that they are good men
in their hearts. The motive of this monstrous affectation in the
above-mentioned, and the like particulars, I take to proceed from that
noble thirst of fame and reputation which is planted in the hearts
of all men. As this produces elegant writings and gallant actions in
men of great abilities, it also brings forth spurious productions in
men who are not capable of distinguishing themselves by things which
are really praiseworthy. As the desire of fame in men of true wit
and gallantry shows itself in proper instances, the same desire in
men who have the ambition without proper faculties, runs wild, and
discovers itself in a thousand extravagancies, by which they would
signalise themselves from others, and gain a set of admirers. When I
was a middle-aged man, there were many societies of ambitious young
men in England, who, in their pursuits after fame, were every night
employed in roasting porters, smoking cobblers, knocking down watchmen,
overturning constables, breaking windows, blackening sign-posts,
and the like immortal enterprises, that dispersed their reputation
throughout the whole kingdom. One could hardly find a knocker at a door
in a whole street after a midnight expedition of these _beaux esprits_.
I was lately very much surprised by an account of my maid, who entered
my bedchamber this morning in a very great fright, and told me, she was
afraid my parlour was haunted; for that she had found several panes of
my windows broken, and the floor strewed with halfpence.[209] I have
not yet a full light into this new way, but am apt to think, that it is
a generous piece of wit that some of my contemporaries make use of, to
break windows, and leave money to pay for them.


_St. James's Coffee-house, October 5._

I have no manner of news, more than what the whole town had the other
day; except that I have the original letter of the Mareschal Bouffiers
to the French King, after the late battle in the woods, which I
translate for the benefit of the English reader.

     "SIR,

     "This is to let your Majesty understand, that, to your immortal
     honour, and the destruction of the confederates, your troops
     have lost another battle. Artagnan did wonders, Rohan performed
     miracles, Guiche did wonders, Gattion performed miracles, the
     whole army distinguished themselves, and everybody did wonders.
     And to conclude the wonders of the day, I can assure your Majesty,
     that though you have lost the field of battle, you have not lost
     an inch of ground. The enemy marched behind us with respect, and
     we ran away from them as bold as lions."

Letters have been sent to Mr. Bickerstaff, relating to the present
state of the town of Bath, wherein the people of that place have
desired him to call home the physicians. All gentlemen therefore of
that profession are hereby directed to return forthwith to their places
of practice; and the stage-coaches are required to take them in before
other passengers, till there shall be a certificate signed by the Mayor
or Mr. Powell,[210] that there are but two doctors to one patient left
in town.

FOOTNOTES:

[206] In No. 78 of the folio issue two corrections in this number are
introduced by the following words: "Having these moon-shining nights
been much taken up with my astronomical observations, I could not
attend to the press so carefully as I ought, by which means more than
ordinary _errata_ have crept into my writings, even to the making of
false English."

Looking to Addison's care in revising his work in the _Spectator_
and elsewhere, and to Steele's indifference in such matters, Nichols
concluded that Addison probably had some part in the preparation of
this number.

[207] The name of an affected lady in Colley Cibber's "Double Gallant;
or, Sick Lady's Cure" (1707).

[208] See No. 50, note.

[209] Breaking windows with halfpence was a favourite pastime with the
"Nickers." See Gay's "Trivia," iii. 323:--

    "His scattered pence the flying Nicker flings,
    And with the copper shower the casement rings."



No. 78. [STEELE.[211]

From _Thursday, Oct. 6_, to _Saturday, Oct. 8, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 7._

As your painters, who deal in history-pieces, often entertain
themselves upon broken sketches, and smaller flourishes of the pencil;
so I find some relief in striking out miscellaneous hints, and sudden
starts of fancy, without any order or connection, after having spent
myself on more regular and elaborate dissertations. I am at present
in this easy state of mind, sat down to my scrutoire; where, for
the better disposition of my correspondence, I have writ upon every
drawer the proper title of its contents, as hypocrisy, dice, patches,
politics, love, duels, and so forth. My various advices are ranged
under such several heads, saving only that I have a particular box
for Pacolet, and another for Monoculus.[212] I cannot but observe,
that my duel-box, which is filled by the lettered men of honour, is
so very ill-spelt, that it is hard to decipher their writings. My
love-box, though on a quite contrary subject, filled with the works
of the fairest hands in Great Britain, is almost as unintelligible.
The private drawer, which is sacred to politics, has in it some of the
most refined panegyrics and satires that any age has produced. I have
now before me several recommendations for places at my table of fame:
three of them are of an extraordinary nature, in which I find I am
misunderstood, and shall therefore beg leave to produce them. They are
from a Quaker, a courtier, and a citizen.


     "ISAAC,

     "Thy lucubrations, as thou lovest to call them, have been perused
     by several of our friends, who have taken offence: forasmuch
     as thou excludest out of the brotherhood all persons who are
     praiseworthy for religion, we are afraid that thou wilt fill thy
     table with none but heathens, and cannot hope to spy a brother
     there; for there are none of us who can be placed among murdering
     heroes, or ungodly wits; since we do not assail our enemies with
     the arm of flesh, nor our gainsayers with the vanity of human
     wisdom. If therefore thou wilt demean thyself on this occasion
     with a right judgment, according to the gifts that are in thee, we
     desire thou wilt place James Nayler[213] at the upper end of thy
     table.

     "EZEKIEL STIFFRUMP."

In answer to my good friend Ezekiel, I must stand to it, that I cannot
break my rule for the sake of James Nayler; not knowing, whether
Alexander the Great, who is a choleric hero, won't resent his sitting
at the upper end of the table with his hat on.

But to my courtier:

     "SIR,

     "I am surprised, that you lose your time in complimenting the
     dead, when you may make your court to the living. Let me only tell
     you in the ear, Alexander and Cæsar (as generous as they were
     formerly) have not now a groat to dispose of. Fill your table with
     good company: I know a person of quality that shall give you £100
     for a place at it. Be secret, and be rich.

  "Yours,
  You know my hand."


This gentleman seems to have the true spirit, without the formality of
an under courtier; therefore I shall be plain with him, and let him
leave the name of his courtier, and £100 in Morphew's hands: if I can
take it, I will.

My citizen writes the following:

  "Mr. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF,

  "SIR,

     "Your _Tatler_ of September 13,[214] am now reading, and in your
     list of famous men, desire you not forget Alderman Whittington,
     who began the world with a cat, and died worth three hundred
     and fifty thousand pounds sterling, which he left to an only
     daughter, three years after his Mayoralty. If you want any further
     particulars of ditto Alderman, daughter, or cat, let me know, and
     per first will advise the needful. Which concludes,

  "Your loving Friend,
  LEMUEL LEDGER."


I shall have all due regard to this gentleman's recommendation; but
cannot forbear observing, how wonderfully this sort of style is adapted
for the despatch of business, by leaving out insignificant particles:
besides that, the dropping of the first person is an artful way to
disengage a man from the guilt of rash words or promises. But I am to
consider, that a citizen's reputation is credit, not fame; and am to
leave these lofty subjects for a matter of private concern in the next
letter before me.

     "SIR,

     "I am just recovered out of a languishing sickness by the care
     of Hippocrates,[215] who visited me throughout my whole illness,
     and was so far from taking any fee, that he inquired into my
     circumstances, and would have relieved me also that way, but I did
     not want it. I know no method of thanking him, but recommending it
     to you to celebrate so great humanity in the manner you think fit,
     and to do it with the spirit and sentiments of a man just relieved
     from grief, misery, and pain; to joy, satisfaction, and ease: in
     which you will represent the grateful sense of

  "Your obedient Servant,
  T. B."


I think the writer of this letter has put the matter in as good a
dress as I can for him; yet I cannot but add my applause to what
this distressed man has said. There is not a more useful man in a
commonwealth than a good physician; and by consequence no worthier a
person than he that uses his skill with generosity, even to persons
of condition, and compassion to those who are in want: which is the
behaviour of Hippocrates, who shows as much liberality in his practice,
as he does wit in his conversation and skill in his profession. A
wealthy doctor, who can help a poor man, and will not without a fee,
has less sense of humanity than a poor ruffian, who kills a rich man to
supply his necessities. It is something monstrous to consider a man of
a liberal education tearing out the bowels of a poor family, by taking
for a visit what would keep them a week. Hippocrates needs not the
comparison of such extortion to set off his generosity; but I mention
his generosity to add shame to such extortion.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is to give notice to all ingenious gentlemen in and about the
cities of London and Westminster, who have a mind to be instructed in
the noble sciences of music, poetry, and politics, that they repair
to the Smyrna Coffee-house[216] in Pall Mall, betwixt the hours of
eight and ten at night, where they may be instructed gratis, with
elaborate essays by word of mouth on all or any of the above-mentioned
arts. The disciples are to prepare their bodies with three dishes of
Bohea, and purge their brains with two pinches of snuff. If any young
student gives indication of parts, by listening attentively, or asking
a pertinent question, one of the professors shall distinguish him, by
taking snuff out of his box in the presence of the whole audience.

       *       *       *       *       *

_N.B._--The seat of learning is now removed from the corner of the
chimney on the left-hand towards the window, to the round table in the
middle of the floor over against the fire; a revolution much lamented
by the porters and chairmen, who were much edified through a pane of
glass that remained broken all the last summer.

       *       *       *       *       *

I cannot forbear advertising my correspondents, that I think myself
treated by some of them after too familiar a manner, and in phrases
that neither become them to give, or me to take. I shall therefore
desire for the future, that if any one returns me an answer to a
letter, he will not tell me he has received the favour of my letter;
but if he does not think fit to say, he has received the honour of it,
that he tell me in plain English, he has received my letter of such a
date. I must likewise insist, that he would conclude with, "I am with
great respect," or plainly, "I am," without further addition; and not
insult me, by an assurance of his being with "great truth" and "esteem"
my humble servant. There is likewise another mark of superiority which
I cannot bear, and therefore must inform my correspondents, that I
discard all "faithful" humble servants, and am resolved to read no
letters that are not subscribed, "Your most obedient," or "most humble
Servant," or both. These may appear niceties to vulgar minds, but they
are such as men of honour and distinction must have regard to. And I
very well remember a famous duel in France, where four were killed
of one side, and three of the other, occasioned by a gentleman's
subscribing himself a "most affectionate Friend."

  _One in the Morning, of the 8th of Oct. 1709._

I was this night looking on the moon, and find by certain signs in
that luminary, that a certain person under her dominion, who has been
for many years distempered, will within few hours publish a pamphlet,
wherein he will pretend to give my lucubrations to a wrong person;[217]
and I require all sober-disposed persons to avoid meeting the said
lunatic, or giving him any credence any further than pity demands; and
to lock up the said person wherever they find him, keeping him from
pen, ink, and paper. And I hereby prohibit any person to take upon
him my writings, on pain of being sent by me into Lethe with the said
lunatic and all his works.

FOOTNOTES:

[210] The puppet-show man.

[211] The corrections noted in the following number of the folio issue
suggest that Addison contributed towards this paper.

[212] See Nos. 36 and 73.

[213] James Nayler, the Quaker, was born about 1617. Enthusiasts
proclaimed that he possessed supernatural powers, and he was convicted
of blasphemy, and was pilloried and whipped. Nayler himself only said
that "Christ was in him," but his followers worshipped him as God. He
died in 1660.

[214] No. 67.

[215] Perhaps Sir Samuel Garth (died 1719), the author of the
mock-heroic poem, "The Dispensary."

[216] See No. 10.

[217] The reference here is not, as Nichols suggested, to the
"Annotations on the _Tatler_," by "Walter Wagstaff, Esq.," because
the writer of that work refers clearly to Steele as author of the
_Tatler_, and because the book was not published until August 1710.
The First Part, price 1s., was advertised in the _Post Man_ and _Post
Boy_ for August 31 to September 2, 1710, and Part II. was advertised as
published that day in the _Daily Courant_ for September 20, 1710.



No. 79. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 8_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 11, 1709_.

    Felices ter, et amplius,
      Quos irrupta tenet copula; nec malis
    Divulsus querimoniis
      Supremâ citius solvet amor die.

  HOR., I Od. xiii. 17.


_From my own Apartment, October 10._

My sister Jenny's lover, the honest Tranquillus (for that shall be his
name), has been impatient with me to despatch the necessary directions
for his marriage; that while I am taken up with imaginary schemes (as
he called them) he might not burn with real desire, and the torture
of expectation. When I had reprimanded him for the ardour wherein he
expressed himself, which I thought had not enough of that veneration
with which the marriage-bed is to be ascended, I told him, the day of
his nuptials should be on the Saturday following, which was the 8th
instant. On the 7th in the evening, poor Jenny came into my chamber,
and having her heart full of the great change of life from a virgin
condition to that of a wife, she long sat silent. I saw she expected
me to entertain her on this important subject, which was too delicate
a circumstance for herself to touch upon; whereupon I relieved her
modesty in the following manner: "Sister," said I, "you are now going
from me; and be contented, that you leave the company of a talkative
old man, for that of a sober young one: but take this along with you,
that there is no mean in the state you are entering into, but you
are to be exquisitely happy or miserable, and your fortune in this
way of life will be wholly of your own making. In all the marriages
I have ever seen (most of which have been unhappy ones), the great
cause of evil has proceeded from slight occasions; and I take it to
be the first maxim in a married condition, that you are to be above
trifles. When two persons have so good an opinion of each other as to
come together for life, they will not differ in matters of importance,
because they think of each other with respect in regard to all things
of consideration that may affect them, and are prepared for mutual
assistance and relief in such occurrences; but for less occasions, they
have formed no resolutions, but leave their minds unprepared. This,
dear Jenny, is the reason that the quarrel between Sir Harry Willit
and his lady, which began about her squirrel, is irreconcilable: Sir
Harry was reading a grave author; she runs into his study, and in a
playing humour, claps the squirrel upon the folio. He threw the animal
in a rage on the floor; she snatches it up again, calls Sir Harry a
sour pedant, without good nature or good manners. This cast him into
such a rage, that he threw down the table before him, kicked the book
round the room; then recollected himself: 'Lord, Madam,' said he, 'why
did you run into such expressions? I was,' said he, 'in the highest
delight with that author when you clapped your squirrel upon my book;'
and smiling, added upon recollection, 'I have a great respect for your
favourite, and pray let us all be friends.' My lady was so far from
accepting this apology, that she immediately conceived a resolution
to keep him under for ever, and with a serious air replied, 'There is
no regard to be had to what a man says, who can fall into so indecent
a rage, and such an abject submission, in the same moment, for which
I absolutely despise you.' Upon which she rushed out of the room. Sir
Harry stayed some minutes behind to think and command himself; after
which he followed her into her bedchamber, where she was prostrate
upon the bed, tearing her hair, and naming twenty coxcombs who would
have used her otherwise. This provoked him to so high a degree, that
he forbore nothing but beating her; and all the servants in the family
were at their several stations listening, while the best man and
woman, the best master and mistress, defamed each other in a way that
is not to be repeated even at Billingsgate. You know this ended in an
immediate separation: she longs to return home, but knows not how to
do it: he invites her home every day, and lies with every woman he
can get. Her husband requires no submission of her; but she thinks
her very return will argue she is to blame, which she is resolved to
be for ever, rather than acknowledge it. Thus, dear Jenny, my great
advice to you is, be guarded against giving or receiving little
provocations. Great matters of offence I have no reason to fear either
from you or your husband." After this, we turned our discourse into a
more gay style, and parted: but before we did so, I made her resign
her snuff-box[218] for ever, and half drown herself with washing away
the stench of the musty.[219] But the wedding morning arrived, and our
family being very numerous, there was no avoiding the inconvenience
of making the ceremony and festival more public than the modern way
of celebrating them makes me approve of. The bride next morning came
out of her chamber, dressed with all the art and care that Mrs. Toilet
the tire-woman could bestow on her. She was on her wedding-day three
and twenty: her person is far from what we call a regular beauty;
but a certain sweetness in her countenance, an ease in her shape and
motion, with an unaffected modesty in her looks, had attractions beyond
what symmetry and exactness can inspire without the addition of these
endowments. When her lover entered the room, her features flushed
with shame and joy; and the ingenuous manner, so full of passion and
of awe, with which Tranquillus approached to salute her, gave me good
omens of his future behaviour towards her. The wedding was wholly under
my care. After the ceremony at church, I was resolved to entertain
the company with a dinner suitable to the occasion, and pitched upon
the Apollo,[220] at the Old Devil at Temple Bar, as a place sacred
to mirth, tempered with discretion, where Ben Jonson and his "sons"
used to make their liberal meetings. Here the chief of the Staffian
race appeared; and as soon as the company were come into that ample
room, Lepidus Wagstaff began to make me compliments for choosing that
place, and fell into a discourse upon the subject of pleasure and
entertainment, drawn from the rules of Ben's Club,[221] which are in
gold letters over the chimney. Lepidus has a way very uncommon, and
speaks on subjects, on which any man else would certainly offend, with
great dexterity. He gave us a large account of the public meetings of
all the well-turned minds who had passed through this life in ages
past, and closed his pleasing narrative with a discourse on marriage,
and a repetition of the following verses out of Milton:--

    _Hail wedded love! mysterious law! true source
    Of human offspring, sole propriety
    In Paradise, of all things common else.
    By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men
    Among the bestial herds to range; by thee,
    Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,
    Relations dear, and all the charities
    Of father, son, and brother, first were known,
    Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets,
    Whose bed is undefiled, and chaste pronounced,
    Present or past, as saints or patriarchs used.
    Here Love his golden shafts employs; here lights
    His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings:
    Reigns here, and revels not in the bought smile
    Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared,
    Casual fruition; nor in court amours,
    Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball,
    Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
    To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain._[222]

In these verses, all the images that can come into a young woman's head
on such an occasion, are raised; but that in so chaste and elegant
a manner, that the bride thanked him for his agreeable talk, and we
sat down to dinner. Among the rest of the company, there was got in a
fellow you call a wag. This ingenious person is the usual life of all
feasts and merriments, by speaking absurdities, and putting everybody
of breeding and modesty out of countenance. As soon as we sat down, he
drank to the bride's diversion that night, and then made twenty double
meanings on the word thing. We are the best bred family, for one so
numerous, in this kingdom; and indeed we should all of us have been as
much out of countenance as the bride, but that we were relieved by an
honest rough relation of ours at the lower end of the table, who is a
lieutenant of marines.

This soldier and sailor had good plain sense, and saw what was wrong
as well as another; he had a way of looking at his plate, and speaking
aloud in an inward manner; and whenever the wag mentioned the word
"thing," or the words "that same," the lieutenant in that voice cried,
"Knock him down." The merry man wondering, angry, and looking round,
was the diversion of the table. When he offered to recover, and say,
"To the bride's best thoughts," "Knock him down," says the lieutenant,
and so on. This silly humour diverted, and saved us from the fulsome
entertainment of an ill-bred coxcomb, and the bride drank the
lieutenant's health. We returned to my lodging, and Tranquillus led his
wife to her apartment, without the ceremony of throwing the stocking,
which generally costs two or three maidenheads without any ceremony at
all.

FOOTNOTES:

[218] See No. 35.

[219] See No. 27.

[220] The great room in the Devil Tavern.

[221] The "Leges Convivales," printed in Jonson's "Works," were
engraved in gold on a wooden panel.

[222] "Paradise Lost," iv. 750.



No. 80. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Oct. 11_, to _Thursday, Oct. 13, 1709_.


_Grecian Coffee-house, October 12._

This learned Board has complained to me of the exorbitant price of late
years put upon books, and consequently on learning, which has raised
the reward demanded by learned men for their advice and labour.[223]

In order to regulate and fix a standard in these matters, divines,
physicians, and lawyers have sent in large proposals, which are of
great light and instruction. From the perusal of these memorials, I am
come to this immediate resolution, till I have leisure to treat the
matter at large, viz., in divinity, Fathers shall be valued according
to their antiquity, schoolmen by the pound weight, and sermons by
their goodness. In my own profession, which is mostly physic, authors
shall be rated according to their language. The Greek is so rarely
understood, and the English so well, I judge them of no value, so that
only Latin shall bear a price, and that too according to its purity,
and as it serves best for prescription. In law, the value must be set
according to the intricacy and obscurity of the author, and blackness
of the letter; provided always, that the binding be of calves-skin.
This method I shall settle also with relation to all other writings;
insomuch that even these our lucubrations, though hereafter printed by
Aldus, Elzevir, or Stephanus, shall not advance above one single penny.


_White's Chocolate-house, October 12._

It will be allowed me, that I have all along showed great respect in
matters which concern the fair sex; but the inhumanity with which the
author of the following letter has been used, is not to be suffered.

  "SIR,

  _October 9._

     "Yesterday I had the misfortune to drop in at my Lady Haughty's
     upon her visiting day. When I entered the room where she receives
     company, they all stood up indeed; but they stood as if they were
     to stare at, rather than to receive me. After a long pause, a
     servant brought a round stool, on which I sat down at the lower
     end of the room, in the presence of no less than twelve persons,
     gentlemen and ladies, lolling in elbow-chairs. And to complete
     my disgrace, my mistress was of the society. I tried to compose
     myself in vain, not knowing how to dispose of either my legs or
     arms, nor how to shape my countenance; the eyes of the whole room
     being still upon me in a profound silence. My confusion at last
     was so great, that without speaking, or being spoken to, I fled
     for it, and left the assembly to treat me at their discretion. A
     lecture from you upon these inhuman distinctions in a free nation,
     will, I doubt not, prevent the like evils for the future, and
     make it, as we say, as cheap sitting as standing. I am with the
     greatest respect,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble, and
  Most obedient Servant,
  J. R."

     "_P.S._--I had almost forgot to inform you, that a fair young
     lady sat in an armless chair upon my right hand with manifest
     discontent in her looks."

Soon after the receipt of this epistle, I heard a very gentle knock
at my door: my maid went down, and brought up word, that a tall,
lean, black man, well dressed, who said he had not the honour to be
acquainted with me, desired to be admitted. I bid her show him up, met
him at my chamber door, and then fell back a few paces. He approached
me with great respect, and told me with a low voice, he was the
gentleman that had been seated upon the round stool. I immediately
recollected that there was a joint-stool in my chamber, which I was
afraid he might take for an instrument of distinction, and therefore
winked at my boy to carry it into my closet. I then took him by the
hand, and led him to the upper end of my room, where I placed him in
my great elbow-chair; at the same time drawing another without arms
to it, for myself to sit by him. I then asked him, at what time this
misfortune befell him? He answered, between the hours of seven and
eight in the evening. I further demanded of him, what he had eaten or
drunk that day? He replied, nothing but a dish of water-gruel, with a
few plums in it. In the next place I felt his pulse, which was very
low and languishing. These circumstances confirmed me in an opinion
which I had entertained upon the first reading of his letter, that
the gentleman was far gone in the spleen. I therefore advised him to
rise the next morning and plunge into the cold bath, there to remain
under water until he was almost drowned. This I ordered him to repeat
six days successively; and on the seventh, to repair at the wonted
hour to my Lady Haughty's, and to acquaint me afterwards with what he
shall meet with there; and particularly to tell me, whether he shall
think they stared upon him so much as the time before. The gentleman
smiled; and by his way of talking to me, showed himself a man of
excellent sense in all particulars, unless when a cane chair, a round
or a joint stool, were spoken of. He opened his heart to me at the same
time concerning several other grievances; such as, being overlooked
in public assemblies, having his bows unanswered, being helped last
at table, and placed at the back part of a coach; with many other
distresses, which have withered his countenance, and worn him to a
skeleton. Finding him a man of reason, I entered into the bottom of his
distemper. "Sir," said I, "there are more of your constitution in this
island of Great Britain than in any other part of the world; and I beg
the favour of you to tell me, whether you do not observe, that you meet
with most affronts in rainy days." He answered candidly, that he had
long observed, that people were less saucy in sunshine than in cloudy
weather. Upon which I told him plainly, his distemper was the spleen;
and that though the world was very ill-natured, it was not so bad as
he believed it. I further assured him, that his use of the cold bath,
with a course of steel which I should prescribe him, would certainly
cure most of his acquaintance of their rudeness, ill-behaviour,
and impertinence. My patient smiled, and promised to observe my
prescriptions, not forgetting to give me an account of their operation.
This distemper being pretty epidemical, I shall, for the benefit of
mankind, give the public an account of the progress I make in the cure
of it.


_From my own Apartment, October 12._

The author of the following letter behaves himself so ingenuously, that
I cannot defer answering him any longer.

  "HONOURED SIR,

  _October 6._

     "I have lately contracted a very honest and undissembled
     claudication in my left foot, which will be a double affliction to
     me, if (according to your _Tatler_ of this day[224]) it must pass
     upon the world for a piece of singularity and affectation. I must
     therefore humbly beg leave to limp along the streets after my own
     way, or I shall be inevitably ruined in coach-hire. As soon as I
     am tolerably recovered, I promise to walk as upright as a ghost
     in a tragedy, being not of a stature to spare an inch of height
     that I can any way pretend to. I honour your lucubrations, and am,
     with the most profound submission,

  "Honoured Sir,
  Your most dutiful and
  Most obedient Servant, &c."


Not doubting but the case is as the gentleman represents, I do hereby
order Mr. Morphew to deliver him out a licence, upon paying his fees,
which shall empower him to wear a cane till the 13th of March next;
five months being the most I can allow for a sprain.


_St. James's Coffee-house, October 12._

We received this morning a mail from Holland, which brings advice, that
the siege of Mons is carried on with so great vigour and bravery, that
we hope very suddenly to be masters of the place. All things necessary
being prepared for making the assault on the hornwork and ravelin of
the attack of Bertamont, the charge began with the fire of bombs and
grenades, which was so hot, that the enemy quitted their post, and we
lodged ourselves on those works without opposition. During this storm,
one of our bombs fell into a magazine of the enemy, and blew it up.
There are advices which say, the court of France had made new offers of
peace to the confederates; but this intelligence wants confirmation.

FOOTNOTES:

[223] By the Copyright Act of 1709 (8 Anne, c. 19) the authors of
books already printed who had not transferred their rights, and the
booksellers who had purchased them, were vested with the sole right
of printing them for twenty-one years; and the authors of books not
printed, and their assigns, for fourteen years, with a further eventual
term of fourteen years in case such authors should be living at the
expiration of the first term.

[224] No. 77.



No. 81. [STEELE and ADDISON.[225]

From _Thursday, Oct. 13_, to _Saturday, Oct. 15, 1709_.

    Hic manus, ob patriam pugnando vulnera passi,...
    Quique pii vates, et Phæbo digna locuti,
    Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes,
    Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo.

  VIRG., Æn. vi. 660.


_From my own Apartment, October 14._

There are two kinds of immortality: that which the soul really enjoys
after this life, and that imaginary existence by which men live in
their fame and reputation. The best and greatest actions have proceeded
from the prospect of the one or the other of these; but my design is to
treat only of those who have chiefly proposed to themselves the latter
as the principal reward of their labours. It was for this reason that I
excluded from my tables of fame all the great founders and votaries of
religion; and it is for this reason also that I am more than ordinarily
anxious to do justice to the persons of whom I am now going to speak;
for since fame was the only end of all their enterprises and studies,
a man cannot be too scrupulous in allotting them their due proportion
of it. It was this consideration which made me call the whole body of
the learned to my assistance; to many of whom I must own my obligations
for the catalogues of illustrious persons which they have sent me
in upon this occasion. I yesterday employed the whole afternoon in
comparing them with each other; which made so strong an impression upon
my imagination, that they broke my sleep for the first part of the
following night, and at length threw me into a very agreeable vision,
which I shall beg leave to describe in all its particulars.

I dreamed that I was conveyed into a wide and boundless plain, that
was covered with prodigious multitudes of people, which no man could
number. In the midst of it there stood a mountain, with its head above
the clouds. The sides were extremely steep, and of such a particular
structure, that no creature, which was not made in a human figure,
could possibly ascend it. On a sudden there was heard from the top
of it a sound like that of a trumpet; but so exceeding sweet and
harmonious, that it filled the hearts of those who heard it with
raptures, and gave such high and delightful sensations, as seemed to
animate and raise human nature above itself. This made me very much
amazed to find so very few in that innumerable multitude who had ears
fine enough to hear or relish this music with pleasure: but my wonder
abated, when, upon looking round me, I saw most of them attentive to
three sirens clothed like goddesses, and distinguished by the names of
Sloth, Ignorance, and Pleasure. They were seated on three rocks, amidst
a beautiful variety of groves, meadows, and rivulets, that lay on the
borders of the mountain. While the base and grovelling multitude of
different nations, ranks, and ages were listening to these delusive
deities, those of a more erect aspect and exalted spirit separated
themselves from the rest, and marched in great bodies towards the
mountain; from whence they heard the sound, which still grew sweeter
the more they listened to it.

On a sudden, methought this select band sprang forward with a
resolution to climb the ascent, and follow the call of that heavenly
music. Every one took something with him that he thought might be of
assistance to him in his march. Several had their swords drawn, some
carried rolls of paper in their hands, some had compasses, others
quadrants, others telescopes, and others pencils; some had laurels on
their heads, and others buskins on their legs: in short, there was
scarce any instrument of a mechanic art or liberal science which was
not made use of on this occasion. My good demon, who stood at my right
hand during the course of this whole vision, observing in me a burning
desire to join that glorious company, told me, he highly approved
that generous ardour with which I seemed transported; but at the same
time advised me to cover my face with a mask all the while I was to
labour on the ascent. I took his counsel without inquiring into his
reasons. The whole body now broke into different parties, and began
to climb the precipice by ten thousand different paths. Several got
into little alleys, which did not reach far up the hill, before they
ended and led no farther; and I observed, that most of the artisans,
which considerably diminished our number, fell into these paths. We
left another considerable body of adventurers behind us, who thought
they had discovered byways up the hill, which proved so very intricate
and perplexed, that after having advanced in them a little, they were
quite lost among the several turns and windings; and though they were
as active as any in their motions, they made but little progress in the
ascent. These, as my guide informed me, were men of subtle tempers,
and puzzled politics, who would supply the place of real wisdom with
cunning and artifice. Among those who were far advanced in their way,
there were some that by one false step fell backward, and lost more
ground in a moment than they had gained for many hours, or could be
ever able to recover. We were now advanced very high, and observed,
that all the different paths which ran about the sides of the mountain,
began to meet in two great roads, which insensibly gathered the whole
multitude of travellers into two great bodies. At a little distance
from the entrance of each road, there stood a hideous phantom, that
opposed our farther passage. One of these apparitions had his right
hand filled with darts, which he brandished in the face of all who came
up that way. Crowds ran back at the appearance of it, and cried out,
"Death." The spectre that guarded the other road was Envy: she was not
armed with weapons of destruction like the former; but by dreadful
hissings, noises of reproach, and a horrid distracted laughter; she
appeared more frightful than Death itself, insomuch that abundance
of our company were discouraged from passing any farther, and some
appeared ashamed of having come so far. As for myself, I must confess
my heart shrunk within me at the sight of these ghastly appearances:
but on a sudden, the voice of the trumpet came more full upon us, so
that we felt a new resolution reviving in us; and in proportion as this
resolution grew, the terrors before us seemed to vanish. Most of the
company who had swords in their hands, marched on with great spirit,
and an air of defiance, up the road that was commanded by Death; while
others, who had thought and contemplation in their looks, went forward
in a more composed manner up the road possessed by Envy. The way above
these apparitions grew smooth and uniform, and was so delightful, that
the travellers went on with pleasure, and in a little time arrived at
the top of the mountain. They here began to breathe a delicious kind of
ether, and saw all the fields about them covered with a kind of purple
light, that made them reflect with satisfaction on their past toils,
and diffused a secret joy through the whole assembly, which showed
itself in every look and feature. In the midst of these happy fields,
there stood a palace of a very glorious structure: it had four great
folding-doors, that faced the four several quarters of the world. On
the top of it was enthroned the goddess of the mountain, who smiled
upon her votaries, and sounded the silver trumpet which had called
them up, and cheered them in their passage to her palace. They had now
formed themselves into several divisions, a band of historians taking
their stations at each door, according to the persons whom they were to
introduce.

On a sudden the trumpet, which had hitherto sounded only a march, or a
point of war, now swelled all its notes into triumph and exultation:
the whole fabric shook, and the doors flew open. The first who
stepped forward was a beautiful and blooming hero, and, as I heard
by the murmurs round me, Alexander the Great. He was conducted by a
crowd of historians. The person who immediately walked before him, was
remarkable for an embroidered garment, who not being well acquainted
with the place, was conducting him to an apartment appointed for the
reception of fabulous heroes. The name of this false guide was Quintus
Curtius. But Arrian and Plutarch, who knew better the avenues of this
palace, conducted him into the great hall, and placed him at the upper
end of the first table. My good demon, that I might see the whole
ceremony, conveyed me to a corner of this room, where I might perceive
all that passed without being seen myself. The next who entered was a
charming virgin, leading in a venerable old man that was blind. Under
her left arm she bore a harp, and on her head a garland. Alexander,
who was very well acquainted with Homer, stood up at his entrance,
and placed him on his right hand. The virgin, who it seems was one of
the nine sisters that attended on the goddess of Fame, smiled with an
ineffable grace at their meeting, and retired. Julius Cæsar was now
coming forward; and though most of the historians offered their service
to introduce him, he left them at the door, and would have no conductor
but himself. The next who advanced, was a man of a homely but cheerful
aspect, and attended by persons of greater figure than any that
appeared on this occasion. Plato was on his right hand, and Xenophon on
his left. He bowed to Homer, and sat down by him. It was expected that
Plato would himself have taken a place next to his master Socrates; but
on a sudden there was heard a great clamour of disputants at the door,
who appeared with Aristotle at the head of them. That philosopher, with
some rudeness, but great strength of reason, convinced the whole table,
that a title to the fifth place was his due, and took it accordingly.
He had scarce sat down, when the same beautiful virgin that had
introduced Homer brought in another, who hung back at the entrance, and
would have excused himself, had not his modesty been overcome by the
invitation of all who sat at the table. His guide and behaviour made
me easily conclude it was Virgil. Cicero next appeared, and took his
place. He had inquired at the door for one Lucceius to introduce him;
but not finding him there, he contented himself with the attendance of
many other writers, who all (except Sallust) appeared highly pleased
with the office.

We waited some time in expectation of the next worthy, who came in with
a great retinue of historians, whose names I could not learn, most of
them being natives of Carthage. The person thus conducted, who was
Hannibal, seemed much disturbed, and could not forbear complaining to
the Board of the affronts he had met with among the Roman historians,
"who attempted," says he, "to carry me into the subterraneous
apartment; and perhaps would have done it, had it not been for the
impartiality of this gentleman," pointing to Polybius, "who was the
only person, except my own countrymen, that was willing to conduct me
hither." The Carthaginian took his seat, and Pompey entered with great
dignity in his own person, and preceded by several historians. Lucan
the poet was at the head of them, who observing Homer and Virgil at
the table, was going to sit down himself, had not the latter whispered
him, that whatever pretence he might otherwise have had, he forfeited
his claim to it, by coming in as one of the historians. Lucan was so
exasperated with the repulse, that he muttered something to himself,
and was heard to say, that since he could not have a seat among them
himself, he would bring in one who alone had more merit than their
whole assembly: upon which he went to the door, and brought in Cato of
Utica. That great man approached the company with such an air, that
showed he contemned the honour which he laid a claim to. Observing the
seat opposite to Cæsar was vacant, he took possession of it, and spoke
two or three smart sentences upon the nature of precedency, which,
according to him, consisted not in place, but in intrinsic merit; to
which he added, that the most virtuous man, wherever he was seated, was
always at the upper end of the table. Socrates, who had a great spirit
of raillery with his wisdom, could not forbear smiling at a virtue
which took so little pains to make itself agreeable. Cicero took the
occasion to make a long discourse in praise of Cato, which he uttered
with much vehemence. Cæsar answered him with a great deal of seeming
temper: but as I stood at a great distance from them, I was not able to
hear one word of what they said. But I could not forbear taking notice,
that in all the discourse which passed at the table, a word or nod from
Homer decided the controversy. After a short pause, Augustus appeared,
looking round him with a serene and affable countenance upon all the
writers of his age, who strove among themselves which of them should
show him the greatest marks of gratitude and respect. Virgil rose from
the table to meet him; and though he was an acceptable guest to all,
he appeared more such to the learned than the military worthies. The
next man astonished the whole table with his appearance: he was slow,
solemn, and silent in his behaviour, and wore a raiment curiously
wrought with hieroglyphics. As he came into the middle of the room, he
threw back the skirt of it, and discovered a golden thigh. Socrates, at
the sight of it, declared against keeping company with any who were not
made of flesh and blood; and therefore desired Diogenes the Laertian to
lead him to the apartment allotted for fabulous heroes, and worthies
of dubious existence. At his going out, he told them, that they did
not know whom they dismissed; that he was now Pythagoras, the first of
philosophers, and that formerly he had been a very brave man at the
siege of Troy. "That may be very true," said Socrates; "but you forget
that you have likewise been a very great harlot in your time."[226]
This exclusion made way for Archimedes, who came forward with a scheme
of mathematical figures in his hand; among which, I observed a cone and
a cylinder.[227]

Seeing this table full, I desired my guide for variety to lead me to
the fabulous apartment, the roof of which was painted with gorgons,
chimeras, and centaurs, with many other emblematical figures, which
I wanted both time and skill to unriddle. The first table was almost
full. At the upper end sat Hercules, leaning an arm upon his club. On
his right hand were Achilles and Ulysses, and between them Æneas. On
his left were Hector, Theseus, and Jason. The lower end had Orpheus,
Æsop, Phalaris,[228] and Musæus. The ushers seemed at a loss for a
twelfth man, when, methought, to my great joy and surprise, I heard
some at the lower end of the table mention Isaac Bickerstaff: but
those of the upper end received it with disdain, and said, if they
must have a British worthy, they would have Robin Hood. While I was
transported with the honour that was done me, and burning with envy
against my competitor, I was awakened by the noise of the cannon
which were then fired for the taking of Mons.[229] I should have been
very much troubled at being thrown out of so pleasing a vision on any
other occasion; but thought it an agreeable change to have my thoughts
diverted from the greatest among the dead and fabulous heroes, to the
most famous among the real and the living.

FOOTNOTES:

[225] In the list which he gave to Tickell, Steele describes this
paper as written by Addison and himself jointly. Hawkesworth claimed
for Swift Nos. 66, 67, 74, and 81, and no doubt the idea of "tables
of fame" (No. 67) was started by him. On October 8, Steele wrote to
Swift: "I wonder you do not write sometimes to me. The town is in
great expectation from Bickerstaff; what passed at the election for
the first table being to be published this day seven-night. I have not
seen Ben Tooke a great while, but long to usher you and yours into the
world." But it seems clear that Swift left his friends to carry out
the execution of the plan. As Nichols points out, Swift afterwards
wrote: "I was told that Brutus, and his ancestor Junius, Socrates,
Epaminondas, Cato the younger, and Sir Thomas More, were perpetually
together: a sextumvirate, to which all the ages of the world cannot add
a seventh." Now there are only _two_ of this sextumvirate admitted to
seats at the first "table of fame" in the _Tatler_. There are besides,
in this paper, manifest deviations from the plan proposed in No. 67,
and palpable contradictions to it. The "side-table" is here forgotten;
the heroes of "great fame but dubious existence" are turned into a
separate apartment; the number of the company at the second table is
reduced from twenty to twelve; Bickerstaff, who "had not been dead an
hundred years," is mentioned to make out the dozen; of the third table
there is nothing said; and the subject seems finally discussed in one
paper, which was evidently intended to have made three.

[226] The annotators of the 1786 edition devoted a very long note to
the defence of Pythagoras against what is here said of him. As to his
"harlotry," he clearly could not be responsible for the metamorphoses
of his soul after death. His soul continued, it was said, to shift its
habitations; and Dicearchus, almost a whole century after the death
of Socrates, related, that on its third removal, it got into the body
of Alce, a beautiful courtesan. (Aul. Gell., "Noct. Att.," IV. xi.)
Lucian, long after, taking a century posterior to Pythagoras, makes his
soul animate the body of Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles.

[227] Archimedes ordered a sphere included in a cylinder, the diagram
of his thirty-second proposition, to be erected upon his tomb. This
figure was accordingly carved upon a stone near one of the gates
of Syracuse, and became the means of enabling Cicero to discover
the sepulchre of Archimedes, covered over with brambles and thorns.
(Cicero, "Disp. Tusc.," v. 23.)



No. 82. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 15_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 18, 1709_.

    Ubiidem et maximus et honestissimus amor est, aliquando præstat
        morte jungi, quam vitâ distrahi.--VAL. MAX.


_From my own Apartment, October 17._

After the mind has been employed on contemplations suitable to its
greatness, it is unnatural to run into sudden mirth or levity; but
we must let the soul subside as it rose, by proper degrees. My late
considerations of the ancient heroes impressed a certain gravity upon
my mind, which is much above the little gratification received from
starts of humour and fancy, and threw me into a pleasing sadness. In
this state of thought I have been looking at the fire, and in a pensive
manner reflecting upon the great misfortunes and calamities incident
to human life; among which, there are none that touch so sensibly, as
those which befall persons who eminently love, and meet with fatal
interruptions of their happiness when they least expect it. The piety
of children to parents, and the affection of parents to their children,
are the effects of instinct; but the affection between lovers and
friends is founded on reason and choice, which has always made me
think, the sorrows of the latter much more to be pitied than those of
the former. The contemplation of distresses of this sort softens the
mind of man, and makes the heart better. It extinguishes the seeds of
envy and ill-will towards mankind, corrects the pride of prosperity,
and beats down all that fierceness and insolence which are apt to get
into the minds of the daring and fortunate. For this reason the wise
Athenians, in their theatrical performances, laid before the eyes of
the people the greatest afflictions which could befall human life,
and insensibly polished their tempers by such representations. Among
the modern, indeed there has arisen a chimerical method of disposing
the fortune of the persons represented, according to what they call
poetical justice; and letting none be unhappy, but those who deserve
it. In such cases, an intelligent spectator, if he is concerned, knows
he ought not to be so; and can learn nothing from such a tenderness,
but that he is a weak creature, whose passions cannot follow the
dictates of his understanding. It is very natural, when one is got into
such a way of thinking, to recollect those examples of sorrow which
have made the strongest impression upon our imaginations. An instance
or two of such you will give me leave to communicate.

A young gentleman and lady of ancient and honourable houses in Cornwall
had from their childhood entertained for each other a generous and
noble passion, which had been long opposed by their friends, by reason
of the inequality of their fortunes; but their constancy to each other,
and obedience to those on whom they depended, wrought so much upon
their relations, that these celebrated lovers were at length joined in
marriage. Soon after their nuptials, the bridegroom was obliged to go
into a foreign country, to take care of a considerable fortune which
was left him by a relation, and came very opportunely to improve their
moderate circumstances. They received the congratulations of all the
country on this occasion; and I remember it was a common sentence in
every one's mouth, "You see how faithful love is rewarded."

He took this agreeable voyage, and sent home every post fresh accounts
of his success in his affairs abroad; but at last (though he designed
to return with the next ship) he lamented in his letters, that business
would detain him some time longer from home, because he would give
himself the pleasure of an unexpected arrival.

The young lady, after the heat of the day, walked every evening on the
seashore, near which she lived, with a familiar friend, her husband's
kinswoman, and diverted herself with what objects they met there, or
upon discourses of the future methods of life in the happy change of
their circumstances. They stood one evening on the shore together in a
perfect tranquillity, observing the setting of the sun, the calm face
of the deep, and the silent heaving of the waves, which gently rolled
towards them, and broke at their feet; when at a distance her kinswoman
saw something float on the waters, which she fancied was a chest; and
with a smile told her, she saw it first, and if it came ashore full of
jewels, she had a right to it. They both fixed their eyes upon it, and
entertained themselves with the subject of the wreck, the cousin still
asserting her right; but promising, if it was a prize, to give her a
very rich coral for the child of which she was then big, provided she
might be god-mother. Their mirth soon abated, when they observed upon
the nearer approach, that it was a human body. The young lady, who had
a heart naturally filled with pity and compassion, made many melancholy
reflections on the occasion. "Who knows," said she, "but this man may
be the only hope and heir of a wealthy house; the darling of indulgent
parents, who are now in impertinent mirth, and pleasing themselves
with the thoughts of offering him a bride they have got ready for him?
Or may he not be the master of a family that wholly depended upon
his life? There may, for aught we know, be half-a-dozen fatherless
children, and a tender wife, now exposed to poverty by his death. What
pleasure might he have promised himself in the different welcome he was
to have from her and them? But let us go away, it is a dreadful sight!
The best office we can do, is to take care that the poor man, whoever
he is, may be decently buried." She turned away, when a wave threw the
carcass on the shore. The kinswoman immediately shrieked out, "Oh, my
cousin!" and fell upon the ground. The unhappy wife went to help her
friend, when she saw her own husband at her feet, and dropped in a
swoon upon the body. An old woman, who had been the gentleman's nurse,
came out about this time to call the ladies in to supper, and found her
child (as she always called him) dead on the shore, her mistress and
kinswoman both lying dead by him. Her loud lamentations, and calling
her young master to life, soon awaked the friend from her trance; but
the wife was gone for ever.

When the family and neighbourhood got together round the bodies, no one
asked any question, but the objects before them told the story.[230]

Incidents of this nature are the more moving when they are drawn by
persons concerned in the catastrophe, notwithstanding they are often
oppressed beyond the power of giving them in a distinct light, except
we gather their sorrow from their inability to speak it. I have
two original letters written both on the same day, which are to me
exquisite in their different kinds. The occasion was this: a young
gentleman who had courted a most agreeable young woman, and won her
heart, obtained also the consent of her father, to whom she was an only
child. The old man had a fancy that they should be married in the same
church where he himself was, in a village in Westmorland, and made them
set out while he was laid up with the gout at London. The bridegroom
took only his man, the bride her maid. They had the most agreeable
journey imaginable to the place of marriage: from whence the bridegroom
wrote the following letter to his wife's father:--

  "SIR,

  _March 18, 1672._

     "After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the
     happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride
     carries it, in the eye of the vicar who married you, much beyond
     her mother; though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and
     shoulder-knot made a much better show than the finical dress I am
     in. However, I am contented to be the second fine man this village
     ever saw, and shall make it very merry before night, because I
     shall write myself from thence,

  "Your most dutiful Son,
  T. D."

     "The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel--I am
     the happiest man breathing."

The villagers were assembling about the church, and the happy couple
took a walk in a private garden. The bridegroom's man knew his master
would leave the place on a sudden after the wedding, and seeing him
draw his pistols the night before, took this opportunity to go into
his chamber and charge them. Upon their return from the garden, they
went into that room; and after a little fond raillery on the subject
of their courtship, the lover took up a pistol which he knew he had
unloaded the night before, and presenting it to her, said with the most
graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery,
"Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of to
me; consider before you die, how often you have made a poor wretch
freeze under your casement;[231] you shall die, you tyrant, you shall
die, with all those instruments of death and destruction about you,
with that enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair"--"Give
fire," said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can speak
his condition? But he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The
poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. "Well,"
said he, "did you charge these pistols?" He answered, "Yes." Upon which
he shot him dead with that remaining. After this, amidst a thousand
broken sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he wrote the
following letter to the father of his dead mistress:--

     "SIR,

     "I, who two hours ago told you truly I was the happiest man
     alive, am now the most miserable. Your daughter lies dead at my
     feet, killed by my hand, through a mistake of my man's charging
     my pistols unknown to me. Him I have murdered for it. Such is my
     wedding-day,--I will immediately follow my wife to her grave: but
     before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction so
     far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep
     together till I have stabbed it. Poor good old man!--Remember, he
     that killed your daughter, died for it. In the article of death
     I give you my thanks, and pray for you, though I dare not for
     myself. If it be possible, do not curse me."

FOOTNOTES:

[228] Æsop and Phalaris were certainly real persons, though the
"letters" attributed to Phalaris are spurious.

[229] Mons was taken on October 21, 1709 (N.S.).

[230] The substance of this story of the Cornish lovers may have been
sent to Steele by the "Solomon Afterwit" whose letter from Land's End
is printed in the next number.

[231] _Cf._ "Paradise Lost," iv. 769, quoted in No. 79:--

    "Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
    To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain."



No. 83. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Oct. 18_, to _Thursday Oct. 20, 1709_.

    Senilis stultitia, quæ deliratio appellari solet, senum levium est,
        non omnium.--CICERO, De Senec., xi. 36.


_From my own Apartment, October 19._

It is my frequent practice to visit places of resort in this town
where I am least known, to observe what reception my works meet with
in the world, and what good effects I may promise myself from my
labours; and it being a privilege asserted by Monsieur Montaigne and
others, of vainglorious memory, that we writers of essays may talk of
ourselves,[232] I take the liberty to give an account of the remarks
which I find are made by some of my gentle readers upon these my
dissertations. I happened this evening to fall into a coffee-house near
the 'Change, where two persons were reading my account of the table of
fame.[233] The one of these was commenting as he read, and explaining
who was meant by this and the other worthy as he passed on. I observed
the person over against him wonderfully intent and satisfied with
his explanation. When he came to Julius Cæsar, who is said to have
refused any conductor to the table, "No, no," said he, "he is in the
right of it, he has money enough to be welcome wherever he comes;" and
then whispered, "He means a certain colonel of the train-bands." Upon
reading, that Aristotle made his claim with some rudeness, but great
strength of reason, "Who can that be, so rough and so reasonable? It
must be some Whig I warrant you. There is nothing but party in these
public papers." Where Pythagoras is said to have a golden thigh,
"Ay, ay," said he, "he has money enough in his breeches, that is the
alderman of our ward." You must know, whatever he read, I found he
interpreted from his own way of life and acquaintance. I am glad my
readers can construe for themselves these difficult points; but for
the benefit of posterity, I design, when I come to write my last paper
of this kind, to make it an explanation of all my former. In that piece
you shall have all I have commended, with their proper names. The
faulty characters must be left as they are, because we live in an age
wherein vice is very general, and virtue very particular; for which
reason the latter only wants explanation. But I must turn my present
discourse to what is of yet greater regard to me than the care of my
writings; that is to say, the preservation of a lady's heart. Little
did I think I should ever have business of this kind on my hands more;
but as little as any one who knows me would believe it, there is a lady
at this time who professes love to me. Her passion and good-humour you
shall have in her own words.


     "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

     "I had formerly a very good opinion of myself; but it is now
     withdrawn, and I have placed it upon you, Mr. Bickerstaff, for
     whom I am not ashamed to declare, I have a very great passion
     and tenderness. It is not for your face, for that I never saw;
     your shape and height I am equally a stranger to: but your
     understanding charms me, and I'm lost if you don't dissemble a
     little love for me. I am not without hopes, because I am not like
     the tawdry gay things that are fit only to make bone-lace. I am
     neither childish-young, nor beldam-old, but (the world says) a
     good agreeable woman.

     "Speak peace to a troubled heart, troubled only for you; and in
     your next paper let me find your thoughts of me.

     "Don't think of finding out who I am, for notwithstanding your
     interest in demons, they cannot help you either to my name, or a
     sight of my face; therefore don't let them deceive you.

     "I can bear no discourse if you are not the subject; and, believe
     me, I know more of love than you do of astronomy.

     "Pray say some civil things in return to my generosity, and you
     shall have my very best pen employed to thank you, and I will
     confirm it. I am

  "Your Admirer,
  MARIA."


There is something wonderfully pleasing in the favour of women;
and this letter has put me in so good a humour, that nothing could
displease me since I received it. My boy breaks glasses and pipes,
and instead of giving him a knock of the pate, as my way is (for I
hate scolding at servants), I only say, "Ah! Jack, thou hast a head,
and so has a pin;" or some such merry expression. But alas! how am I
mortified when he is putting on my fourth pair of stockings on these
poor spindles of mine? The fair one understands love better than I
astronomy! I am sure, without the help of that art, this poor meagre
trunk of mine is a very ill habitation for love. She is pleased to
speak civilly of my sense; but _ingenium male habitat_ is an invincible
difficulty in cases of this nature. I had always indeed, from a passion
to please the eyes of the fair, a great pleasure in dress. Add to
this, that I have written songs since I was sixty, and have lived with
all the circumspection of an old beau, as I am: but my friend Horace
has very well said, "Every year takes something from us;"[234] and
instructed me to form my pursuits and desires according to the stage
of my life: therefore I have no more to value myself upon, than that
I can converse with young people without peevishness, or wishing
myself a moment younger. For which reason, when I am amongst them, I
rather moderate than interrupt their diversions. But though I have
this complacency, I must not pretend to write to a lady civil things,
as Maria desires. Time was, when I could have told her, I had received
a letter from her fair hands; and, that if this paper trembled as she
read it, it then best expressed its author, or some other gay conceit.
Though I never saw her, I could have told her, that good sense and good
humour smiled in her eyes; that constancy and good nature dwelt in her
heart; that beauty and good breeding appeared in all her actions. When
I was five-and-twenty, upon sight of one syllable, even wrong spelt,
by a lady I never saw, I could tell her, that her height was that
which was fit for inviting our approach, and commanding our respect;
that a smile sat on her lips, which prefaced her expressions before
she uttered them, and her aspect prevented her speech. All she could
say, though she had an infinite deal of wit, was but a repetition of
what was expressed by her form; her form! which struck her beholders
with ideas more moving and forcible than ever were inspired by music,
painting, or eloquence. At this rate I panted in those days; but, ah!
sixty-three! I am very sorry I can only return the agreeable Maria a
passion, expressed rather from the head than the heart.

     "DEAR MADAM,

     "You have already seen the best of me, and I so passionately love
     you, that I desire we may never meet. If you will examine your
     heart, you will find, that you join the man with the philosopher:
     and if you have that kind opinion of my sense as you pretend, I
     question not, but you add to it complexion, air, and shape: but,
     dear Molly, a man in his grand climacteric is of no sex. Be a good
     girl; and conduct yourself with honour and virtue, when you love
     one younger than myself. I am, with the greatest tenderness,

  "Your innocent Lover,
  I. B."



_Will's Coffee-house, October 19._

There is nothing more common than the weakness mentioned in the
following epistle; and I believe there is hardly a man living who has
not been more or less injured by it.

  "SIR,

  _Land's End, Oct. 12._

     "I have left the town some time; and much the sooner, for not
     having had the advantage when I lived there of so good a pilot
     as you are to this present age. Your cautions to the young men
     against the vices of the town are very well: but there is one
     not less needful, which I think you have omitted. I had from the
     'Rough Diamond' (a gentleman so called from an honest blunt wit he
     had) not long since dead, this observation, that a young man must
     be at least three or four years in London before he dares say 'No.'

     "You will easily see the truth and force of this observation; for
     I believe, more people are drawn away against their inclinations,
     than with them. A young man is afraid to deny anybody going to
     a tavern to dinner; or after being gorged there, to repeat the
     same with another company at supper, or to drink excessively
     if desired, or go to any other place, or commit any other
     extravagancy proposed. The fear of being thought covetous, or
     to have no money, or to be under the dominion or fear of his
     parents and friends, hinders him from the free exercise of his
     understanding, and affirming boldly the true reason, which is, his
     real dislike of what is desired. If you could cure this slavish
     facility, it would save abundance at their first entrance into the
     world. I am, SIR,

  "Yours,
  _Solomon Afterwit_."


This epistle has given an occasion to a treatise on this subject,
wherein I shall lay down rules when a young stripling is to say "No,"
and a young virgin "Yes."

_N.B._--For the publication of this discourse, I wait only for
subscriptions from the undergraduates of each University, and the young
ladies in the boarding-schools of Hackney and Chelsea.


_St. James's Coffee-house, October 19._

Letters from the Hague of the 25th of October, N.S., advise, that the
garrison of Mons marched out on the 23rd instant, and a garrison of
the allies marched into the town. All the forces in the field, both of
the enemy and the confederates, are preparing to withdraw into winter
quarters.

FOOTNOTES:

[232] Among many other things to the same effect, Montaigne wrote:
"Grant that it is a fault in me to write about myself, I ought not,
following my general intent, to refuse an action that publisheth this
crazed quality, since I have it in myself, and I should not conceal
this fault, which I have not only in use but in profession" (Florio's
"Montaigne").

[233] See No. 81.

[234] 2 Epist. ii. 55.



No. 84. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Oct. 20_, to _Saturday, Oct. 22, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 21._

I have received a letter subscribed A. B.[235] wherein it has been
represented to me as an enormity, that there are more than ordinary
crowds of women at the Old Bailey when a rape is to be tried: but by
Mr. A. B.'s favour, I can't tell who are so much concerned in that part
of the law as the sex he mentions, they being the only persons liable
to such insults. Nor indeed do I think it more unreasonable that they
should be inquisitive on such occasions, than men of honour when one
is tried for killing another in a duel. It is very natural to inquire
how the fatal pass was made, that we may the better defend ourselves
when we come to be attacked. Several eminent ladies appeared lately at
the Court of Justice on such an occasion, and with great patience and
attention stayed the whole trials of two persons for the above-said
crime. The law to me indeed seems a little defective on this point;
and it is a very great hardship, that this crime, which is committed
by men only, should have men only on their jury. I humbly therefore
propose, that on future trials of this sort, half of the twelve may be
women; and those such whose faces are well known to have taken notes,
or may be supposed to remember what happened in former trials in the
same place. There is the learned Androgyne, that would make a good
fore-woman of the panel, who (by long attendance) understands as much
law and anatomy as is necessary in this case. Till this is taken care
of, I am humbly of opinion, it would be much more expedient that the
fair were wholly absent: for to what end can it be that they should
be present at such examinations, when they can only be perplexed
with a fellow-feeling for the injured, without any power to avenge
their sufferings. It is an unnecessary pain which the fair ones give
themselves on these occasions. I have known a young woman shriek out
at some parts of the evidence; and have frequently observed, that when
the proof grew particular and strong, there has been such a universal
flutter of fans, that one would think the whole female audience were
falling into fits. Nor indeed can I see how men themselves can be
wholly unmoved at such tragical relations. In short, I must tell my
female readers, and they may take an old man's word for it, that there
is nothing in woman so graceful and becoming as modesty: it adds charms
to their beauty, and gives a new softness to their sex. Without it,
simplicity and innocence appear rude, reading and good sense masculine,
wit and humour lascivious. This is so necessary a qualification for
pleasing, that the loose part of womankind, whose study it is to
ensnare men's hearts, never fail to support the appearance of what
they know is so essential to that end: and I have heard it reported
by the young fellows in my time, as a maxim of the celebrated Madam
Bennet,[236] that a young wench, though never so beautiful, was
not worth her board when she was past her blushing. This discourse
naturally brings into my thoughts a letter I have received from the
virtuous Lady Whittlestick on the subject of Lucretia.

  _From my Tea-table,
  October_ 17.

  "COUSIN ISAAC,

     "I read your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[237] and was surprised
     to see you so partial to your own sex, as to think none of ours
     worthy to sit at your first table; for sure you cannot but own
     Lucretia as famous as any you have placed there, who first parted
     with her virtue, and afterwards with her life, to preserve her
     fame."

Mrs. Biddy Twig has written me a letter to the same purpose: but in
answer to both my pretty correspondents and kinswomen, I must tell
them, that although I know Lucretia would have made a very graceful
figure at the upper end of the table, I did not think it proper to
place her there, because I knew she would not care for being in the
company of so many men without her husband. At the same time I must
own, that Tarquin himself was not a greater lover and admirer of
Lucretia than I myself am in an honest way. When my sister Jenny was
in her sampler, I made her get the whole story without book, and tell
it me in needlework. This illustrious lady stands up in history as the
glory of her own sex, and the reproach of ours; and the circumstances
under which she fell were so very particular, that they seem to make
adultery and murder meritorious. She was a woman of such transcendent
virtue, that her beauty, which was the greatest of the age and country
in which she lived, and is generally celebrated as the highest of
praise in other women, is never mentioned as a part of her character.
But it would be declaiming to dwell upon so celebrated a story, which
I mentioned only in respect to my kinswomen; and to make reparation
for the omission they complain of, do further promise them, that if
they can furnish me with instances to fill it, there shall be a small
tea-table set apart in my palace of fame for the reception of all of
her character.[238]


_Grecian Coffee-house, October 21._

I was this evening communicating my design of producing obscure merit
into public view; and proposed to the learned, that they would please
to assist me in the work. For the same end I publish my intention to
the world, that all men of liberal thoughts may know they have an
opportunity of doing justice to such worthy persons as have come within
their respective observation, and who by misfortune, modesty, or want
of proper writers to recommend them, have escaped the notice of the
rest of mankind. If therefore any one can bring any tale or tidings of
illustrious persons, or glorious actions, that are not commonly known,
he is desired to send an account thereof to me at J. Morphew's, and
they shall have justice done them. At the same time that I have this
concern for men and things that deserve reputation and have it not, I
am resolved to examine into the claims of such ancients and moderns as
are in possession of it, with a design to displace them, in case I find
their titles defective. The first whose merits I shall inquire into,
are some merry gentlemen of the French nation, who have written very
advantageous histories of their exploits in war, love, and politics,
under the title of memoirs. I am afraid I shall find several of these
gentlemen tardy, because I hear of them in no writings but their own.
To read the narrative of one of these authors, you would fancy there
was not an action in a whole campaign which he did not contrive or
execute; yet if you consult the history, or gazettes of those times,
you do not find him so much as the head of a party from one end of the
summer to the other. But it is the way of these great men, when they
lie behind their lines, and are in a time of inaction, as they call
it, to pass away their time in writing their exploits. By this means,
several who are either unknown or despised in the present age, will
be famous in the next, unless a sudden stop be put to such pernicious
practices. There are others of that gay people who (as I am informed)
will live half a year together in a garret, and write a history of
their intrigues in the court of France. As for politicians, they do not
abound with that species of men so much as we; but as ours are not so
famous for writing as for extemporary dissertations in coffee-houses,
they are more annoyed with memoirs of this nature also than we are. The
most immediate remedy that I can apply to prevent this growing evil,
is, that I do hereby give notice to all booksellers and translators
whatsoever, that the word "memoir" is French for a novel; and to
require of them, that they sell and translate it accordingly.


_Wills Coffee-house, October 21._

Coming into this place to-night, I met an old friend of mine,[239] who,
a little after the Restoration, wrote an epigram with some applause,
which he has lived upon ever since; and by virtue of it, has been a
constant frequenter of this coffee-house for forty years. He took me
aside, and with a great deal of friendship told me, he was glad to
see me alive; "for" says he, "Mr. Bickerstaff, I am sorry to find
you have raised many enemies by your lucubrations. There are indeed
some," says he, "whose enmity is the greatest honour they can show a
man; but have you lived to these years, and don't know, that the ready
way to disoblige is to give advice? You may endeavour to guard your
children, as you call them, but--" He was going on; but I found the
disagreeableness of giving advice without being asked it, by my own
impatience of what he was about to say. In a word, I begged him to give
me the hearing of a short fable.

"A gentleman," says I, "who was one day slumbering in an arbour, was
on a sudden awakened by the gentle biting of a lizard, a little animal
remarkable for its love to mankind. He threw it from his hand with some
indignation, and was rising up to kill it, when he saw an huge venomous
serpent sliding towards him on the other side, which he soon destroyed;
reflecting afterwards with gratitude upon his friend that saved him,
and with anger against himself, that had shown so little sense of a
good office."

FOOTNOTES:

[235] Perhaps Alexander Bayne (died 1737), an advocate then living
in London, and afterwards Professor of Scots Law at Edinburgh. See
Hughes's "Correspondence," i. 56.

[236] A notorious character of the time of Charles II., to whom
Wycherley dedicated his "Plain Dealer," under the title of "My Lady
B----," in a long ironical address respecting herself and women of her
class, which is praised by Steele in the _Spectator_ (No. 266).

[237] No. 81.

[238] "A table of fame for the ladies will be published as soon as
materials can be collected, to which end the public are desired to
contribute, and it will be gratefully acknowledged." (_Female Tatler_,
No. 58, Nov. 7, 1709.)

The writer of the "General Postscript" advertised his intention of
erecting speedily a temple of honour for British heroes only (No.
11, October 11, 1709). The same writer says, that Mr. Tatler and his
admirers were wrapped up in his "table of fame" (November 11, 1709).

[239] Possibly William Walsh, a man of fashion and critic, who was a
friend both of Dryden and Pope. Johnson says, "He is known more by
his familiarity with greater men, than by anything done or written by
himself."



No. 85. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 22_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 25, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 24._

My brother Tranquillus,[240] who is a man of business, came to me
this morning into my study, and after very many civil expressions
in return for what good offices I had done him, told me, he desired
to carry his wife, my sister, that very morning to his own house. I
readily told him I would wait upon him, without asking why he was so
impatient to rob us of his good company. He went out of my chamber, and
I thought seemed to have a little heaviness upon him, which gave me
some disquiet. Soon after, my sister came to me with a very matron-like
air, and most sedate satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her very
much at ease; but the traces of her countenance seemed to discover
that she had been lately in passion, and that air of content to flow
from a certain triumph upon some advantage obtained. She no sooner sat
down by me, but I perceived she was one of those ladies who begin to
be managers within the time of their being brides. Without letting her
speak (which I saw she had a mighty inclination to do), I said, "Here
has been your husband, who tells me he has a mind to go home this very
morning; and I have consented to it." "It is well," said she, "for
you must know--" "Nay, Jenny," said I, "I beg your pardon, for it is
you must know--you are to understand, that now is the time to fix or
alienate your husband's heart for ever; and I fear you have been a
little indiscreet in your expressions or behaviour towards him even
here in my house." "There has," says she, "been some words; but I'll
be judged by you if he was not in the wrong: nay, I need not be judged
by anybody, for he gave it up himself, and said not a word, when he
saw me grow passionate, but 'Madam, you are perfectly in the right of
it.' As you shall judge--" "Nay, madam," said I, "I am judge already,
and tell you, that you are perfectly in the wrong of it; for if it
was a matter of importance, I know he has better sense than you; if a
trifle, you know what I told you on your wedding-day, that you were to
be above little provocations." She knows very well I can be sour upon
occasion, therefore gave me leave to go on. "Sister," said I, "I will
not enter into the dispute between you, which I find his prudence put
an end to before it came to extremity, but charge you to have a care of
the first quarrel, as you tender your happiness; for then it is that
the mind will reflect harshly upon every circumstance that has ever
passed between you. If such an accident is ever to happen (which I hope
never will), be sure to keep to the circumstance before you; make no
allusions to what is past, or conclusions referring to what is to come:
don't show an hoard of matter for dissension in your breast; but if it
is necessary, lay before him the thing as you understand it, candidly,
without being ashamed of acknowledging an error, or proud of being
in the right. If a young couple be not careful in this point, they
will get into a habit of wrangling: and when to displease is thought
of no consequence, to please is always of as little moment. There is
a play, Jenny, I have formerly been at when I was a student: we got
into a dark corner with a porringer of brandy, and threw raisins into
it, then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow and I diverted ourselves
with the sport of venturing our fingers for the raisins; and the
wantonness of the thing was, to see each other look like a demon as we
burnt ourselves and snatched out the fruit. This fantastical mirth was
called snap-dragon. You may go into many a family, where you see the
man and wife at this sport: every word at their table alludes to some
passage between themselves; and you see by the paleness and emotion
in their countenances, that it is for your sake, and not their own,
that they forbear playing out the whole game, in burning each other's
fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life is inverted, and the
ambition turns upon a certain contention, who shall contradict best,
and not upon an inclination to excel in kindnesses and good offices.
Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snap-dragon." "I thank
you, brother," said she, "but you don't know how he loves me; I find I
can do anything with him." "If you can so, why should you desire to do
anything but please him? But I have a word or two more before you go
out of the room; for I see you do not like the subject I am upon. Let
nothing provoke you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot help; for
if he has a resenting spirit, he will think your aversion as immovable
as the imperfection with which you upbraid him. But above all, dear
Jenny, be careful of one thing, and you will be something more than
woman, that is, a levity you are almost all guilty of, which is, to
take a pleasure in your power to give pain. It is even in a mistress
an argument of meanness of spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and
ingratitude. When a sensible man once observes this in a woman, he
must have a very great or a very little spirit to overlook it. A woman
ought therefore to consider very often, how few men there are who
will regard a meditated offence as a weakness of temper." I was going
on in my confabulation, when Tranquillus entered. She cast her eyes
upon him with much shame and confusion, mixed with great complacency
and love, and went up to him. He took her in his arms, and looked so
many soft things at one glance, that I could see he was glad I had
been talking to her, sorry she had been troubled, and angry at himself
that he could not disguise the concern he was in an hour before. After
which, he says to me, with an air awkward enough, but methought not
unbecoming, "I have altered my mind, brother; we'll live upon you a
day or two longer." I replied, "That's what I have been persuading
Jenny to ask of you; but she is resolved never to contradict your
inclination, and refused me." We were going on in that way which one
hardly knows how to express; as when two people mean the same thing
in a nice case, but come at it by talking as distantly from it as they
can; when very opportunely came in upon us an honest inconsiderable
fellow, Tim Dapper, a gentleman well known to us both. Tim is one of
those who are very necessary by being very inconsiderable. Tim dropped
in at an incident when we knew not how to fall into either a grave or
a merry way. My sister took this occasion to make off, and Dapper gave
us an account of all the company he had been in to-day, who was and who
was not at home, where he visited. This Tim is the head of a species:
he is a little out of his element in this town; but he is a relation
of Tranquillus, and his neighbour in the country, which is the true
place of residence for this species. The habit of a Dapper, when he is
at home, is a light broadcloth, with calamanco[241] or red waistcoat
and breeches; and it is remarkable, that their wigs seldom hide the
collar of their coats. They have always a peculiar spring in their
arms, a wriggle in their bodies, and a trip in their gait; all which
motions they express at once in their drinking, bowing, or saluting
ladies; for a distant imitation of a forward fop, and a resolution to
overtop him in his way, are the distinguishing marks of a Dapper. These
under-characters of men are parts of the sociable world by no means to
be neglected: they are like pegs in a building. They make no figure in
it, but hold the structure together, and are as absolutely necessary
as the pillars and columns. I am sure we found it so this morning; for
Tranquillus and I should perhaps have looked cold at each other the
whole day, but Dapper fell in with his brisk way, shook us both by the
hand, rallied the bride, mistook the acceptance he met with amongst
us for extraordinary perfection in himself, and heartily pleased,
and was pleased, all the while he stayed. His company left us all in
good-humour, and we were not such fools as to let it sink, before we
confirmed it by great cheerfulness and openness in our carriage the
whole evening.


_White's Chocolate-house, October 24._

I have been this evening to visit a lady who is a relation of the
enamoured Cynthio,[242] and there heard the melancholy news of his
death. I was in hopes that fox-hunting and October would have recovered
him from his unhappy passion. He went into the country with a design
to leave behind him all thoughts of Clarissa; but he found that place
only more convenient to think of her without interruption. The country
gentlemen were very much puzzled upon his case, and never finding him
merry or loud in their company, took him for a Roman Catholic, and
immediately upon his death seized his French valet-de-chambre for a
priest; and it is generally thought in the county, it will go hard with
him next session. Poor Cynthio never held up his head after having
received a letter of Clarissa's marriage. The lady who gave me this
account being far gone in poetry and romance, told me, if I would
give her an epitaph, she would take care to have it placed on his
tomb; which she herself had devised in the following manner: it is to
be made of black marble, and every corner to be crowned with weeping
cupids. Their quivers are to be hung up upon two tall cypress-trees
which are to grow on each side of the monument, and their arrows to
be laid in a great heap, after the manner of a funeral pile, on which
is to lie the body of the deceased. On the top of each cypress is to
stand the figure of a moaning turtle-dove. On the uppermost part of the
monument, the goddess to whom these birds are sacred, is to sit in a
dejected posture, as weeping for the death of her votary. I need not
tell you this lady's head is a little turned: however, to be rid of
importunities, I promised her an epitaph, and told her, I would take
for my pattern that of Don Alonzo, who was no less famous in his age
than Cynthio is in ours.

            THE EPITAPH.[243]

        Here lies Don Alonzo,
    Slain by a wound received under
            His left pap;
      The orifice of which was so
        Small, no surgeon could
            Discover it.

                READER,

    If thou wouldst avoid so strange
              A death,
    Look not upon Lucinda's eyes.


FOOTNOTES:

[240] See No. 79.

[241] Calamanco is a woollen stuff made plain, striped, checked, or
figured, and glazed in finishing. It was generally made in Flanders and
Brabant, and was much used in the last century. _Cf._ No. 96, "a gay
calamanco waistcoat."

[242] See No. 35. Steele returned to the character of Cynthio in 1714,
in No. 38 of the _Lover_, written two months after Lord Hinchinbroke
had spoken on Steele's behalf in the debate whether he should be
expelled the House of Commons. Lord Hinchinbroke died in 1722; in 1712
it was reported that he was one of the Mohocks who went about doing
mischief ("Wentworth Papers," 277 note).

[243] This epitaph is a quotation from a letter of Sir John Suckling
("Works," 1770, I. 103).



No. 86. [ADDISON and STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Oct. 25_, to _Thursday, Oct. 27, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, October 26._[244]

When I came home last night, my servant delivered me the following
letter:

  "SIR,

  _October 24._

     "I have orders from Sir Harry Quicksett, of Staffordshire, Bart.,
     to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself, Sir Giles
     Wheelbarrow, Kt.; Thomas Rentfree, Esq., Justice of the Quorum;
     Andrew Windmill, Esq.; and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner
     Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of
     nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, upon
     business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. I
     thought it proper to acquaint you beforehand so many persons of
     quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith. Which
     concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at
     Stafford, unknown,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  JOHN THRIFTY."


I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr.
Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any
palpitations at their approach: but I was in very great concern how I
should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men,
who perhaps had not seen anything above themselves for these twenty
years last past. I am sure that's the case of Sir Harry. Besides which,
I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour
to the simple squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige
the Justice of the Quorum. The hour of nine was come this morning, and
I had no sooner set chairs (by the steward's letter), and fixed my
tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no
one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at
last by, "Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:" and another
voice, "Nay, good Sir Giles----" I looked out from my window, and saw
the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering
the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much
solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to
me. But they are now got to my chamber door, and I saw my old friend
Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend
a vegetable; for you are to know, that is my sense of a person who
remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with
great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any
of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me, he had a great respect for
my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir
Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every Quarter Sessions this
thirty years, unless he was sick. The steward in the rear whispered the
young Templar, "That's true to my knowledge." I had the misfortune,
as they stood cheek by jowl, to desire the simple squire to sit down
before the Justice of the Quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the
former, and resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late,
and got them as soon as I could into their seats. "Well," said I,
"gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour,
I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea." They answered one and all,
that they never drank tea in a morning. "Not in a morning!" said I,
staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me
the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a
profound silence, when the steward, in his boots and whip, proposed,
that we should adjourn to some public-house, where everybody might call
for what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood up
in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very discreetly,
countermarching behind the chairs towards the door: after him, Sir
Giles in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to
follow; but the Justice of the Quorum whipped between upon the stand
of the stairs. A maid going up with coals made us halt, and put us
into such confusion, that we stood all in a heap, without any visible
possibility of recovering our order; for the young jackanapes seemed to
make a jest of this matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst
us under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the
middle, and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step till Sir Harry
moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, till we
heard a very loud noise in the street; and Sir Harry asking what it
was, I, to make them move, said it was fire. Upon this, all ran down
as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, till we got into
the street, where we drew up in very good order, and filed off down
Sheer Lane, the impertinent Templar driving us before him, as in a
string, and pointing to his acquaintance who passed by. I must confess
I love to use people according to their own sense of good-breeding,
and therefore whipped in between the Justice and the simple squire.
He could not properly take this ill; but I overheard him whisper the
steward, that he thought it hard that a common conjuror should take
place of him, though an elder squire. In this order we marched down
Sheer Lane, at the upper end of which I lodge.[245] When we came to
Temple Bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of the coaches
kept the rest of us on this side the street: however, we all at last
landed, and drew up in very good order before Ben Tooke's[246] shop,
who favoured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded
again, till we came to Dick's Coffee-house,[247] where I designed to
carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street
upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, and were so
necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into
the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated our
civilities to each other; after which, we marched up to the high table,
which has an ascent to it enclosed in the middle of the room. The whole
room was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and
rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's Letter.[248]
The boy brought the ale in an instant; but said, they did not take in
the Letter. "No!" says Sir Harry: "then take back your mug; we are like
indeed to have good liquor at this house." Here the Templar tipped me
a second wink, and if I had not looked very grave upon him, I found he
was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I observed after a
long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter upon business till
after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of
mum[249]; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second,
and a third: after which, Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in
a low voice, that the place was too public for business; but he would
call upon me again to-morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some
more friends with him.


_Will's Coffee-house, October 26._

Though this place is frequented by a more mixed company than it used to
be formerly, yet you meet very often some whom one cannot leave without
being the better for their conversation. A gentleman this evening,
in a dictating manner, talked I thought very pleasingly in praise of
modesty, in the midst of ten or twelve libertines, upon whom it seemed
to have had a good effect. He represented it as the certain indication
of a great and noble spirit. "Modesty," said he, "is the virtue which
makes men prefer the public to their private interest, the guide of
every honest undertaking, and the great guardian of innocence; it makes
men amiable to their friends, and respected by their very enemies.
In all places, and on all occasions, it attracts benevolence, and
demands approbation. One might give instances out of antiquity[250]
of the irresistible force of this quality in great minds: Cicereius,
and Cneius Scipio, the son of the great Africanus, were competitors
for the office of prætor. The crowd followed Cicereius, and left
Scipio unattended. Cicereius saw this with much concern, and desiring
an audience of the people, he descended from the place where the
candidates were to sit, in the eye of the multitude, pleaded for his
adversary, and with an ingenuous modesty (which it is impossible to
feign) represented to them, how much it was to their dishonour, that
a virtuous son of Africanus should not be preferred to him, or any
other man whatsoever. This immediately gained the election for Scipio;
but all the compliments and congratulations upon it were made to
Cicereius. It is easier in this case to say who had the office, than
the honour. There is no occurrence in life where this quality is not
more ornamental than any other. After the battle of Pharsalia, Pompey
marching towards Larissus, the whole people of that place came out
in procession to do him honour. He thanked the magistrates for their
respect to him; but desired them to perform these ceremonies to the
conqueror. This gallant submission to his fortune, and disdain of
making any appearance but like Pompey, was owing to his modesty, which
would not permit him to be so disingenuous as to give himself the air
of prosperity, when he was in the contrary condition. This I say of
modesty, as it is the virtue which preserves a decorum in the general
course of our life; but considering it also as it regards our mere
bodies, it is the certain character of a great mind. It is memorable
of the mighty Cæsar, that when he was murdered in the Capitol, at the
very moment in which he expired, he gathered his robe about him, that
he might fall in a decent posture. In this manner (says my author) he
went off, not like a man that departed out of life, but a deity that
returned to his abode."

FOOTNOTES:

[244] Tickell included the article "From my own Apartment" in his
edition of Addison's Works, but stated that Steele assisted in this
paper. Upon which pompous Bishop Hurd adds, "One sees this by the
pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The
scene described is, however, pleasant enough." No doubt Addison was the
chief, if not sole author of the first article.

[245] "The upper part [of Shire Lane] hath good old buildings, well
inhabited; but the lower part is very narrow and more ordinary"
(Strype, Book IV.). A view of the Trumpet in Shire Lane is given in
Timbs' "Clubs and Club Life in London," p. 176.

[246] Tooke, Swift's bookseller, died in 1723. His shop was at the
Middle Temple Gateway.

[247] Dick's Coffee-house, in Fleet Street, was named after Richard
Tornor or Turner, to whom the house was let in 1680. It is called
Richard's in the _London Gazette_ for 1693, No. 2939.

[248] See No. 18.

[249] A thick ale, brewed from wheat. _Cf._ "Dunciad," ii. 385.

[250] See Valerius Maximus, iv. 5.



No. 87. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Oct. 27_, to _Saturday, Oct. 29, 1709_.


_Will's Coffee-house, October 28._

There is nothing which I contemplate with greater pleasure than the
dignity of human nature, which often shows itself in all conditions of
life: for notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness that is crept
into it, there are a thousand occasions in which it breaks through its
original corruption, and shows what it once was, and what it will be
hereafter. I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile
of building; where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble
fragments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence
in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing
the ruins, removing these disorderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces
that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible
according to their ancient symmetry and beauty. A happy education,
conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of
nature, and observations upon mankind, are the great assistances to
this necessary and glorious work. But even among those who have never
had the happiness of any of these advantages, there are sometimes
such exertions of the greatness that is natural to the mind of man,
as show capacities and abilities, which only want these accidental
helps to fetch them out, and show them in a proper light. A plebeian
soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered
with all its rubbish. This reflection rose in me from a letter which
my servant dropped as he was dressing me, and which he told me was
communicated to him, as he is an acquaintance of some of the persons
mentioned in it. The epistle is from one Sergeant Hall of the Foot
Guards. It is directed to Sergeant Cabe, in the Coldstream Regiment of
Foot Guards,[251] at the Red Lettice[252] in the Butcher Row,[253] near
Temple Bar.

I was so pleased with several touches in it, that I could not forbear
showing it to a cluster of critics, who, instead of considering it in
the light I have done, examined it by the rules of epistolary writing:
for as these gentlemen are seldom men of any great genius, they work
altogether by mechanical rules, and are able to discover no beauties
that are not pointed out by Bouhours and Rapin.[254] The letter is as
follows:

  _From the Camp before Mons,
  September 26._

  "COMRADE,

     "I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good
     health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered
     more than I could wish in the action;[255] but who can withstand
     Fate? Poor Richard Stephenson had his fate with a great many more:
     he was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above
     200 of our battalion killed and wounded: we lost 10 sergeants; 6
     are as followeth: Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick,
     and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have
     received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and
     please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at
     my colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no
     account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the
     field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle,
     knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray give my service to
     Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to
     Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my
     friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after me. My love
     to Mrs. Stephenson: I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her
     husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife,
     and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence,
     which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe
     delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest

  "Your assured Friend and Comrade,
  JOHN HALL."


"We had but an indifferent breakfast, but the mounseers never had such
a dinner in all their lives.

"My kind love to my comrade Hinton, and Mrs. Morgan, and to John Brown
and his wife. I sent two shillings, and Stephenson sixpence, to drink
with you at Mr. Cook's; but I have heard nothing from him. It was by
Mr. Edgar.

"Corporal Hartwell desires to be remembered to you, and desires you to
inquire of Edgar, what is become of his wife Peg; and when you write,
to send word in your letter what trade she drives.

"We have here very bad weather, which I doubt will be a hindrance to
the siege;[256] but I am in hopes we shall be masters of the town in a
little time, and then I believe we shall go to garrison."

I saw the critics prepared to nibble at my letter; therefore examined
it myself, partly in their way, and partly my own. "This is," said I,
"truly a letter, and an honest representation of that cheerful heart
which accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not there in this
all the topic of submitting to our destiny as well discussed as if a
greater man had been placed, like Brutus, in his tent at midnight,
reflecting on all the occurrences of past life, and saying fine things
on "being" itself? What Sergeant Hall knows of the matter, is, that he
wishes there had not been so many killed, and he had himself a very
bad shot in the head, and should recover if it pleased God. But be
that as it will, he takes care, like a man of honour, as he certainly
is, to let the widow Stephenson know, that he had seven and threepence
for her; and that if he lives, he is sure he shall go into garrison at
last. I doubt not but all the good company at the Red Lettice drank his
health with as much real esteem as we do any of our friends. All that
I am concerned for, is, that Mrs. Peggy Hartwell may be offended at
showing this letter, because her conduct in Mr. Hartwell's absence is a
little inquired into. But I could not sink that circumstance, because
you critics would have lost one of the parts which I doubt not but you
have much to say upon, whether the familiar way is well hit in this
style or not? As for myself, I take a very particular satisfaction in
seeing any letter that is fit only for those to read who are concerned
in it, but especially on such a subject: for if we consider the heap
of an army, utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as
they certainly are, and such great things executed by them, it is
hard to account for the motive of their gallantry. But to me, who was
a cadet at the battle of Coldstream, in Scotland, when Monck charged
at the head of the regiment, now called Coldstream from the victory
of that day;[257] (I remember it as well as if it were yesterday) I
stood on the left of old West, who I believe is now at Chelsea: I say,
to me, who know very well this part of mankind, I take the gallantry
of private soldiers to proceed from the same, if not from a nobler,
impulse than that of gentlemen and officers. They have the same taste
of being acceptable to their friends, and go through the difficulties
of that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellowship, and
the communication of joys and sorrows, which quickens the relish of
pleasure, and abates the anguish of pain. Add to this, that they have
the same regard to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as
men above them hope for; but I will engage, Sergeant Hall would die
ten thousand deaths, rather than a word should be spoken at the Red
Lettice, or any part of the Butcher Row, in prejudice to his courage
or honesty. If you will have my opinion then of the sergeant's letter,
I pronounce the style to be mixed, but truly epistolary; the sentiment
relating to his own wound, is in the sublime; the postscript of Peg
Hartwell, in the gay; and the whole, the picture of the bravest sort of
men, that is to say, a man of great courage and small hopes."


_From my own Apartment, October 28._

When I came home this evening, I found, after many attempts to
vary my thoughts, that my head still ran upon the subject of the
discourse to-night at Will's. I fell therefore into the amusement of
proportioning the glory of a battle among the whole army, and dividing
it into shares, according to the method of the Million Lottery.[258] In
this bank of fame, by an exact calculation, and the rules of political
arithmetic, I have allotted ten hundred thousand shares; five hundred
thousand of which is the due of the general, two hundred thousand I
assign to the general officers, and two hundred thousand more to all
the commissioned officers, from colonels to ensigns; the remaining
hundred thousand must be distributed among the non-commissioned
officers and private men: according to which computation, I find
Sergeant Hall is to have one share and a fraction of two-fifths. When I
was a boy at Oxford, there was among the antiquities near the theatre
a great stone, on which were engraven the names of all who fell in
the battle of Marathon. The generous and knowing people of Athens
understood the force of the desire of glory, and would not let the
meanest soldier perish in oblivion. Were the natural impulse of the
British animated with such monuments, what man would be so mean as not
to hazard his life for his ten-hundred-thousandth part of the honour in
such a day as that of Blenheim or Blaregnies?

FOOTNOTES:

[251] This had been Steele's own regiment.

[252] In the address of Sergeant Hall's letter the Red Lettice is spelt
according to the original, but this is a corruption of Red Lattice; it
signifies a chequered or reticulated window of this colour, no uncommon
sign of a public-house. A house with a red lattice is mentioned in "The
Glass of Government," a tragi-comedy by Geo. Gascoigne, 1575.

The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a
public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called
"tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their
colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was
corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by
ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points
out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of
Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times
were distinguished by _red lattices_, as dairies have since been by
_green_ ones."

[253] A narrow street between the back side of St. Clement's and
Shipyard, in the Strand. There were butchers' shambles on the south
side, and a market for meat, poultry, fish, &c. The Row was pulled down
in 1813.

[254] Dominic Bouhours (1628-1702) and Nicholas Rapin (1535-1608),
French critics.

[255] The bloody battle of Malplaquet, September 11, 1709.

[256] Mons was taken on October 21.

[257] On January 1, 1660, General Monck quitted his headquarters at
Coldstream, to restore the monarchy. As Gumble puts it in his "Life
of Monck," "This town hath given title to a small company of men whom
God made the instruments of great things." See Mackinnon's "Origin and
Services of the Coldstream Guards" (1833).

[258] The first of a long series of Government lotteries was started in
1709. There were 150,000 tickets at £10 each, making £1,500,000. Three
thousand seven hundred and fifty tickets were prizes from £1000 to £5
a year for thirty-two years. There was a great demand for the tickets.
See No. 124, and the _Spectator,_ No. 191.



No. 88. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 29_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 1, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, October 31._

I have lately received a letter from a friend in the country, wherein
he acquaints me, that two or three men of the town are got among
them, and have brought down particular words and phrases which were
never before in those parts. He mentions in particular the words
"gunner" and "gunster," which my correspondent observes they make use
of when anything has been related that is strange and surprising;
and therefore desires I would explain those terms, as I have many
others, for the information of such as live at a distance from this
town and court, which he calls the great mints of language. His letter
is dated from York; and (if he tells me truth) a word in its ordinary
circulation does not reach that city within the space of five years
after it is first stamped. I cannot say how long these words have been
current in town, but I shall now take care to send them down by the
next post.

I must in the first place observe, that the words "gunner" and
"gunster" are not to be used promiscuously; for a gunner, properly
speaking, is not a gunster: nor is a gunster, _vice versâ_, a gunner.
They both indeed are derived from the word "gun," and so far they
agree. But as a gun is remarkable for its destroying at a distance,
or for the report it makes, which is apt to startle all its hearers,
those who recount strange accidents and circumstances, which have no
manner of foundation in truth, when they design to do mischief are
comprehended under the appellation of gunners; but when they endeavour
only to surprise and entertain, they are distinguished by the name of
gunsters. Gunners therefore are the pest of society; but the gunsters
often the diversion. The gunner is destructive, and hated; the gunster
innocent, and laughed at. The first is prejudicial to others, the other
only to himself.

This being premised, I must in the next place subdivide the gunner into
several branches: all or the chief of which are I think as follow:

  First, the Bombardier.
  Secondly, the Miner.
  Thirdly, the Squib.
  Fourthly, the Serpent.

And first, of the first. The bombardier tosses his balls sometimes
into the midst of a city, with a design to fill all around him with
terror and combustion. He has been sometimes known to drop a bomb in
a Senate-house, and to scatter a panic over a nation. But his chief
aim is at several eminent stations, which he looks upon as the fairest
marks, and uses all his skill to do execution upon those who possess
them. Every man so situated, let his merit be never so great, is sure
to undergo a bombardment. It is further observed, that the only way to
be out of danger from the bursting of a bomb, is to lie prostrate on
the ground; a posture too abject for generous spirits.

Secondly, the Miner.

As the bombardier levels his mischief at nations and cities, the miner
busies himself in ruining and overturning private houses and particular
persons. He often acts as a spy, in discovering the secret avenues and
unguarded accesses of families, where, after he has made his proper
discoveries and dispositions, he sets sudden fire to his train, that
blows up families, scatters friends, separates lovers, disperses
kindred, and shakes a whole neighbourhood.

It is to be noted, that several females are great proficients in this
way of engineering. The marks by which they are to be known, are a
wonderful solicitude for the reputation of their friends, and a more
than ordinary concern for the good of their neighbours. There is also
in them something so very like religion as may deceive the vulgar;
but if you look upon it very nearly, you see on it such a cast of
censoriousness, as discovers it to be nothing but hypocrisy. Cleomilla
is a great instance of a female miner; but as my design is to expose
only the incorrigible, let her be silent for the future, and I shall be
so too.

Thirdly, the Squib.

The squibs are those who in the common phrase of the world are called
libellers, lampooners, and pamphleteers. Their fireworks are made up
in paper; and it is observed, that they mix abundance of charcoal in
their powder, that they may be sure to blacken where they cannot singe.
These are observed to give a consternation and disturbance only to weak
minds; which, according to the proverb, are always more afraid than
hurt.

Fourthly, Serpents.

The serpents are a petty kind of gunners, more pernicious than any
of the rest. They make use of a sort of white powder, that goes off
without any violent crack, but gives a gentle sound, much like that of
a whisper; and is more destructive in all parts of life than any of the
materials made use of by any of the fraternity.

Come we now to the Gunsters.

This race of engineers deals altogether in wind-guns,[259] which, by
recoiling often, knock down those who discharge them, without hurting
anybody else; and according to the various compressions of the air,
make such strange squeaks, cracks, pops, and bounces, as it is
impossible to hear without laughing. It is observable, however, that
there is a disposition in a gunster to become a gunner; and though
their proper instruments are only loaded with wind, they often, out
of wantonness, fire a bomb, or spring a mine, out of their natural
inclination to engineering; by which means they do mischief when they
don't design it, and have their bones broken when they don't deserve it.

This sort of engineers are the most unaccountable race of men in the
world: some of them have received above a hundred wounds, and yet have
not a scar in their bodies; some have debauched multitudes of women who
have died maids. You may be with them from morning till night, and the
next day they shall tell you a thousand adventures that happened when
you were with them, which you know nothing of. They have a quality of
having been present at everything they hear related; and never heard
a man commended who was not their intimate acquaintance, if not their
kinsman.

I hope these notes may serve as a rough draught for a new establishment
of engineers, which I shall hereafter fill up with proper persons,
according to my own observations on their conduct, having already had
one recommended to me for the general of my artillery. But that, and
all the other posts, I intend to keep open, till I can inform myself
of the candidates, having resolved in this case to depend no more upon
their friend's word than I would upon their own.


_From my own Apartment, October 31._[260]

I was this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house; and as soon
as I had got a little out of my consternation, I felt another, which
was followed by two or three repetitions of the same convulsion. I
got up as fast as possible, girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat,
when my landlady came up to me, and told me, that the gentlewoman of
the next house begged me to step thither; for that a lodger she had
taken in was run mad, and she desired my advice; as indeed everybody
in the whole lane does upon important occasions. I am not like some
artists, saucy because I can be beneficial, but went immediately.
Our neighbour told us, she had the day before let her second floor
to a very genteel youngish man, who told her, he kept extraordinary
good hours, and was generally at home most part of the morning and
evening at study; but that this morning he had for an hour together
made this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with
my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's
door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I saw a well-made man
look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden, jump into the
air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down
safe on his right foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left;
then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it
into such a quivering motion, that I thought he would have shaken it
off. He used the left after the same manner, when on a sudden, to my
great surprise, he stooped himself incredibly low, and turned gently
on his toes. After this circular motion, he continued bent in that
humble posture for some time, looking on his book. After this, he
recovered himself with a sudden spring, and flew round the room in
all the violence and disorder imaginable, till he made a full pause
for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought:
I whispered, that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who
possibly had his first education in the peripatetic way, which was a
sect of philosophers who always studied when walking. But observing him
much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were
disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open
it, and say with great civility and good mien, that he hoped he had not
disturbed us. I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he would
please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could not make
anything of it, and therefore asked in what language it was written.
He said, it was one he studied with great application; but it was his
profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without
a consideration. I answered, that I hoped he would hereafter keep his
thoughts to himself; for his meditation this morning had cost me three
coffee-dishes and a clean pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told
me, he was a dancing-master, and had been reading a dance or two before
he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in
France.[261] He observed me at a stand, and went on to inform me, that
now articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper
characters, and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a
dance by a letter. I besought him hereafter to meditate in a ground
room, for that otherwise it would be impossible for an artist of any
other kind to live near him; and that I was sure, several of his
thoughts this morning would have shaken my spectacles off my nose, had
I been myself at study.

I then took my leave of this virtuoso, and returned to my chamber,
meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures.

FOOTNOTES:

[259] In the _Postman_ for August 19, 1702, the person mentioned in Dr.
Burnet's Travels from Basel, in Switzerland, advertises his arrival,
and his having brought several sorts of wind-guns and horse-pistols,
made for the late K. William, to be shown at the price of sixpence
apiece; but he hopes the nobility will be induced to give more, as he
has some curiosities besides, not mentioned.

"There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed
me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this
peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can
discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once
to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and
it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's
"Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)

[260] This article is by Addison.

[261] Thoinet Arbeau, a dancing-master at Paris, who was the inventor
of the art of writing dances in characters, called orchesography.
Music, about the year 1709, was generally printed in most countries, as
well as in England, on letterpress types. Engravings on copperplates
were used almost eighty years before in Italy, and the music of many
single songs was engraved here about the year 1700, by one Thomas
Cross. (See Hawkins's "History of Music," 1776, ii. 132-133, v. 107.)



No. 89. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Nov. 1_, to _Thursday, Nov. 3, 1709_.

    Rura mihi placeant, riguique in vallibus amnes,
    Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius.

  VIRG., Georg. ii. 485.


_Grecian Coffee-house, Nov. 2._

I have received this short epistle from an unknown hand:[262]

     "SIR,

     "I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you would
     in your next help me to some answer to the enclosed concerning
     yourself. In the meantime I congratulate you upon the increase of
     your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the bills of
     mortality.

     "'SIR,

     "'That the country is barren of news, has been the excuse time
     out of mind for dropping a correspondence with our friends in
     London; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write
     an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the
     covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless,
     amongst friends bred as we have been, to the knowledge of
     books as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a
     fountain, a wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more
     entertaining than one from Tom's,[263] Will's, White's, or St.
     James's. I promise therefore to be frequent for the future in my
     rural dates to you: but for fear you should, from what I have
     said, be induced to believe I shun the commerce of men, I must
     inform you, that there is a fresh topic of discourse lately risen
     amongst the ingenious in our part of the world, and is become the
     more fashionable for the ladies giving into it. This we owe to
     Isaac Bickerstaff, who is very much censured by some, and as much
     justified by others. Some criticise his style, his humour, and
     his matter; others admire the whole man: some pretend, from the
     informations of their friends in town, to decipher the author; and
     others confess they are lost in their guesses. For my part, I must
     own myself a professed admirer of the paper, and desire you to
     send me a complete set, together with your thoughts of the squire
     and his lucubrations.'"

There is no pleasure like that of receiving praise from the
praiseworthy; and I own it a very solid happiness, that these my
lucubrations are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author
of this letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity
of its natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it,
must be written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he
goes, and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far
otherwise to the vulgar. I daresay, he is not envied by the vicious,
the vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with
that strong and serious delight which flows from a well-taught and
liberal mind. With great respect to country sports, I may say, this
gentleman could pass his time agreeably if there were not a hare or a
fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaction which the vulgar
call melancholy, is the true and proper delight of men of knowledge
and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a kind of forgetting
ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, in comparison of that
which is considering, knowing, and enjoying ourselves. The pleasures of
ordinary people are in their passions; but the seat of this delight is
in the reason and understanding. Such a frame of mind raises that sweet
enthusiasm which warms the imagination at the sight of every work of
nature, and turns all around you into picture and landscape. I shall be
ever proud of advices from this gentleman; for I profess writing news
from the learned as well as the busy world.

As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they can
but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single vice, or
give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind; in short, if the world
can be but one virtue the better, or in any degree less vicious, or
receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent diversions, I
shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have been spent in vain.

Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the next
place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the
satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present
the world with the following abridgment of it.

It is remarkable, that I was bred by hand, and ate nothing but milk
till I was a twelvemonth old; from which time, to the eighth year of
my age, I was observed to delight in pudding and potatoes; and indeed
I retain a benevolence for that sort of food to this day. I do not
remember that I distinguished myself in anything at those years, but
by my great skill at taw, for which I was so barbarously used, that
it has ever since given me an aversion to gaming. In my twelfth year,
I suffered very much for two or three false concords. At fifteen,
I was sent to the university, and stayed there for some time; but
a drum passing by (being a lover of music), I listed myself for a
soldier.[264] As years came on, I began to examine things, and grew
discontented at the times. This made me quit the sword, and take to
the study of the occult sciences, in which I was so wrapped up, that
Oliver Cromwell had been buried, and taken up again, five years before
I heard he was dead. This gave me first the reputation of a conjurer,
which has been of great disadvantage to me ever since, and kept me out
of all public employments. The greater part of my later years has been
divided between Dick's Coffee-house, the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, and my
own lodgings.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 2._

The evil of unseasonable visits has been complained of to me with much
vehemence by persons of both sexes; and I am desired to consider this
very important circumstance, that men may know how to regulate their
conduct in an affair which concerns no less than life itself. For to a
rational creature, it is almost the same cruelty to attack his life,
by robbing him of so many moments of his time, or so many drops of his
blood. The author of the following letter has a just delicacy on this
point, and has put it into a very good light.

  "MR. BICKERSTAFF,

  _Oct. 29._

I am very much afflicted with the gravel, which makes me sick and
peevish. I desire to know of you, if it be reasonable that any of my
acquaintance should take advantage over me at this time, and afflict
me with long visits, because they are idle, and I am confined. Pray,
sir, reform the town in this matter. Men never consider whether the
sick person be disposed for company, but make their visits to humour
themselves. You may talk upon this topic, so as to oblige all persons
afflicted with chronic distempers, among which I reckon visits. Don't
think me a sour man, for I love conversation and my friends; but I
think one's most intimate friend may be too familiar, and that there
are such things as unseasonable wit and painful mirth."

It is with some so hard a thing to employ their time, that it is a
great good fortune when they have a friend indisposed, that they may be
punctual in perplexing him, when he is recovered enough to be in that
state which cannot be called sickness or health; when he is too well to
deny company, and too ill to receive them. It is no uncommon case, if a
man is of any figure or power in the world, to be congratulated into a
relapse.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 2._

I was very well pleased this evening to hear a gentleman express a
very becoming indignation against a practice which I myself have been
very much offended at. "There is nothing," said he, "more ridiculous
than for an actor to insert words of his own in the part he is to act,
so that it is impossible to see the poet for the player: you will
have Pinkethman and Bullock helping out Beaumont and Fletcher. It puts
me in mind," continued he, "of a collection of antique statues which
I once saw in a gentleman's possession, who employed a neighbouring
stone-cutter to add noses, ears, arms, or legs, to the maimed works of
Phidias or Praxiteles. You may be sure this addition disfigured the
statues much more than time had. I remember a Venus that, by the nose
he had given her, looked like Mother Shipton; and a Mercury with a pair
of legs that seemed very much swelled with a dropsy."

I thought the gentleman's observations very proper; and he told me,
I had improved his thought, in mentioning on this occasion those
wise commentators who had filled up the hemistichs of Virgil;[265]
particularly that notable poet, who, to make the "Æneid" more perfect,
carried on the story to Lavinia's wedding.[266] If the proper officer
will not condescend to take notice of these absurdities, I shall
myself, as a censor of the people, animadvert upon such proceedings.

FOOTNOTES:

[262] See No. 112.

[263] Tom's Coffee-house, in Russell Street, opposite Button's, was
named after the landlord, Captain Thomas West. Macky ("A Journey
through England," 1722, i. 172) says, "After the play the best company
generally go to Tom's and Will's Coffee-houses, near adjoining, where
there is playing at piquet, and the best of conversation till midnight.
Here you will see blue and green ribbons and stars sitting familiarly."

[264] Here and elsewhere Steele describes his own life.



No. 90. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Nov. 3_, to _Saturday, Nov. 5, 1709_.

    ----Amoto quæramus seria ludo.--HOR., 1 Sat. i. 27.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 4._

The passion of love happened to be the subject of discourse between two
or three of us at the table of the poets this evening; and among other
observations, it was remarked, that the same sentiment on this passion
had run through all languages and nations. Menmius, who has a very good
taste, fell into a little sort of dissertation on this occasion. "It
is," said he, "remarkable, that no passion has been treated by all who
have touched upon it with the same bent of design but this. The poets,
the moralists, the painters, in all their descriptions, allegories,
and pictures, have represented it as a soft torment, a bitter sweet, a
pleasing pain, or an agreeable distress, and have only expressed the
same thought in a different manner. The[267] joining of pleasure and
pain together in such devices, seems to me the only pointed thought I
ever read which is natural; and it must have proceeded from its being
the universal sense and experience of mankind, that they have all
spoken of it in the same manner. I have in my own reading remarked
a hundred and three epigrams, fifty odes, and ninety-one sentences
tending to this sole purpose. It is certain, there is no other passion
which does produce such contrary effects in so great a degree: but
this may be said for love, that if you strike it out of the soul, life
would be insipid, and our being but half animated. Human nature would
sink into deadness and lethargy, if not quickened with some active
principle; and as for all others, whether ambition, envy, or avarice,
which are apt to possess the mind in the absence of this passion, it
must be allowed that they have greater pains, without the compensation
of such exquisite pleasures as those we find in love. The great skill
is to heighten the satisfactions, and deaden the sorrows of it, which
has been the end of many of my labours, and shall continue to be so
for the service of the world in general, and in particular of the fair
sex who are always the best or the worst part of it. It is pity that
a passion which has in it a capacity of making life happy, should
not be cultivated to the utmost advantage. Reason, prudence, and
good-nature, rightly applied, can thoroughly accomplish this great end,
provided they have always a real and constant love to work upon. But
this subject I shall treat more at large in the history of my married
sister; and in the meantime, shall conclude my reflection on the
pains and pleasures which attend this passion with one of the finest
allegories which I think I have ever read. It is invented by the divine
Plato, and to show the opinion he himself had of it, ascribed by him
to his admired Socrates, whom he represents as discoursing with his
friends, and giving the history of love in the following manner:

"At the birth of Beauty," says he, "there was a great feast made, and
many guests invited: among the rest was the god Plenty, who was the son
of the goddess Prudence, and inherited many of his mother's virtues.
After a full entertainment, he retired into the garden of Jupiter,
which was hung with a great variety of ambrosial fruits, and seems
to have been a very proper retreat for such a guest. In the meantime
an unhappy female, called Poverty, having heard of this great feast,
repaired to it in hopes of finding relief. The first place she lights
upon was Jupiter's garden, which generally stands open to people of all
conditions. Poverty enters, and by chance finds the god Plenty asleep
in it. She was immediately fired with his charms, laid herself down
by his side, and managed matters so well that she conceived a child
by him. The world was very much in suspense upon the occasion, and
could not imagine to themselves what would be the nature of an infant
that was to have its original from two such parents. At the last, the
child appears; and who should it be but Love. This infant grew up, and
proved in all his behaviour what he really was, a compound of opposite
beings. As he is the son of Plenty (who was the offspring of Prudence),
he is subtle, intriguing, full of stratagems and devices; as the son
of Poverty, he is fawning, begging, serenading, delighting to lie at a
threshold or beneath a window. By the father, he is audacious, full of
hopes, conscious of merit, and therefore quick of resentment: by the
mother, he is doubtful, timorous, mean-spirited, fearful of offending,
and abject in submissions. In the same hour you may see him transported
with raptures, talking of immortal pleasures, and appearing satisfied
as a god; and immediately after, as the mortal mother prevails in his
composition, you behold him pining, languishing, despairing, dying."

I have been always wonderfully delighted with fables, allegories, and
the like inventions, which the politest and the best instructors of
mankind have always made use of: they take off from the severity of
instruction, and enforce it at the same time that they conceal it. The
supposing Love to be conceived immediately after the birth of Beauty,
the parentage of Plenty, and the inconsistency of this passion with
itself so naturally derived to it, are great master-strokes in this
fable; and if they fell into good hands, might furnish out a more
pleasing canto than any in Spenser.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 4._

I came home this evening in a very pensive mood; and to divert me,
took up a volume of Shakespeare, where I chanced to cast my eye upon
a part in the tragedy of "Richard the Third," which filled my mind
with a very agreeable horror. It was the scene in which that bold
but wicked prince is represented as sleeping in his tent the night
before the battle in which he fell. The poet takes that occasion to set
before him in a vision a terrible assembly of apparitions, the ghosts
of all those innocent persons whom he is said to have murdered. Prince
Edward, Henry VI., the Duke of Clarence, Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan,
Lord Hastings, the two young princes, sons to Edward IV., his own wife,
and the Duke of Buckingham rise up in their blood before him, beginning
their speeches with that dreadful salutation, "Let me sit heavy on thy
soul to-morrow;" and concluding with that dismal sentence, "Despair and
die." This inspires the tyrant with a dream of his past guilt, and of
the approaching vengeance. He anticipates the fatal day of Bosworth,
fancies himself dismounted, weltering in his own blood; and in the
agonies of despair (before he is thoroughly awake), starts up with the
following speech:

    _Give me another horse--Bind up my wounds!
    Have mercy, Jesu--Soft, I did but dream.
    O coward Conscience! How dost thou afflict me?
    The lights burn blue! Is it not dead midnight?
    Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh;
    What do I fear? Myself!_ &c.[268]

A scene written with so great strength of imagination indisposed me
from further reading, and threw me into a deep contemplation. I began
to reflect upon the different ends of good and bad kings; and as this
was the birthday of our late renowned monarch,[269] I could not forbear
thinking on the departure of that excellent prince, whose life was
crowned with glory, and his death with peace. I let my mind go so far
into this thought, as to imagine to myself, what might have been the
vision of his departing slumbers. He might have seen confederate kings
applauding him in different languages, slaves that had been bound in
fetters lifting up their hands and blessing him, and the persecuted in
their several forms of worship imploring comfort on his last moments.
The reflection upon this excellent prince's mortality had been a
very melancholy entertainment to me, had I not been relieved by the
consideration of the glorious reign which succeeds it.

We now see as great a virtue as ever was on the British throne,
surrounded with all the beauty of success. Our nation may not only
boast of a long series of great, regular, and well-laid designs, but
also of triumphs and victories; while we have the happiness to see our
sovereign exercise that true policy which tends to make a kingdom great
and happy, and at the same time enjoy the good and glorious effect of
it.

FOOTNOTES:

[265] This was done by Joannes des Peyrareda, a gentleman of Aquitaine.

[266] Mapheus Vegius, of Lodi (1407-1458), added a thirteenth book to
the "Æneid," with an account of the marriage of Æneas and Lavinia.

[267] The remainder of this article from Will's is by Addison.

[268] "King Richard the Third," Act v. sc. 3.

[269] William III.



No. 91. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Nov. 5_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 8, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 7._

I was very much surprised this evening with a visit from one of the
top toasts of the town, who came privately in a chair, and bolted
into my room, while I was reading a chapter of Agrippa upon the
occult sciences; but as she entered with all the air and bloom that
nature ever bestowed on woman, I threw down the conjurer, and met the
charmer. I had no sooner placed her at my right hand by the fire, but
she opened to me the reason of her visit. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said the
fine creature, "I have been your correspondent some time, though I
never saw you before; I have writ by the name of Maria.[270] You have
told me you were too far gone in life to think of love; therefore I am
answered as to the passion I spoke of, and," continued she, smiling, "I
will not stay till you grow young again (as you men never fail to do
in your dotage), but am come to consult you about disposing of myself
to another. My person you see; my fortune is very considerable; but I
am at present under much perplexity how to act in a great conjuncture.
I have two lovers, Crassus and Lorio. Crassus is prodigiously rich,
but has no one distinguishing quality; though at the same time he
is not remarkable on the defective side. Lorio has travelled, is
well bred, pleasant in discourse, discreet in his conduct, agreeable
in his person; and with all this, he has a competency of fortune
without superfluity. When I consider Lorio, my mind is filled with an
idea of the great satisfactions of a pleasant conversation. When I
think of Crassus, my equipage, numerous servants, gay liveries, and
various dresses are opposed to the charms of his rival. In a word,
when I cast my eyes upon Lorio, I forget and despise fortune; when I
behold Crassus, I think only of pleasing my vanity, and enjoying an
uncontrolled expense in all the pleasures of life, except love." She
paused here. "Madam," said I, "I am confident you have not stated your
case with sincerity, and that there is some secret pang which you have
concealed from me: for I see by your aspect the generosity of your
mind; and that open ingenuous air lets me know, that you have too great
a sense of the generous passion of love, to prefer the ostentation of
life in the arms of Crassus, to the entertainments and conveniences
of it in the company of your beloved Lorio; for so he is indeed,
madam. You speak his name with a different accent from the rest of your
discourse: the idea his image raises in you, gives new life to your
features, and new grace to your speech. Nay, blush not, madam, there
is no dishonour in loving a man of merit: I assure you, I am grieved
at this dallying with yourself, when you put another in competition
with him, for no other reason but superior wealth." "To tell you then,"
said she, "the bottom of my heart, there's Clotilda lies by, and plants
herself in the way of Crassus, and I am confident will snap him, if I
refuse him. I cannot bear to think that she will shine above me. When
our coaches meet, to see her chariot hung behind with four footmen,
and mine with but two: hers, powdered, gay, and saucy, kept only for
show; mine, a couple of careful rogues that are good for something:
I own, I cannot bear that Clotilda should be in all the pride and
wantonness of wealth, and I only in the ease and affluence of it."
Here I interrupted: "Well, madam, now I see your whole affliction:
you could be happy, but that you fear another would be happier; or
rather, you could be solidly happy, but that another is to be happy
in appearance. This is an evil which you must get over, or never know
happiness. We will put the case, madam, that you married Crassus, and
she Lorio." She answered, "Speak not of it--I could tear her eyes out
at the mention of it." "Well, then, I pronounce Lorio to be the man:
but I must tell you, that what we call settling in the world, is in a
kind leaving it; and you must at once resolve to keep your thoughts
of happiness within the reach of your fortune, and not measure it by
comparison with others. But indeed, madam, when I behold that beauteous
form of yours, and consider the generality of your sex, as to their
disposal of themselves in marriage, or their parents doing it for them
without their own approbation, I cannot but look upon all such matches
as the most impudent prostitutions. Do but observe when you are at
a play, the familiar wenches that sit laughing among the men. These
appear detestable to you in the boxes: each of them would give up her
person for a guinea; and some of you would take the worst there for
life for twenty thousand. If so, how do you differ but in price? As to
the circumstance of marriage, I take that to be hardly an alteration
of the case; for wedlock is but a more solemn prostitution where there
is not a union of minds. You would hardly believe it, but there have
been designs even upon me. A neighbour in this very lane, who knows I
have, by leading a very wary life, laid up a little money, had a great
mind to marry me to his daughter. I was frequently invited to their
table. The girl was always very pleasant and agreeable. After dinner,
Miss Molly would be sure to fill my pipe for me, and put more sugar
than ordinary into my coffee; for she was sure I was good-natured. If
I chanced to hem, the mother would applaud my vigour; and has often
said on that occasion, 'I wonder, Mr. Bickerstaff, you don't marry; I
am sure you would have children.' Things went so far that my mistress
presented me with a wrought nightcap and a laced band of her own
working. I began to think of it in earnest; but one day, having an
occasion to ride to Islington, as two or three people were lifting
me upon my pad, I spied her at a convenient distance laughing at her
lover, with a parcel of romps of her acquaintance: one of them, who I
suppose had the same design upon me, told me she said, 'Do you see how
briskly my old gentleman mounts?' This made me cut off my amour, and
to reflect with myself, that no married life could be so unhappy, as
where the wife proposes no other advantage from her husband, than that
of making herself fine, and keeping her out of the dirt."

My fair client burst out a-laughing at the account I gave her of my
escape, and went away seemingly convinced of the reasonableness of my
discourse to her.

As soon as she was gone, my maid brought up the following epistle,
which by the style and the description she gave of the person, I
suppose was left by Nick Doubt. "Harkee," said he, "girl, tell old
Basket-hilt, I would have him answer it by the first opportunity." What
he says is this:

     "ISAAC,

     "You seem a very honest fellow; therefore pray tell me, did not
     you write that letter in praise of the squire and his lucubrations
     yourself?" &c.[271]

The greatest plague of coxcombs is, that they often break upon you with
an impertinent piece of good sense, as this jackanapes has hit me in
a right place enough. I must confess, I am as likely to play such a
trick as another; but that letter he speaks of was really genuine. When
I first set up, I thought it fair enough to let myself know from all
parts that my works were wonderfully inquired for, and were become the
diversion, as well as instruction, of all the choice spirits in every
county of Great Britain. I do not doubt but the more intelligent of my
readers found it, before this jackanapes (I can call him no better)
took upon him to observe upon my style and my basket-hilt. A very
pleasant gentleman of my acquaintance told me one day a story of this
kind of falsehood and vanity in an author. Mævius showed him a paper of
verses, which he said he had received that morning by the penny post
from an unknown hand. My friend admired them extremely. "Sir," said
he, "this must come from a man that is eminent: you see fire, life,
and spirit run through the whole, and at the same time a correctness,
which shows he is used to writing. Pray, Sir, read them over again."
He begins again, title and all: "To Mævius on his incomparable poems."
The second reading was performed with much more vehemence and action
than the former; after which my friend fell into downright raptures.
"Why, they are truly sublime! There is energy in this line! description
in that! Why, it is the thing itself! This is perfect picture!" Mævius
could bear no more; "but, faith," says he, "Ned, to tell you the plain
truth, I writ them myself."

There goes just such another story of the same paternal tenderness in
Bavius, an ingenious contemporary of mine, who had written several
comedies, which were rejected by the players. This my friend Bavius
took for envy, and therefore prevailed upon a gentleman to go with him
to the play-house, and gave him a new play of his, desiring he would
personate the author, and read it, to baffle the spite of the actors.
The friend consented, and to reading they went. They had not gone over
three similes before Roscius the player made the acting author stop,
and desired to know, what he meant by such a rapture? and how it
came to pass, that in this condition of the lover, instead of acting
according to his circumstances, he spent his time in considering what
his present state was like? "That is very true," says the mock-author,
"I believe we had as good strike these lines out." "By your leave,"
says Mævius, "you shall not spoil your play, you are too modest; those
very lines, for aught I know, are as good as any in your play, and
they shall stand." Well, they go on, and the particle "and" stood
unfortunately at the end of a verse, and was made to rhyme to the
word "stand." This Roscius excepted against. The new poet gave up
that too, and said, he would not dispute for a monosyllable--"For a
monosyllable!" says the real author; "I can assure you, a monosyllable
may be of as great force as a word of ten syllables. I tell you, sir,
'and' is the connection of the matter in that place; without that
word, you may put all that follows into any other play as well as
this. Besides, if you leave it out, it will look as if you had put it
in only for the sake of the rhyme." Roscius persisted, assuring the
gentleman, that it was impossible to speak it but the "and" must be
lost; so it might as well be blotted out. Bavius snatched his play out
of their hands, said they were both blockheads, and went off; repeating
a couplet, because he would not make his exit irregularly. A witty man
of these days compared this true and feigned poet to the contending
mothers before Solomon: the true one was easily discovered from the
pretender, by refusing to see his offspring dissected.

FOOTNOTES:

[270] See No. 83.

[271] In No. 58 of the _Female Tatler_ Thomas Baker insinuated that
Steele wrote the letter in No. 89 of the _Tatler_ himself.

The following advertisement is subjoined to _The General Postscript_,
No. 19 (Wednesday, November 9, 1709):

"Nick Doubt desires the public to take notice, that he did not bring
that letter to Basket-hilt's maid, that begins, 'Isaac, you seem a very
honest fellow;' and he's a double jackanapes that thinks he'd disturb
the squire's 'lucubrations' with any such impertinent messages."



No. 92. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Nov. 8_, to _Thursday, Nov. 10, 1709_.

    Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret
    Quem nisi mendosum et mendacem?

  HOR., I Ep. xvi. 40.


_White's Chocolate-house, Nov. 9._

I know no manner of speaking so offensive as that of giving praise,
and closing it with an exception; which proceeds (where men do not
do it to introduce malice, and make calumny more effectual) from the
common error of considering man as a perfect creature. But if we
rightly examine things, we shall find, that there is a sort of economy
in Providence, that one shall excel where another is defective, in
order to make men more useful to each other, and mix them in society.
This man having this talent, and that man another, is as necessary
in conversation, as one professing one trade, and another another,
is beneficial in commerce. The happiest climate does not produce all
things; and it was so ordered, that one part of the earth should want
the product of another, for uniting mankind in a general correspondence
and good understanding. It is therefore want of good sense as well as
good nature, to say, Simplicius has a better judgment, but not so much
wit, as Latius; for that these have not each other's capacities, is
no more a diminution to either than if you should say, Simplicius is
not Latius, or Latius not Simplicius. The heathen world had so little
notion that perfection was to be expected amongst men, that among
them any one quality or endowment in an heroic degree made a god.
Hercules had strength; but it was never objected to him that he wanted
wit. Apollo presided over wit, and it was never asked whether he had
strength. We hear no exceptions against the beauty of Minerva, or the
wisdom of Venus. These wise heathens were glad to immortalise any one
serviceable gift, and overlook all imperfections in the person who
had it; but with us it is far otherwise, for we reject many eminent
virtues, if they are accompanied with one apparent weakness. The
reflecting after this manner, made me account for the strange delight
men take in reading lampoons and scandal, with which the age abounds,
and of which I receive frequent complaints. Upon mature consideration,
I find it is principally for this reason that the worst of mankind, the
libellers, receive so much encouragement in the world. The low race of
men take a secret pleasure in finding an eminent character levelled
to their condition by a report of its defects, and keep themselves in
countenance, though they are excelled in a thousand virtues, if they
believe they have in common with a great person any one fault. The
libeller falls in with this humour, and gratifies this baseness of
temper, which is naturally an enemy to extraordinary merit. It is from
this that libel and satire are promiscuously joined together in the
notions of the vulgar, though the satirist and libeller differ as much
as the magistrate and the murderer. In the consideration of human life,
the satirist never falls upon persons who are not glaringly faulty,
and the libeller on none but who are conspicuously commendable. Were I
to expose any vice in a good or great man, it should certainly be by
correcting it in some one where that crime was the most distinguishing
part of the character; as pages are chastised for the admonition of
princes.[272] When it is performed otherwise, the vicious are kept
in credit by placing men of merit in the same accusation. But all the
pasquils,[273] lampoons, and libels we meet with nowadays, are a sort
of playing with the four-and-twenty letters, and throwing them into
names and characters, without sense, truth, or wit. In this case, I am
in great perplexity to know whom they mean, and should be in distress
for those they abuse, if I did not see their judgment and ingenuity
in those they commend. This is the true way of examining a libel;
and when men consider, that no one man living thinks the better of
their heroes and patrons for the panegyric given them, none can think
themselves lessened by their invective. The hero or patron in a libel
is but a scavenger to carry off the dirt, and by that very employment
is the filthiest creature in the street. Dedications and panegyrics
are frequently ridiculous, let them be addressed where they will; but
at the front, or in the body of a libel, to commend a man, is saying
to the persons applauded, "My Lord, or Sir, I have pulled down all
men that the rest of the world think great and honourable, and here
is a clear stage; you may as you please be valiant or wise; you may
choose to be on the military or civil list; for there is no one brave
who commands, or just who has power: you may rule the world now it is
empty, which exploded you when it was full: I have knocked out the
brains of all whom mankind thought good for anything; and I doubt not
but you will reward that invention which found out the only expedient
to make your Lordship, or your Worship, of any consideration."

Had I the honour to be in a libel, and had escaped the approbation of
the author, I should look upon it exactly in this manner. But though
it is a thing thus perfectly indifferent, who is exalted or debased in
such performances, yet it is not so with relation to the authors of
them; therefore I shall, for the good of my country, hereafter take
upon me to punish these wretches. What is already passed, may die
away according to its nature, and continue in its present oblivion;
but for the future, I shall take notice of such enemies to honour and
virtue, and preserve them to immortal infamy. Their names shall give
fresh offence many ages hence, and be detested a thousand years after
the commission of their crime. It shall not avail, that these children
of infamy publish their works under feigned names, or under none at
all; for I am so perfectly well acquainted with the styles of all my
contemporaries, that I shall not fail of doing them justice, with their
proper names, and at their full length. Let therefore these miscreants
enjoy their present act of oblivion, and take care how they offend
hereafter. But to avert our eyes from such objects, it is methinks but
requisite to settle our opinion in the case of praise and blame; and
I believe, the only true way to cure that sensibility of reproach,
which is a common weakness with the most virtuous men, is to fix their
regard firmly upon only what is strictly true, in relation to their
advantage, as well as diminution. For if I am pleased with commendation
which I do not deserve, I shall from the same temper be concerned at
scandal I do not deserve. But he that can think of false applause with
as much contempt as false detraction, will certainly be prepared for
all adventures, and will become all occasions. Undeserved praise can
please only those who want merit, and undeserved reproach frighten
only those who want sincerity.[274] I have thought of this with so
much attention, that I fancy there can be no other method in nature
found for the cure of that delicacy which gives good men pain under
calumny, but placing satisfaction nowhere but in a just sense of their
own integrity, without regard to the opinion of others. If we have not
such a foundation as this, there is no help against scandal, but being
in obscurity, which to noble minds is not being at all. The truth of
it is, this love of praise dwells most in great and heroic spirits;
and those who best deserve it have generally the most exquisite relish
of it. Methinks I see the renowned Alexander, after a painful and
laborious march, amidst the heats of a parched soil and a burning
climate, sitting over the head of a fountain, and after a draught of
water, pronounce that memorable saying, "O Athenians! how much do I
suffer that you may speak well of me?" The Athenians were at that time
the learned of the world, and their libels against Alexander were
written as he was a professed enemy of their state: but how monstrous
would such invectives have appeared in Macedonians?

As love of reputation is a darling passion in great men, so the defence
of them in this particular is the business of every man of honour and
honesty. We should run on such an occasion (as if a public building was
on fire) to their relief; and all who spread or publish such detestable
pieces as traduce their merit, should be used like incendiaries. It is
the common cause of our country, to support the reputation of those who
preserve it against invaders; and every man is attacked in the person
of that neighbour who deserves well of him.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 9._

The chat I had to-day at White's about fame and scandal, put me in mind
of a person who has often written to me unregarded, and has a very
moderate ambition in this particular. His name it seems is Charles
Lillie, and he recommends himself to my observation as one that sold
snuff next door to the Fountain Tavern, in the Strand, and was burnt
out when he began to have a reputation in his way.

     "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

     "I suppose, through a hurry of business, you have either forgotten
     me, or lost my last of this nature; which was, to beg the favour
     of being advantageously exposed in your paper, chiefly for the
     reputation of snuff. Be pleased to pardon this trouble, from,

  "Sir,
  Your very humble Servant,
  C. L.

     "I am a perfumer, at the corner of Beauford Buildings, in the
     Strand."

This same Charles leaves it to me to say what I will of him, and I am
not a little pleased with the ingenuous manner of his address. Taking
snuff is what I have declared against; but as his Holiness the Pope
allows whoring for the taxes raised by the ladies of pleasure, so I,
to repair the loss of an unhappy trader, indulge all persons in that
custom who buy of Charles. There is something so particular in the
request of the man, that I shall send for him before me, and believe
I shall find he has a genius for baubles: if so, I shall, for aught I
know, at his shop, give licensed canes to those who are really lame,
and tubes to those who are unfeignedly short-sighted; and forbid all
others to vend the same.

FOOTNOTES:

[272] The royal children were at one time punished by proxy. Burnet
("History of his Own Time," 1823, i. 102) gives an account of a
whipping boy to King Charles I. (See also the _Spectator_, No. 313; and
Hawkins's "History of Music," iii. 252.)

[273] Pasquinades.

[274] See Horace's lines prefixed to this paper.



No. 93. [STEELE and ADDISON.

From _Thursday, Nov. 10_, to _Saturday, Nov, 12, 1709_.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 11._

The French humour of writing epistles, and publishing their fulsome
compliments to each other, is a thing I frequently complain of in this
place. It is, methinks, from the prevalence of this silly custom that
there is so little instruction in the conversation of our distant
friends; for which reason, during the whole course of my life, I have
desired my acquaintance, when they write to me, rather to say something
which should make me wish myself with them, than make me compliments
that they wished themselves with me. By this means, I have by me a
collection of letters from most parts of the world, which are as
naturally of the growth of the place as any herb, tree, or plant of the
soil. This I take to be the proper use of an epistolary commerce. To
desire to know how Damon goes on with his courtship to Silvia, or how
the wine tastes at the Old Devil, are threadbare subjects, and cold
treats, which our absent friends might have given us without going out
of town for them. A friend of mine who went to travel, used me far
otherwise; for he gave me a prospect of the place, or an account of the
people, from every country through which he passed. Among others which
I was looking over this evening, I am not a little delighted with this
which follows:[275]

     "DEAR SIR,

     "I believe this is the first letter that was ever sent you from
     the middle region, where I am at this present writing. Not
     to keep you in suspense, it comes to you from the top of the
     highest mountain in Switzerland, where I am now shivering among
     the eternal frosts and snows. I can scarce forbear dating it in
     December, though they call it the first of August at the bottom
     of the mountain. I assure you, I can hardly keep my ink from
     freezing in the middle of the dog-days. I am here entertained with
     the prettiest variety of snow prospects that you can imagine, and
     have several pits of it before me that are very near as old as the
     mountain itself; for in this country it is as lasting as marble. I
     am now upon a spot of it which they tell me fell about the reign
     of Charlemagne or King Pepin. The inhabitants of the country are
     as great curiosities as the country itself: they generally hire
     themselves out in their youth, and if they are musket-proof till
     about fifty, they bring home the money they have got, and the
     limbs they have left, to pass the rest of their time among their
     native mountains. One of the gentlemen of the place, who is come
     off with the loss of an eye only, told me by way of boast, that
     there were now seven wooden legs in his family; and that for these
     four generations, there had not been one in his line that carried
     a whole body with him to the grave. I believe you will think the
     style of this letter a little extraordinary; but the 'Rehearsal'
     will tell you, that people in clouds must not be confined to speak
     sense;[276] and I hope we that are above them may claim the same
     privilege. Wherever I am, I shall always be,

  "Sir,
  Your most obedient,
  Most humble Servant."


I think they ought, in those parts where the materials are so easy
to work, and at the same time so durable, when any one of their
heroes comes home from the wars, to erect his statue in snow upon the
mountains, there to remain from generation to generation. A gentleman
who is apt to expatiate upon any hint, took this occasion to deliver
his opinion upon our ordinary method of sending young gentlemen to
travel for their education. "It is certain," said he, "if gentlemen
travel at an age proper for them, during the course of their voyages,
their accounts to their friends, and after their return, their
discourses and conversations, will have in them something above what
we can meet with from those who have not had those advantages. At the
same time it is to be observed, that every temper and genius is not
qualified for this way of improvement. Men may change their climate,
but they cannot their nature. A man that goes out a fool, cannot ride
or sail himself into common-sense. Therefore let me but walk over
London Bridge with a young man, and I'll tell you infallibly whether
going over the Rialto at Venice will make him wiser. It is not to be
imagined how many I have saved in my time from banishment, by letting
their parents know they were good for nothing. But this is to be done
with much tenderness. There is my cousin Harry has a son, who is the
dullest mortal that was ever born into our house. He had got his trunk
and his books all packed up to be transported into foreign parts,
for no reason but because the boy never talked; and his father said
he wanted to know the world. I could not say to a fond parent, that
the boy was dull; but looked grave, and told him, the youth was very
thoughtful, and I feared he might have some doubts about religion,
with which it was not proper to go into Roman Catholic countries. He
is accordingly kept here till he declares himself upon some points,
which I am sure he will never think of. By this means, I have prevented
the dishonour of having a fool of our house laughed at in all parts
of Europe. He is now with his father upon his own estate, and he has
sent to me to get him a wife, which I shall do with all convenient
speed; but it shall be such a one, whose good nature shall hide his
faults, and good sense supply them. The truth of it is, that race is of
the true British kind: they are of our country only; it hurts them to
transplant them, and they are destroyed if you pretend to improve them.
Men of this solid make are not to be hurried up and down the world, for
(if I may so speak) they are naturally at their wit's end; and it is an
impertinent part to disturb their repose, that they may give you only
a history of their bodily occurrences, which is all they are capable
of observing. Harry had an elder brother who was tried in this way. I
remember, all he could talk of at his return, was, that he had like to
have been drowned at such a place, he fell out of a chaise at another,
he had a better stomach when he moved northward than when he turned his
course to the parts in the south, and so forth. It is therefore very
much to be considered, what sense a person has of things when he is
setting out; and if he then knows none of his friends and acquaintance
but by their clothes and faces, it is my humble opinion that he stay at
home. His parents should take care to marry him, and see what they can
get out of him that way; for there is a certain sort of men who are no
otherwise to be regarded, but as they descend from men of consequence,
and may beget valuable successors. And if we consider, that men are to
be esteemed only as they are useful, while a stupid wretch is at the
head of a great family, we may say, the race is suspended, as properly
as when it is all gone, we say, it is extinct."


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 11._[277]

I had several hints and advertisements from unknown hands, that some,
who are enemies to my labours, design to demand the fashionable way of
satisfaction for the disturbance my lucubrations have given them. I
confess, as things now stand, I don't know how to deny such inviters,
and am preparing myself accordingly: I have bought pumps and foils,
and am every morning practising in my chamber. My neighbour, the
dancing-master, has demanded of me, why I take this liberty, since
I would not allow it him?[278] But I answered, his was an act of an
indifferent nature, and mine of necessity. My late treatises against
duels have so far disobliged the fraternity of the noble science of
defence, that I can get none of them to show me as much as one pass.
I am therefore obliged to learn by book, and have accordingly several
volumes, wherein all the postures are exactly delineated. I must
confess, I am shy of letting people see me at this exercise, because
of my flannel waistcoat, and my spectacles, which I am forced to fix
on, the better to observe the posture of the enemy. I have upon my
chamber walls, drawn at full length, the figures of all sorts of men,
from eight feet to three feet two inches. Within this height I take it,
that all the fighting men of Great Britain are comprehended. But as
I push, I make allowances for my being of a lank and spare body, and
have chalked out in every figure my own dimensions; for I scorn to rob
any man of his life by taking advantage of his breadth: therefore I
press purely in a line down from his nose, and take no more of him to
assault than he has of me: for to speak impartially, if a lean fellow
wounds a fat one in any part to the right or left, whether it be in
carte or in tierce, beyond the dimensions of the said lean fellow's
own breadth, I take it to be murder, and such a murder as is below a
gentleman to commit. As I am spare, I am also very tall, and behave
myself with relation to that advantage with the same punctilio; and I
am ready to stoop or stand, according to the stature of my adversary. I
must confess, I have had great success this morning, and have hit every
figure round the room in a mortal part, without receiving the least
hurt, except a little scratch by falling on my face, in pushing at one
at the lower end of my chamber; but I recovered so quick, and jumped so
nimbly into my guard, that if he had been alive he could not have hurt
me. It is confessed, I have written against duels with some warmth; but
in all my discourses, I have not ever said, that I knew how a gentleman
could avoid a duel if he were provoked to it; and since that custom is
now become a law, I know nothing but the legislative power, with new
animadversions upon it, can put us in a capacity of denying challenges,
though we are afterwards hanged for it. But no more of this at present.
As things stand, I shall put up no more affronts; and I shall be so
far from taking ill words, that I will not take ill looks. I therefore
warn all young hot fellows, not to look hereafter more terrible than
their neighbours; for if they stare at me with their hats cocked higher
than other people, I won't bear it. Nay, I give warning to all people
in general to look kindly at me; for I'll bear no frowns, even from
ladies; and if any woman pretends to look scornfully at me, I shall
demand satisfaction of the next of kin of the masculine gender.

FOOTNOTES:

[275] This letter is by Addison.

[276] "_Smith._ Well; but methinks the sense of this song is not very
plain.

"_Bayes._ Plain! Why, did you ever hear any people in clouds speak
plain? They must be all for flight of fancy at its full range, without
the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up spirits and
people in clouds to speak plainly you spoil all." (Duke of Buckingham's
"Rehearsal," act v. sc. I.)

[277] This article is by Addison.

[278] See No. 88.



No. 94. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Nov. 12_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 15, 1709_.

    Si non errasset, fecerat illa minus.--MART., Epig. i. 21.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 14._

That which we call gallantry to women seems to be the heroic virtue
of private persons; and there never breathed one man, who did not,
in that part of his days wherein he was recommending himself to his
mistress, do something beyond his ordinary course of life. As this has
a very great effect even upon the most slow and common men; so, upon
such as it finds qualified with virtue and merit, it shines out in
proportionable degrees of excellence: it gives new grace to the most
eminent accomplishments; and he who of himself has either wit, wisdom,
or valour, exerts each of these noble endowments when he becomes a
lover, with a certain beauty of action above what was ever observed in
him before; and all who are without any one of these qualities, are
to be looked upon as the rabble of mankind. I was talking after this
manner in a corner of this place with an old acquaintance, who, taking
me by the hand, said, "Mr. Bickerstaff, your discourse recalls to my
mind a story, which I have longed to tell you ever since I read that
article wherein you desire your friends to give you accounts of obscure
merit." The story I had of him is literally true, and well known to
be so in the country wherein the circumstances were transacted. He
acquainted me with the names of the persons concerned, which I shall
change into feigned ones, there being a respect due to their families,
that are still in being, as well as that the names themselves would
not be so familiar to an English ear. The adventure really happened in
Denmark; and if I can remember all the circumstances, I doubt not but
it will be as moving to my readers as it was to me.

Clarinda and Chloe, two very fine women, were bred up as sisters in
the family of Romeo, who was the father of Chloe, and the guardian of
Clarinda. Philander, a young gentleman of a good person and charming
conversation, being a friend of old Romeo's, frequented his house,
and by that means was much in conversation with the young ladies,
though still in the presence of the father and the guardian. The
ladies both entertained a secret passion for him, and could see well
enough, notwithstanding the delight which he really took in Romeo's
conversation, that there was something more in his heart which made
him so assiduous a visitant. Each of them thought herself the happy
woman; but the person beloved was Chloe. It happened that both of them
were at a play on a carnival evening, when it is the fashion there
(as well as in most countries of Europe) both for men and women to
appear in masks and disguises. It was on that memorable night in the
year 1679, when the play-house, by some unhappy accident, was set on
fire.[279] Philander, in the first hurry of the disaster, immediately
ran where his treasure was, burst open the door of the box, snatched
the lady up in his arms, and with unspeakable resolution and good
fortune carried her off safe. He was no sooner out of the crowd, but
he set her down; and grasping her in his arms, with all the raptures
of a deserving lover, "How happy am I," says he, "in an opportunity
to tell you I love you more than all things, and of showing you the
sincerity of my passion at the very first declaration of it." "My
dear, dear Philander," says the lady, pulling off her mask, "this is
not a time for art; you are much dearer to me than the life you have
preserved: and the joy of my present deliverance does not transport me
so much as the passion which occasioned it." Who can tell the grief,
the astonishment, the terror, that appeared in the face of Philander,
when he saw the person he spoke to was Clarinda. After a short pause,
"Madam," says he, with the looks of a dead man, "we are both mistaken;"
and immediately flew away, without hearing the distressed Clarinda, who
had just strength enough to cry out, "Cruel Philander! why did you not
leave me in the theatre?" Crowds of people immediately gathered about
her, and after having brought her to herself, conveyed her to the house
of the good old unhappy Romeo. Philander was now pressing against a
whole tide of people at the doors of the theatre, and striving to enter
with more earnestness than any there endeavoured to get out. He did it
at last, and with much difficulty forced his way to the box where his
beloved Chloe stood, expecting her fate amidst this scene of terror and
distraction.

She revived at the sight of Philander, who fell about her neck with
a tenderness not to be expressed; and amidst a thousand sobs and
sighs, told her his love, and his dreadful mistake. The stage was now
in flames, and the whole house full of smoke; the entrance was quite
barred up with heaps of people, who had fallen upon one another as they
endeavoured to get out; swords were drawn, shrieks heard on all sides;
and, in short, no possibility of an escape for Philander himself,
had he been capable of making it without his Chloe. But his mind was
above such a thought, and wholly employed in weeping, condoling, and
comforting. He catches her in his arms. The fire surrounds them,
while--I cannot go on.

Were I an infidel, misfortunes like this would convince me, that there
must be an hereafter: for who can believe that so much virtue could
meet with so great distress without a following reward. As for my
part, I am so old-fashioned as firmly to believe that all who perish
in such generous enterprises are relieved from the further exercise of
life; and Providence, which sees their virtue consummate and manifest,
takes them to an immediate reward, in a being more suitable to the
grandeur of their spirits. What else can wipe away our tears, when we
contemplate such undeserved, such irreparable distresses? It was a
sublime thought in some of the heathens of old:

            ----_Quæ gratia currûm
    Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes
    Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repôstos._[280]

That is in other words, the same employments and inclinations which
were the entertainment of virtuous men upon earth, make up their
happiness in Elysium.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 14._

When I came home this evening, I found a present from Mr. Charles
Lillie, the perfumer at the corner of Beauford Buildings, with a letter
of thanks for the mention I made of him.[281] He tells me, several
of my gentle readers have obliged me in buying at his shop upon my
recommendation. I have inquired into the man's capacity, and find
him an adept in his way. He has several helps to discourse besides
snuff (which is the best Barcelona), and sells an orange-flower
water, which seems to me to have in it the right spirit of brains;
and I am informed, he extracts it according to the manner used in
Gresham College.[282] I recommend it to the handkerchiefs of all young
pleaders: it cures or supplies all pauses and hesitations in speech,
and creates a general alacrity of the spirit. When it is used as a
gargle, it gives volubility to the tongue, and never fails of that
necessary step towards pleasing others, making a man pleased with
himself. I have taken security of him, that he shall not raise the
price of any of his commodities for these or any other occult qualities
in them; but he is to sell them at the same price which you give at the
common perfumers. Mr. Lillie has brought further security, that he will
not sell the boxes made for politicians to lovers; nor on the contrary,
those proper for lovers to men of speculation: at this time, to avoid
confusion, the best orangery for beaus, and right musty for politicians.

My almanac is to be published on the 22nd; and from that instant, all
lovers, in raptures or epistles, are to forbear the comparison of their
mistresses' eyes to stars, I having made use of that simile in my
dedication for the last time it shall ever pass, and on the properest
occasion that it was ever employed. All ladies are hereby desired to
take notice, that they never receive that simile in payment for any
smiles they shall bestow for the future.

On Saturday night last, a gentlewoman's husband strayed from the
play-house in the Haymarket. If the lady who was seen to take him up,
will restore him, she shall be asked no questions, he being of no use
but to the owner.

FOOTNOTES:

[279] At this fire, on April 29, 1679, about two hundred persons were
killed.

[280] "Æneid," vi. 653.

[281] See No. 92.

[282] Where the Royal Society then met.



No. 95.

From _Tuesday, Nov. 15_, to _Thursday, Nov. 17, 1709_.

    Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati;
    Casta pudicitiam servat domus.

  VIRG., Georg. ii. 523.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 16._

There are several persons who have many pleasures and entertainments in
their possession which they do not enjoy. It is therefore a kind and
good office to acquaint them with their own happiness, and turn their
attention to such instances of their good fortune which they are apt to
overlook. Persons in the married state often want such a monitor, and
pine away their days, by looking upon the same condition in anguish and
murmur which carries with it in the opinion of others a complication of
all the pleasures of life, and a retreat from its inquietudes. I am led
into this thought by a visit I made an old friend who was formerly my
schoolfellow. He came to town last week with his family for the winter,
and yesterday morning sent me word his wife expected me to dinner. I
am as it were at home at that house, and every member of it knows me
for their well-wisher. I cannot indeed express the pleasure it is,
to be met by the children with so much joy as I am when I go thither:
the boys and girls strive who shall come first, when they think it is
I that am knocking at the door; and that child which loses the race to
me, runs back again to tell the father it is Mr. Bickerstaff. This day
I was led in by a pretty girl, that we all thought must have forgot
me; for the family has been out of town these two years. Her knowing
me again was a mighty subject with us, and took up our discourse at
the first entrance. After which they began to rally me upon a thousand
little stories they heard in the country about my marriage to one of my
neighbour's daughters: upon which the gentleman my friend said, "Nay,
if Mr. Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old companions, I hope
mine shall have the preference; there's Mrs. Mary is now sixteen, and
would make him as fine a widow as the best of them: but I know him too
well; he is so enamoured with the very memory of those who flourished
in our youth, that he will not so much as look upon the modern
beauties. I remember, old gentleman, how often you went home in a day
to refresh your countenance and dress, when Teraminta reigned in your
heart. As we came up in the coach, I repeated to my wife some of your
verses on her." With such reflections on little passages which happened
long ago, we passed our time during a cheerful and elegant meal. After
dinner, his lady left the room, as did also the children. As soon as we
were alone, he took me by the hand; "Well, my good friend," says he, "I
am heartily glad to see thee; I was afraid you would never have seen
all the company that dined with you to-day again. Do not you think the
good woman of the house a little altered, since you followed her from
the play-house, to find out who she was, for me? I perceived a tear
fall down his cheek as he spoke, which moved me not a little. But to
turn the discourse," said I, "She is not indeed quite that creature she
was when she returned me the letter I carried from you; and told me,
she hoped, as I was a gentleman, I would be employed no more to trouble
her who had never offended me, but would be so much the gentleman's
friend as to dissuade him from a pursuit which he could never succeed
in. You may remember, I thought her in earnest, and you were forced
to employ your cousin Will, who made his sister get acquainted with
her for you. You cannot expect her to be for ever fifteen." "Fifteen?"
replied my good friend: "ah! you little understand, you that have
lived a bachelor, how great, how exquisite a pleasure there is in
being really beloved! It is impossible that the most beauteous face
in nature should raise in me such pleasing ideas as when I look upon
that excellent woman. That fading in her countenance is chiefly caused
by her watching with me in my fever. This was followed by a fit of
sickness, which had like to have carried her off last winter. I tell
you sincerely, I have so many obligations to her, that I cannot with
any sort of moderation think of her present state of health. But as
to what you say of fifteen, she gives me every day pleasures beyond
what I ever knew in the possession of her beauty when I was in the
vigour of youth. Every moment of her life brings me fresh instances
of her complacency to my inclinations, and her prudence in regard to
my fortune. Her face is to me much more beautiful than when I first
saw it; there is no decay in any feature which I cannot trace from the
very instant it was occasioned by some anxious concern for my welfare
and interests. Thus at the same time, methinks, the love I conceived
towards her for what she was, is heightened by my gratitude for what
she is. The love of a wife is as much above the idle passion commonly
called by that name, as the loud laughter of buffoons is inferior to
the elegant mirth of gentlemen. Oh! she is an inestimable jewel. In her
examination of her household affairs, she shows a certain fearfulness
to find a fault, which makes her servants obey her like children; and
the meanest we have, has an ingenuous shame for an offence, not always
to be seen in children in other families. I speak freely to you, my
old friend; ever since her sickness, things that gave me the quickest
joy before, turn now to a certain anxiety. As the children play in the
next room, I know the poor things by their steps, and am considering
what they must do, should they lose their mother in their tender years.
The pleasure I used to take in telling my boy stories of the battles,
and asking my girl questions about the disposal of her baby,[283] and
the gossiping of it, is turned into inward reflection and melancholy."
He would have gone on in this tender way, when the good lady entered,
and with an inexpressible sweetness in her countenance told us, she
had been searching her closet for something very good to treat such an
old friend as I was. Her husband's eyes sparkled with pleasure at the
cheerfulness of her countenance; and I saw all his fears vanish in an
instant. The lady observing something in our looks which showed we had
been more serious than ordinary, and seeing her husband receive her
with great concern under a forced cheerfulness, immediately guessed at
what we had been talking of; and applying herself to me, said, with a
smile, "Mr. Bickerstaff, don't believe a word of what he tells you. I
shall still live to have you for my second, as I have often promised
you, unless he takes more care of himself than he has done since his
coming to town. You must know, he tells me, that he finds London is
a much more healthy place than the country; for he sees several of
his old acquaintance and school-fellows are here, young fellows with
fair[284] full-bottomed periwigs. I could scarce keep him this morning
from going out open-breasted."[285] My friend, who is always extremely
delighted with her agreeable humour, made her sit down with us. She did
it with that easiness which is peculiar to women of sense; and to keep
up the good humour she had brought in with her, turned her raillery
upon me. "Mr. Bickerstaff, you remember you followed me one night
from the play-house; supposing you should carry me thither to-morrow
night, and lead me into the front box." This put us into a long field
of discourse about the beauties, who were mothers to the present,
and shone in the boxes twenty years ago. I told her, I was glad she
had transferred so many of her charms, and I did not question but
her eldest daughter was within half a year of being a toast.[286] We
were pleasing ourselves with this fantastical preferment of the young
lady, when on a sudden we were alarmed with the noise of a drum, and
immediately entered my little godson to give me a point of war.[287]
His mother, between laughing and chiding, would have put him out of the
room; but I would not part with him so.[288] I found, upon conversation
with him, though he was a little noisy in his mirth, that the child
had excellent parts, and was a great master of all the learning on the
other side eight years old. I perceived him a very great historian in
Æsop's fables; but he frankly declared to me his mind, that he did
not delight in that learning, because he did not believe they were
true; for which reason, I found he had very much turned his studies,
for about a twelvemonth past, into the lives and adventures of Don
Bellianis of Greece, Guy of Warwick, the Seven Champions, and other
historians of that age. I could not but observe the satisfaction the
father took in the forwardness of his son; and that these diversions
might turn to some profit, I found the boy had made remarks, which
might be of service to him during the course of his whole life. He
would tell you the mismanagements of John Hickathrift,[289] find fault
with the passionate temper in Bevis of Southampton, and loved St.
George for being the champion of England; and by this means, had his
thoughts insensibly moulded into the notions of discretion, virtue, and
honour. I was extolling his accomplishments, when the mother told me,
that the little girl who led me in this morning was in her way a better
scholar than he. "Betty," says she, "deals chiefly in fairies and
sprites; and sometimes in a winter night, will terrify the maids with
her accounts, till they are afraid to go up to bed."

I sat with them till it was very late, sometimes in merry, sometimes
in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure, which gives the
only true relish to all conversation, a sense that every one of us
liked each other. I went home, considering the different conditions of
a married life and that of a bachelor; and I must confess, it struck
me with a secret concern, to reflect, that whenever I go off, I shall
leave no traces behind me. In this pensive mood I returned to my
family; that is to say, to my maid, my dog and my cat, who only can be
the better or worse for what happens to me.

FOOTNOTES:

[283] Her doll. _Cf._ "Wentworth Papers," p. 451, where Lady Anne
Wentworth, aged eight, writing to her father of a younger sister, says,
"Lady Hariote desires you to bring her a baby." The best dolls were
called "Bartholomew babies," says Professor Henry Morley ("Memoirs of
Bartholomew Fair," 1859, p. 333).

A passage in Sir Philip Sidney's "Arcadia" (Book III.) aptly
illustrates this use of the word "baby": "We see young babes think
babies of wonderful excellency, and yet the babies are but babies."
From the private account-book of Isabella, Duchess of Grafton, who
married, as her second husband, Sir T. Hanmer, it appears that in
1710 the Duchess gave £2, 3s. for a "baby" ("Correspondence of Sir T.
Hanmer, Bart.," 1838, pp. 236 _seq._).

[284] Elderly men wore black, brown, or grizzly wigs.

[285] See the letter from Isaac Bickerstaff in No. 246, and No. 151. In
Lillie's "Letters sent to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_," i. 210-211,
there is a letter dated Jan. 21, 1712, referring to "the unaccountable
custom that for some time has prevailed among our fashionable
gentlemen, of coming abroad in this cold, unseasonable weather with
their breasts and bodies almost quite naked, by which means they have
procured such terrible coughs." The object here was to display the
shirt; old men followed the fashion in the hope of seeming young.

[286] See No. 24, and Sheridan's "School for Scandal," act iii. sc. 3:

                  "Let the toast pass,
                  Drink to the lass,
    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass!"



[287] A strain of martial music. "Turning your books to greaves, your
ink to blood, your pens to lances; and your tongue divine to a loud
trumpet, and a point of war" ("2 Henry IV.," act iv. sc. I).

The term was still current in Steele's day, as appears from the
following extract, quoted by Mr. Dobson from Mackinnon's "History of
the Coldstream Guards," ii. 332: "1717.--A party of drummers of the
Guards were committed to the Marshalsea for beating a point of war
before the Earl of Wexford's house on his acquittal of charges brought
against him."

[288] "The children then reappear to complete a domestic interior
which, at a time when wit had no higher employment than to laugh at the
affections and moralities of home, could have arisen only to a fancy
as pure as the heart that prompted it was loving and true" (Forster,
"Historical and Biographical Essays," ii.: Steele).

[289] Generally styled "Thomas." But Sterne also calls him "Jack" in
"Tristram Shandy," vol. i. chap. xiv. His tomb is still shown in Tilney
churchyard, Norfolk. [Dobson.]



No. 96. [ADDISON.[290]

From _Thursday, Nov. 17_, to _Saturday, Nov. 19, 1709_.

    Is demum mihi vivere atque frui animâ videtur, qui aliquo
        negotio intentus, præclari facinoris, aut artis bonæ famam
        quærit.--SALLUST, Bel. Cat. 2.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 17._

It has cost me very much care and thought to marshal and fix the people
under their proper denominations, and to range them according to their
respective characters. These my endeavours have been received with
unexpected success in one kind, but neglected in another; for though
I have many readers, I have but few converts. This must certainly
proceed from a false opinion, that what I write is designed rather
to amuse and entertain than convince and instruct. I entered upon my
essays with a declaration, that I should consider mankind in quite
another manner than they had hitherto been represented to the ordinary
world; and asserted, that none but a useful life should be with me
any life at all. But lest this doctrine should have made this small
progress towards the conviction of mankind because it may appear to
the unlearned light and whimsical, I must take leave to unfold the
wisdom and antiquity of my first proposition in these my essays, to
wit, that every worthless man is a dead man. This notion is as old as
Pythagoras, in whose school it was a point of discipline, that if among
the #akoustikoi#, or probationers, there were any who grew weary
of studying to be useful, and returned to an idle life, the rest were
to regard them as dead; and upon their departing, to perform their
obsequies, and raise them tombs, with inscriptions, to warn others of
the like mortality, and quicken them to resolutions of refining their
souls above that wretched state. It is upon a like supposition that
young ladies at this very time in Roman Catholic countries are received
into some nunneries with their coffins, and with the pomp of a formal
funeral, to signify, that henceforth they are to be of no further use,
and consequently dead. Nor was Pythagoras himself the first author
of this symbol, with whom, and with the Hebrews, it was generally
received. Much more might be offered in illustration of this doctrine
from sacred authority, which I recommend to my reader's own reflection;
who will easily recollect, from places which I do not think fit to
quote here, the forcible manner of applying the words dead and living
to men as they are good or bad.

I have therefore composed the following scheme of existence for the
benefit both of the living and the dead, though chiefly for the
latter, whom I must desire to read it with all possible attention.
In the number of the dead, I comprehend all persons of what title or
dignity soever, who bestow most of their time in eating and drinking,
to support that imaginary existence of theirs, which they call life;
or in dressing and adorning those shadows and apparitions which are
looked upon by the vulgar as real men and women. In short, whoever
resides in the world without having any business in it, and passes
away an age without ever thinking on the errand for which he was sent
hither, is to me a dead man to all intents and purposes; and I desire
that he may be so reputed. The living are only those that are some way
or other laudably employed in the improvement of their own minds,
or for the advantage of others; and even among these, I shall only
reckon into their lives that part of their time which has been spent
in the manner above mentioned. By these means, I am afraid, we shall
find the longest lives not to consist of many months, and the greatest
part of the earth to be quite unpeopled. According to this system we
may observe, that some men are born at twenty years of age, some at
thirty, some at threescore, and some not above an hour before they die;
nay, we may observe multitudes that die without ever being born, as
well as many dead persons that fill up the bulk of mankind, and make
a better figure in the eyes of the ignorant than those who are alive
and in their proper and full state of health. However, since there may
be many good subjects, that pay their taxes, and live peaceably in
their habitations, who are not yet born, or have departed this life
several years since, my design is to encourage both to join themselves
as soon as possible to the number of the living: for as I invite the
former to break forth into being, and become good for something; so I
allow the latter a state of resuscitation; which I chiefly mention for
the sake of a person who has lately published an advertisement, with
several scurrilous terms in it, that do by no means become a dead man
to give. It is my departed friend John Partridge, who concludes the
advertisement of his next year's almanac[291] with the following note:

     "Whereas it has been industriously given out by Bickerstaff, Esq.,
     and others, to prevent the sale of this year's almanac, that John
     Partridge is dead: this may inform all his loving countrymen, that
     he is still living, in health, and they are knaves that reported
     it otherwise.

  "J. P."



_From my own Apartment, Nov. 18._

When an engineer finds his guns have not had their intended effect, he
changes his batteries. I am forced at present to take this method; and
instead of continuing to write against the singularity some are guilty
of in their habit and behaviour, I shall henceforward desire them to
persevere in it; and not only so, but shall take it as a favour of all
the coxcombs in the town, if they will set marks upon themselves, and
by some particular in their dress, show to what class they belong.
It would be very obliging in all such persons, who feel in themselves
that they are not sound of understanding, to give the world notice of
it, and spare mankind the pains of finding them out. A cane upon the
fifth button[292] shall from henceforth be the type of a Dapper;[293]
red-heeled shoes, and a hat hung upon one side of the head, shall
signify a Smart;[294] a good periwig made into a twist, with a brisk
cock, shall speak a mettled fellow; and an upper lip covered with
snuff, denotes a coffee-house statesman. But as it is required that
all coxcombs hang out their signs, it is on the other hand expected,
that men of real merit should avoid anything particular in their dress,
gait, or behaviour. For, as we old men delight in proverbs, I cannot
forbear bringing out one on this occasion, that "good wine needs no
bush."[295] I must not leave this subject without reflecting on several
persons I have lately met with, who at a distance seem very terrible;
but upon a stricter inquiry into their looks and features, appeared
as meek and harmless as any of my own neighbours. These are country
gentlemen, who of late years have taken up a humour of coming to town
in red coats, whom an arch wag of my acquaintance used to describe very
well, by calling them sheep in wolves' clothing. I have often wondered,
that honest gentlemen, who are good neighbours, and live quietly in
their own possessions, should take it in their heads to frighten the
town after this unreasonable manner. I shall think myself obliged, if
they persist in so unnatural a dress (notwithstanding any posts they
may have in the militia), to give away their red coats to any of the
soldiery who shall think fit to strip them, provided the said soldiers
can make it appear, that they belong to a regiment where there is a
deficiency in the clothing.

About two days ago I was walking in the Park, and accidentally met a
rural squire, clothed in all the types above mentioned, with a carriage
and behaviour made entirely out of his own head. He was of a bulk and
stature larger than ordinary, had a red coat, flung open to show a
gay calamanco[296] waistcoat: his periwig fell in a very considerable
bush upon each shoulder: his arms naturally swung at an unreasonable
distance from his sides; which, with the advantage of a cane, that he
brandished in a great variety of irregular motions, made it unsafe for
any one to walk within several yards of him. In this manner he took up
the whole Mall, his spectators moving on each side of it, whilst he
cocked up his hat, and marched directly for Westminster. I cannot tell
who this gentleman is, but for my comfort may say, with the lover in
Terence, who lost sight of a fine young lady, "Wherever thou art, thou
canst not be long concealed."


_St. James's Coffee-house, Nov. 18._

By letters from Paris of the 16th we are informed, that the French
King, the princes of the blood, and the Elector of Bavaria had lately
killed fifty-five pheasants.

     Whereas several have industriously spread abroad, that I am in
     partnership with Charles Lillie, the perfumer at the corner of
     Beauford Buildings; I must say with my friend Partridge, that they
     are knaves who reported it. However, since the said Charles has
     promised that all his customers shall be mine, I must desire all
     mine to be his; and dare answer for him, that if you ask in my
     name for snuff, Hungary or orange-water, you shall have the best
     the town affords at the cheapest rate.

FOOTNOTES:

[290] Nichols ascribes this paper to Addison, upon the evidence of MS.
notes of Christopher Byron, who assisted Zachary Grey in his edition of
"Hudibras." This is probably right, but the paper is not included in
Tickell's edition of Addison's works.

[291] The "Partridge's Almanac" for 1710 was brought out by the
Stationers' Company, and not by Partridge. The following advertisement
appeared in No. 105 of the _Tatler_: "There having of late in several
newspapers been an advertisement of an almanac called _Merlinus
Liberatus_, pretended to be made by J. Partridge, but in truth was
patched together by Benjamin Harris, famous for practices of this
nature, this notice is given, to prevent persons from being imposed
upon; for there will not be any almanac published by J. Partridge for
the year 1710, the injunction granted by the Lord High Chancellor
against printing the same being still in force; and if any person shall
deal in any counterfeit almanacs, they will be proceeded against."

As Partridge is often mentioned in the _Tatler_ (see Nos. 1, 7, 11, 56,
59, 67, 99, 216, 228, 240), it may be well to give some particulars
of him in addition to what is stated in the Introduction. Partridge
was born at East Sheen in 1644, and was apprenticed to a shoemaker;
but he studied assiduously, and, giving up his trade, began to publish
astrological books in 1678. His almanac, _Merlinus Liberatus_, appeared
first in 1680, and in 1682 he described himself as sworn physician
to Charles II. Afterwards he went to Leyden, and claimed to have
received the degree of M. D. During the closing years of the century
he had controversies with other almanac makers, and advertised quack
medicines. When Swift attacked him in 1708 he was rightly regarded as
being at the head of his profession. For a time he was silenced; no
almanac appeared from 1710 to 1713; but his _Merlinus Redivivus_ was
issued in 1714, with an attack upon Swift. Partridge died at Mortlake
in 1715, and a monument to his memory was erected in the churchyard.
His will shows that he left property amounting to over £2000. It is
said that his real name was Hewson.

[292] See No. 26.

[293] See No. 85.

[294] See No. 26.

[295] An ivy-bush often formed the sign of a tavern. Sometimes the word
was applied to the tavern itself, _e.g._ "Twenty to one you will find
him at the bush."

[296] See No. 85.



No. 97. [ADDISON.

From _Saturday, Nov. 19_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 22, 1709_.

    Illud maxime rarum genus est eorum, qui aut excellente ingenii
        magnitudine, aut præclara erudidione atque doctrina, aut
        utraque re ornati, spatium deliberandi habuerunt, quem
        potissimum vitæ cursum sequi vellent.--CICERO, De Offic. I.
        xxxiii. 119.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 21._

Having swept away prodigious multitudes in my last paper, and brought
a great destruction upon my own species, I must endeavour in this to
raise fresh recruits, and, if possible, to supply the places of the
unborn and the deceased. It is said of Xerxes, that when he stood upon
a hill, and saw the whole country round him covered with his army, he
burst out in tears, to think that not one of that multitude would be
alive a hundred years after. For my part, when I take a survey of this
populous city, I can scarce forbear weeping, to see how few of its
inhabitants are now living. It was with this thought that I drew up
my last bill of mortality, and endeavoured to set out in it the great
number of persons who have perished by a distemper (commonly known by
the name of Idleness) which has long raged in the world, and destroys
more in every great town than the plague has done at Dantzic.[297] To
repair the mischief it has done, and stock the world with a better race
of mortals, I have more hopes of bringing to life those that are young,
than of reviving those that are old. For which reason, I shall here
set down that noble allegory which was written by an old author called
Prodicus, but recommended and embellished by Socrates.[298] It is the
description of Virtue and Pleasure making their court to Hercules under
the appearances of two beautiful women.

When Hercules, says the divine moralist, was in that part of his youth
in which it was natural for him to consider what course of life he
ought to pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence
and solitude of the place very much favoured his meditations. As he was
musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in himself
on the state of life he should choose, he saw two women of a larger
stature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a very
noble air and graceful deportment; her beauty was natural and easy,
her person clean and unspotted, her eyes cast towards the ground with
an agreeable reserve, her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and
her raiment as white as snow. The other had a great deal of health and
floridness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artificial
white and red, and endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in
her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a
wonderful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of
colours in her dress that she thought were the most proper to show her
complexion to an advantage.

She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that were
present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure
she made in her own shadow. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, she
stepped before the other lady (who came forward with a regular composed
carriage), and running up to him, accosted him after the following
manner:

"My dear Hercules," says she, "I find you are very much divided in
your own thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to choose: be my
friend, and follow me; I'll lead you into the possession of pleasure,
and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and
disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have
no power to disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your
life easy, and to entertain every sense with its proper gratification.
Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music,
crowds of beauties, are all in a readiness to receive you. Come along
with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid
farewell for ever to care, to pain, to business."

Hercules hearing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know
her name; to which she answered, "My friends, and those who are well
acquainted with me, call me Happiness; but my enemies, and those who
would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure."

By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed herself to the
young hero in a very different manner.

"Hercules," says she, "I offer myself to you, because I know you are
descended from the gods, and give proofs of that descent by your love
to virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. This
makes me hope you will gain both for yourself and me an immortal
reputation. But before I invite you into my society and friendship,
I will be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this as an
established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be
purchased without pains and labour.[299] The gods have set a price upon
every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favour of the
Deity, you must be at the pains of worshipping him; if the friendship
of good men, you must study to oblige them; if you would be honoured
by your country, you must take care to serve it. In short, if you
would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the
qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and
conditions upon which I can propose happiness." The goddess of Pleasure
here broke in upon her discourse: "You see, "said she, "Hercules, by
her own confession, the way to her pleasures is long and difficult,
whereas that which I propose is short and easy." "Alas!" said the other
lady, whose visage glowed with a passion made up of scorn and pity,
"what are the pleasures you propose? To eat before you are hungry,
drink before you are athirst, sleep before you are tired, to gratify
appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as Nature
never planted. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the
praise of one's self; nor saw the most beautiful object, which is the
work of one's own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth in a dream
of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and
remorse, for old age.

"As for me, I am the friend of gods and of good men, an agreeable
companion to the artisan, a household guardian to the fathers of
families, a patron and protector of servants, an associate in all
true and generous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are never
costly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them who are
not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are sound, and their
wakings cheerful. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves
praised by those who are in years, and those who are in years of being
honoured by those who are young. In a word, my followers are favoured
by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their country,
and (after the close of their labours) honoured by posterity."

We know by the life of this memorable hero, to which of these two
ladies he gave up his heart; and I believe, every one who reads this
will do him the justice to approve his choice.

I very much admire the speeches of these ladies, as containing in
them the chief arguments for a life of virtue or a life of pleasure
that could enter into the thoughts of a heathen; but am particularly
pleased with the different figures he gives the two goddesses. Our
modern authors have represented Pleasure or Vice with an alluring face,
but ending in snakes and monsters: here she appears in all the charms
of beauty, though they are all false and borrowed; and by that means,
composes a vision entirely natural and pleasing.

I have translated this allegory for the benefit of the youth of Great
Britain; and particularly of those who are still in the deplorable
state of non-existence, and whom I most earnestly entreat to come into
the world. Let my embryos show the least inclination to any single
virtue, and I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth. I don't
expect of them, that, like the hero in the foregoing story, they should
go about as soon as they are born, with a club in their hands, and
a lion's skin on their shoulders, to root out monsters, and destroy
tyrants; but as the finest author of all antiquity has said upon
this very occasion, though a man has not the abilities to distinguish
himself in the most shining parts of a great character, he has
certainly the capacity of being just, faithful, modest, and temperate.

FOOTNOTES:

[297] In 1709 the plague carried off over 40,000 persons in Dantzic.

[298] See Xenophon, "Mem.," Book II. chap. i. 21.

[299] _Cf._ Hesiod, "Works and Days," 289.



No. 98. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Nov. 22_, to _Thursday, Nov. 24, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 23._

I read the following letter, which was left for me this evening, with
very much concern for the lady's condition who sent it, who expresses
the state of her mind with great frankness, as all people ought who
talk to their physicians.

     "Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

     "Though you are stricken in years, and have had great experience
     in the world, I believe you will say, there are not frequently
     such difficult occasions to act in with decency as those wherein
     I am entangled. I am a woman in love, and that you will allow to
     be the most unhappy of all circumstances in human life: Nature
     has formed us with a strong reluctance against owning such a
     passion, and custom has made it criminal in us to make advances.
     A gentleman, whom I will call Fabio, has the entire possession of
     my heart. I am so intimately acquainted with him, that he makes
     no scruple of communicating to me an ardent affection he has for
     Cleora, a friend of mine, who also makes me her confidante. Most
     part of my life I am in company with the one or the other, and
     am always entertained with his passion, or her triumph. Cleora
     is one of those ladies, who think they are virtuous, if they are
     not guilty; and without any delicacy of choice, resolves to take
     the best offer which shall be made to her. With this prospect she
     puts off declaring herself in favour of Fabio, till she sees what
     lovers will fall into her snares, which she lays in all public
     places with all the art of gesture and glances. This resolution
     she has herself told me. Though I love him better than life, I
     would not gain him by betraying Cleora, or committing such a
     trespass against modesty as letting him know myself that I love
     him. You are an astrologer, what shall I do?

  "DIANA DOUBTFUL."


This lady has said very justly, that the condition of a woman in love
is of all others the most miserable. Poor Diana! how must she be racked
with jealousy when Fabio talks of Cleora? how with indignation when
Cleora makes a property of Fabio? A female lover is in the condition
of a ghost, that wanders about its beloved treasure, without power
to speak until it is spoken to. I desire Diana to continue in this
circumstance; for I see an eye of comfort in her case, and will take
all proper measures to extricate her out of this unhappy game of
cross purposes. Since Cleora is upon the catch with her charms, and
has no particular regard for Fabio, I shall place a couple of special
fellows in her way, who shall both address to her, and have each a
better estate than Fabio. They are both already taken with her, and
are preparing for being of her retinue the ensuing winter. To women
of this worldly turn, as I apprehend Cleora to be, we must reckon
backward in our computation of merit; and when a fair lady thinks only
of making her spouse a convenient domestic, the notion of worth and
value is altered, and the lover is the more acceptable the less he is
considerable. The two I shall throw in the way of Cleora, are Orson
Thickett and Mr. Walter Wisdom. Orson is a huntsman, whose father's
death, and some difficulties about legacies, brought out of the woods
to town last November. He was at that time one of those country savages
who despise the softness they meet in town and court, and professedly
show their strength and roughness in every motion and gesture, in
scorn of our bowing and cringing. He was at his first appearance very
remarkable for that piece of good breeding peculiar to natural Britons,
to wit, defiance. He showed every one he met he was as good a man as
he. But in the midst of all his fierceness, he would sometimes attend
the discourse of a man of sense, and look at the charms of a beauty
with his eyes and mouth open. He was in this posture when, in the
beginning of last December, he was shot by Cleora from a side-box.[300]
From that moment he softened into humanity, forgot his dogs and horses,
and now moves and speaks with civility and address. What Wisdom, by
the death of an elder brother, came to a great estate, when he had
proceeded just far enough in his studies to be very impertinent, and at
the years when the law gives him possession of his fortune, and his own
constitution is too warm for the management of it. Orson is learning
to fence and dance, to please and fight for his mistress; and Walter
preparing fine horses, and a jingling chariot, to enchant her. All
persons concerned will appear at the next opera, where will begin the
wild-goose chase; and I doubt, Fabio will see himself so overlooked for
Orson or Walter, as to turn his eyes on the modest passion and becoming
languor in the countenance of Diana; it being my design to supply with
the art of love all those who preserve the sincere passion of it.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 23._

An ingenious and worthy gentleman, my ancient friend,[301] fell into
discourse with me this evening upon the force and efficacy which the
writings of good poets have on the minds of their intelligent readers,
and recommended to me his sense of the matter, thrown together in the
following manner, which he desired me to communicate to the youth of
Great Britain in my essays; which I choose to do in his own words.

"I have always been of opinion," says he, "that virtue sinks deepest
into the heart of man when it comes recommended by the powerful charms
of poetry. The most active principle in our mind is the imagination:
to it a good poet makes his court perpetually, and by this faculty
takes care to gain it first. Our passions and inclinations come over
next; and our reason surrenders itself with pleasure in the end. Thus
the whole soul is insensibly betrayed into morality, by bribing the
fancy with beautiful and agreeable images of those very things that
in the books of the philosophers appear austere, and have at the best
but a kind of forbidden aspect. In a word, the poets do, as it were,
strew the rough paths of virtue so full of flowers, that we are not
sensible of the uneasiness of them, and imagine ourselves in the midst
of pleasures, and the most bewitching allurements, at the time we are
making a progress in the severest duties of life.

"All then agree, that licentious poems do of all writings soonest
corrupt the heart: and why should we not be as universally persuaded,
that the grave and serious performances of such as write in the
most engaging manner, by a kind of divine impulse, must be the most
effectual persuasives to goodness? If therefore I were blessed with a
son, in order to the forming of his manners (which is making him truly
my son) I should be continually putting into his hand some fine poet.
The graceful sentences and the manly sentiments so frequently to be met
with in every great and sublime writer, are, in my judgment, the most
ornamental and valuable furniture that can be for a young gentleman's
head; methinks they show like so much rich embroidery upon the brain.
Let me add to this, that humanity and tenderness (without which there
can be no true greatness in the mind) are inspired by the Muses in such
pathetical language, that all we find in prose authors towards the
raising and improving of these passions, is in comparison but cold, or
lukewarm at the best. There is besides a certain elevation of soul, a
sedate magnanimity, and a noble turn of virtue, that distinguishes the
hero from the plain, honest man, to which verse can only raise us. The
bold metaphors and sounding numbers, peculiar to the poets, rouse up
all our sleeping faculties, and alarm the whole powers of the soul,
much like that excellent trumpeter mentioned by Virgil:

    '----_Quo non præstantior alter
    Ære ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu._'[302]

"I fell into this train of thinking this evening, upon reading
a passage in a masque written by Milton, where two brothers are
introduced seeking after their sister, whom they had lost in a dark
night and thick wood. One of the brothers is apprehensive lest the
wandering virgin should be overpowered with fears through the darkness
and loneliness of the time and place. This gives the other occasion to
make the following reflections, which, as I read them, made me forget
my age, and renewed in me the warm desires after virtue, so natural to
uncorrupted youth.

    '_I do not think my sister so to seek,
    Or so unprincipled in virtue's book,
    And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
    As that the single want of light and noise
    (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)
    Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
    And put them into misbecoming plight.
    Virtue could see to do what Virtue would,
    By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
    Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self
    Oft seeks to sweet retirèd solitude:
    Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
    She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
    That in the various bustle of resort
    Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
    He that has light within his own clear breast,
    May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day:
    But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
    Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
    Himself is his own dungeon._'"[303]

FOOTNOTES:

[300] See No. 50.

[301] Perhaps Dr. Thomas Walker, head schoolmaster at the Charter
House, where Steele and Addison were scholars. In the _Spectator_, No.
488, Dr. Walker is alluded to as "the ingenious T. W."

[302] "Æneid," vi. 164.



No. 99. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Nov. 24_, to _Saturday, Nov. 26, 1709_.

    Spirat tragicum satis et feliciter audet.--HOR., 2 Ep. i. 166.


_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 25._

I have been this evening recollecting what passages (since I could
first think) have left the strongest impressions upon my mind; and
after strict inquiry, I am convinced, that the impulses I have received
from theatrical representations, have had a greater effect than
otherwise would have been wrought in me by the little occurrences of my
private life. My old friends, Hart[304] and Mohun,[305] the one by his
natural and proper force, the other by his great skill and art, never
failed to send me home full of such ideas as affected my behaviour,
and made me insensibly more courteous and humane to my friends and
acquaintance. It is not the business of a good play to make every man a
hero; but it certainly gives him a livelier sense of virtue and merit
than he had when he entered the theatre. This rational pleasure (as
I always call it) has for many years been very little tasted; but I
am glad to find, that the true spirit of it is reviving again amongst
us, by a due regard to what is presented, and by supporting only one
play-house.[306] It has been within the observation of the youngest
amongst us, that while there were two houses, they did not outvie each
other by such representations as tended to the instruction and ornament
of life, but by introducing mimical dances and fulsome buffooneries.
For when an excellent tragedy was to be acted in one house, the
ladder-dancer[307] carried the whole town to the other: and indeed such
an evil as this must be the natural consequence of two theatres, as
certainly as that there are more who can see than can think. Every one
is judge of the danger of the fellow on the ladder, and his activity in
coming down safe; but very few are judges of the distress of a hero in
a play, or of his manner of behaviour in those circumstances. Thus, to
please the people, two houses must entertain them with what they can
understand, and not with things which are designed to improve their
understanding: and the readiest way to gain good audiences, must be to
offer such things as are most relished by the crowd; that is to say,
immodest action, empty show, or impertinent activity. In short, two
houses cannot hope to subsist, but by means which are contradictory to
the very institution of a theatre in a well-governed kingdom.

I have ever had this sense of the thing, and for that reason have
rejoiced that my ancient coeval friend of Drury Lane,[308] though he
had sold off most of his movables, still kept possession of his palace,
and trembled for him, when he had lately like to have been taken by
a stratagem. There have for many ages been a certain learned sort of
unlearned men in this nation called attorneys, who have taken upon
them to solve all difficulties by increasing them, and are called upon
to the assistance of all who are lazy, or weak of understanding. The
insolence of a ruler of this place made him resign the possession of it
to the management of my above-mentioned friend Divito. Divito was too
modest to know when to resign it, till he had the opinion and sentence
of the law for his removal. Both these in length of time were obtained
against him: but as the great Archimedes defended Syracuse with so
powerful engines, that if he threw a rope or piece of wood over the
wall, the enemy fled; so Divito had wounded all adversaries with so
much skill, that men feared even to be in the right against him. For
this reason, the lawful ruler sets up an attorney to expel an attorney,
and chose a name dreadful to the stage,[309] who only seemed able to
beat Divito out of his entrenchments.

On the 22nd instant, a night of public rejoicing, the enemies of
Divito made a largess to the people of faggots, tubs, and other
combustible matter, which was erected into a bonfire before the palace.
Plentiful cans were at the same time distributed among the dependencies
of that principality; and the artful rival of Divito observing them
prepared for enterprise, presented the lawful owner of the neighbouring
edifice, and showed his deputation under him. War immediately ensued
upon the peaceful empire of wit and the Muses; the Goths and Vandals
sacking Rome did not threaten a more barbarous devastation of arts and
sciences. But when they had forced their entrance, the experienced
Divito had detached all his subjects, and evacuated all his stores. The
neighbouring inhabitants report, that the refuse of Divito's followers
marched off the night before disguised in magnificence; door-keepers
came out clad like cardinals, and scene-drawers like heathen gods.
Divito himself was wrapped up in one of his black clouds, and left to
the enemy nothing but an empty stage, full of trap-doors, known only to
himself and his adherents.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 25._

I have already taken great pains to inspire notions of honour and
virtue into the people of this kingdom, and used all gentle methods
imaginable, to bring those who are dead in idleness, folly, and
pleasure, into life, by applying themselves to learning, wisdom, and
industry. But since fair means are ineffectual, I must proceed to
extremities, and shall give my good friends the Company of Upholders
full power to bury all such dead as they meet with, who are within my
former descriptions of deceased persons. In the meantime the following
remonstrance of that corporation I take to be very just:


_From our Office near the Haymarket, Nov. 23._

     "WORTHY SIR,

     "Upon reading your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[310] by which we
     received the agreeable news of so many deaths, we immediately
     ordered in a considerable quantity of blacks; and our servants
     have wrought night and day ever since, to furnish out the
     necessaries for these deceased. But so it is, Sir, that of this
     vast number of dead bodies, that go putrefying up and down the
     streets, not one of them has come to us to be buried. Though
     we should be both to be any hindrance to our good friends the
     physicians, yet we cannot but take notice, what infection her
     Majesty's subjects are liable to from the horrible stench of so
     many corpses. Sir, we will not detain you; our case in short is
     this: here are we embarked, in this undertaking for the public
     good: now if people shall be suffered to go on unburied at
     this rate, there's an end of the usefullest manufactures and
     handicrafts of the kingdom: for where will be your sextons,
     coffin-makers, and plumbers? What will become of your embalmers,
     epitaph-mongers, and chief mourners? We are loth to drive this
     matter any further, though we tremble at the consequences of it:
     for if it shall be left to every dead man's discretion not to
     be buried till he sees his time, no man can say where that will
     end; but thus much we will take upon us to affirm, that such a
     toleration will be intolerable.

     "What would make us easy in this matter, is no more but that your
     Worship would be pleased to issue out your orders to ditto dead
     to repair forthwith to our office, in order to their interment,
     where constant attendance shall be given to treat with all persons
     according to their quality, and the poor to be buried for
     nothing; and for the convenience of such persons as are willing
     enough to be dead, but that they are afraid their friends and
     relations should know it, we have a back door into Warwick Street,
     from whence they may be interred with all secrecy imaginable,
     and without loss of time, or hindrance of business. But in case
     of obstinacy (for we would gladly make a thorough riddance), we
     desire a further power from your Worship, to take up such deceased
     as shall not have complied with your first orders, wherever we
     meet them; and if after that there shall be complaints of any
     persons so offending, let them lie at our doors.--We are,

  "Your Worship's till death,
  THE MASTER AND COMPANY OF UPHOLDERS.

     "_P.S._--We are ready to give in our printed proposals at large;
     and if your Worship approves of our undertaking, we desire the
     following advertisement may be inserted in your next paper:

     "Whereas a commission of interment has been awarded against Dr.
     John Partridge,[311] philomath, professor of physic and astrology;
     and whereas the said Partridge hath not surrendered himself,
     nor shown cause to the contrary, these are to certify, that the
     Company of Upholders will proceed to bury him from Cordwainers'
     Hall, on Tuesday the 29th instant, where any six of his surviving
     friends, who still believe him to be alive, are desired to come
     prepared to hold up the pall.

     "_Note._--We shall light away at six in the evening, there being
     to be a sermon." #/

FOOTNOTES:

[303] "Comus," 366.

[304] Charles Hart, who died in 1683, was the creator of several
important parts in plays by Wycherley, Dryden, and Lee. Hart and
Mohun were the principal members of Killigrew's company. Hart was the
grandson of Shakespeare's sister Joan, and Cibber mentions specially
the fame of his representation of Othello. See No. 138.

[305] Michael Mohun, like Hart, fought on the side of Charles in the
Civil War, and began his life as an actor by performing women's parts.
He generally played second to Hart. Gildon ("Comparison between Two
Stages," 1702) says that plays were so well acted by Hart and Mohun
that the audience would not be distracted to see the best dancing in
Europe.

[306] The thirteen years' monopoly at Drury Lane came to an end in
1695, when Betterton opened a new theatre at Lincoln's Inn Fields. In
1705, Betterton's company moved to the new theatre in the Haymarket;
but the drama did not succeed at Vanbrugh's house, and in 1706 the
Haymarket was let to M'Swiney. In 1708, through the instrumentality
of Colonel Brett, the actors were again reunited at Drury Lane, and
the Haymarket Theatre was devoted to Italian operas. But Rich soon
quarrelled with his company, some of whom entered into negotiations
with M'Swiney. In June 1709, Drury Lane Theatre was closed by an order
from the Lord Chamberlain, and after certain structural alterations at
the Haymarket, plays were acted successfully at that house. For a time
there was thus again only one theatre open, until William Collier, M.
P., a lawyer, got for himself the licence refused to Rich, and entered
into forcible possession.

[307] In the "Touchstone," 1728, attributed to James Ralph, we are told
that rope-dancing was then still in great esteem with the generality
of people, though it had for some years been held in contempt in the
refined neighbourhood of St James's. See Prologue to Steele's "Funeral":

    "Old Shakespeare's days could not thus far advance;
    But what's his buskin to our ladder-dance?
    In the mid region a silk youth to stand,
    With that unwieldy engine at command."



[308] Christopher Rich, who was forcibly expelled by Collier, by the
aid of a hired rabble. According to an affidavit of Collier's, dated
January 8, 1710, "On or about the 22nd of November, it being a day of
public rejoicing, he ordered a bonfire to be made before the play-house
door, and gave the actors money to drink your Majesty's health ... and
that he came that evening to the play-house and showed the players Sir
John Stanley's letter, and told them they might act as soon as they
pleased, for that he had the Queen's leave to employ them. Upon which
the players themselves and some soldiers got into the play-house, and
the next day performed a play, but not the play that was given out, for
Rich had carried away the clothes."

[309] Because it recalled the name of Jeremy Collier, who began his
attack on the immorality of the stage in 1698.

[310] No. 96.

[311] See No. 96.



No. 100. [ADDISON.

From _Saturday, Nov. 26_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 29, 1709_.

    Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.--VIRG., Eclog. iv. 6.


_Sheer Lane, Nov. 28._

I was last week taking a solitary walk in the garden of Lincoln's
Inn (a favour that is indulged me by several of the benchers who are
my intimate friends, and grown old with me in this neighbourhood),
when, according to the nature of men in years who have made but little
progress in the advancement of their fortune or their fame, I was
repining at the sudden rise of many persons who are my juniors, and
indeed at the unequal distribution of wealth, honour, and all other
blessings of life. I was lost in this thought when the night came
upon me, and drew my mind into a far more agreeable contemplation.
The heaven above me appeared in all its glories, and presented me
with such a hemisphere of stars, as made the most agreeable prospect
imaginable to one who delights in the study of nature. It happened
to be a freezing night, which had purified the whole body of air
into such a bright transparent æther, as made every constellation
visible; and at the same time gave such a particular glowing to the
stars, that I thought it the richest sky I had ever seen. I could not
behold a scene so wonderfully adorned and lighted up (if I may be
allowed that expression) without suitable meditations on the Author
of such illustrious and amazing objects. For on these occasions,
philosophy suggests motives to religion, and religion adds pleasures to
philosophy. As soon as I had recovered my usual temper and serenity of
soul, I retired to my lodgings with the satisfaction of having passed
away a few hours in the proper employments of a reasonable creature,
and promising myself that my slumbers would be sweet. I no sooner fell
into them, but I dreamed a dream, or saw a vision (for I know not
which to call it), that seemed to rise out of my evening meditation,
and had something in it so solemn and serious that I cannot forbear
communicating it; though I must confess, the wildness of imagination
(which in a dream is always loose and irregular) discovers itself
too much in several parts of it. Methoughts I saw the same azure sky
diversified with the same glorious luminaries which had entertained
me a little before I fell asleep. I was looking very attentively on
that sign in the heavens which is called by the name of the Balance,
when on a sudden there appeared in it an extraordinary light, as if
the sun should rise at midnight. By its increasing in breadth and
lustre, I soon found that it approached towards the earth; and at
length could discern something like a shadow hovering in the midst of
a great glory, which in a little time after I distinctly perceived
to be the figure of a woman. I fancied at first it might have been
the angel or intelligence that guided the constellation from which it
descended; but upon a nearer view, I saw about her all the emblems with
which the goddess of Justice is usually described. Her countenance was
unspeakably awful and majestic, but exquisitely beautiful to those
whose eyes were strong enough to behold it; her smiles transported
with rapture, her frowns terrified to despair. She held in her hand
a mirror, endowed with the same qualities as that which the painters
put into the hand of Truth. There streamed from it a light, which
distinguished itself from all the splendours that surrounded her,
more than a flash of lightning shines in the midst of daylight. As
she moved it in her hand, it brightened the heavens, the air, or
the earth. When she had descended so low as to be seen and heard by
mortals, to make the pomp of her appearance more supportable, she threw
darkness and clouds about her, that tempered the light into a thousand
beautiful shades and colours, and multiplied that lustre, which was
before too strong and dazzling, into a variety of milder glories.

In the meantime the world was in an alarm, and all the inhabitants
of it gathered together upon a spacious plain; so that I seemed to
have the whole species before my eyes. A voice was heard from the
clouds, declaring the intention of this visit, which was, to restore
and appropriate to every one living what was his due. The fear and
hope, joy and sorrow, which appeared in that great assembly after this
solemn declaration, are not to be expressed. The first edict was then
pronounced, that all titles and claims to riches and estates, or to
any part of them, should be immediately vested in the rightful owner.
Upon this, the inhabitants of the earth held up the instruments of
their tenure, whether in parchment, paper, wax, or any other form of
conveyance; and as the goddess moved the mirror of truth which she
held in her hand, so that the light which flowed from it fell upon the
multitude, they examined the several instruments by the beams of it.
The rays of this mirror had a particular quality of setting fire to all
forgery and falsehood. The blaze of papers, the melting of seals, and
crackling of parchments made a very odd scene. The fire very often ran
through two or three lines only, and then stopped. Though I could not
but observe, that the flame chiefly broke out among the interlineations
and codicils, the light of the mirror, as it was turned up and down,
pierced into all the dark corners and recesses of the universe, and
by that means detected many writings and records which had been hidden
or buried by time, chance, or design. This occasioned a wonderful
revolution among the people. At the same time, the spoils of extortion,
fraud, and robbery, with all the fruits of bribery and corruption, were
thrown together into a prodigious pile, that almost reached to the
clouds, and was called "the Mount of Restitution"; to which all injured
persons were invited to receive what belonged to them.

One might see crowds of people in tattered garments come up, and change
clothes with others that were dressed with lace and embroidery. Several
who were plumbs, or very near it, became men of moderate fortunes; and
many others, who were overgrown in wealth and possessions, had no more
left than what they usually spent. What moved my concern most, was, to
see a certain street[312] of the greatest credit in Europe from one end
to the other become bankrupt.

The next command was, for the whole body of mankind to separate
themselves into their proper families; which was no sooner done, but
an edict was issued out, requiring all children to repair to their
true and natural fathers. This put a great part of the assembly in
motion; for as the mirror was moved over them, it inspired every one
with such a natural instinct, as directed them to their real parents.
It was a very melancholy spectacle to see the fathers of very large
families become childless, and bachelors undone by a charge of sons
and daughters. You might see a presumptive heir of a great estate ask
blessing of his coachman, and a celebrated toast paying her duty to a
_valet de chambre_. Many under vows of celibacy appeared surrounded
with a numerous issue. This change of parentage would have caused
great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common, and that
generally those who lost their children, had the satisfaction of seeing
them put into the hands of their dearest friends. Men were no sooner
settled in their right to their possessions and their progeny, but
there was a third order proclaimed, that all the posts of dignity and
honour in the universe should be conferred on persons of the greatest
merit, abilities, and perfection. The handsome, the strong, and the
wealthy immediately pressed forward; but not being able to bear the
splendour of the mirror which played upon their faces, they immediately
fell back among the crowd: but as the goddess tried the multitude by
her glass, as the eagle does its young ones by the lustre of the sun,
it was remarkable, that every one turned away his face from it who had
not distinguished himself either by virtue, knowledge, or capacity in
business, either military or civil. This select assembly was drawn up
in the centre of a prodigious multitude, which was diffused on all
sides, and stood observing them, as idle people use to gather about a
regiment that are exercising their arms. They were drawn up in three
bodies: in the first were the men of virtue; in the second, men of
knowledge; and in the third, the men of business. It was impossible to
look at the first column without a secret veneration, their aspects
were so sweetened with humanity, raised with contemplation, emboldened
with resolution, and adorned with the most agreeable airs, which are
those that proceed from secret habits of virtue. I could not but take
notice, that there were many faces among them which were unknown, not
only to the multitude, but even to several of their own body.

In the second column, consisting of the men of knowledge, there had
been great disputes before they fell into the ranks, which they did not
do at last without the positive command of the goddess who presided
over the assembly. She had so ordered it, that men of the greatest
genius and strongest sense were placed at the head of the column:
behind these, were such as had formed their minds very much on the
thoughts and writings of others. In the rear of the column were men
who had more wit than sense, or more learning than understanding.
All living authors of any value were ranged in one of these classes;
but I must confess, I was very much surprised to see a great body of
editors, critics, commentators, and grammarians meet with so very
ill a reception. They had formed themselves into a body, and with a
great deal of arrogance demanded the first station in the column of
knowledge; but the goddess, instead of complying with their request,
clapped them all into liveries, and bade them know themselves for no
other but lackeys of the learned.

The third column were men of business, and consisting of persons in
military and civil capacities. The former marched out from the rest,
and placed themselves in the front; at which the other shook their
heads at them, but did not think fit to dispute the post with them.
I could not but make several observations upon this last column of
people; but I have certain private reasons why I do not think fit to
communicate them to the public. In order to fill up all the posts of
honour, dignity, and profit, there was a draught made out of each
column of men who were masters of all three qualifications in some
degree, and were preferred to stations of the first rank. The second
draught was made out of such as were possessed of any two of the
qualifications, who were disposed of in stations of a second dignity.
Those who were left, and were endowed only with one of them, had their
suitable posts. When this was over, there remained many places of trust
and profit unfilled, for which there were fresh draughts made out of
the surrounding multitude who had any appearance of these excellences,
or were recommended by those who possessed them in reality.

All were surprised to see so many new faces in the most eminent
dignities; and for my own part, I was very well pleased to see that all
my friends either kept their present posts, or were advanced to higher.

Having filled my paper with those particulars of my vision which
concern the male part of mankind, I must reserve for another occasion
the sequel of it, which relates to the fair sex.[313]

FOOTNOTES:

[312] Lombard Street.



No. 101. [STEELE and ADDISON.[314]

From _Tuesday, Nov. 29_, to _Thursday, Dec. 1, 1709_.

    ----Postquam fregit subsellia versu,
    Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven.

  JUV., Sat. vii. 86.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 30._

The progress of my intended account of what happened when Justice
visited mortals, is at present interrupted by the observation and sense
of an injustice against which there is no remedy, even in a kingdom
more happy in the care taken of the liberty and property of the subject
than any other nation upon earth. This iniquity is committed by a most
impregnable set of mortals, men who are rogues within the law; and in
the very commission of what they are guilty of, professedly own, that
they forbear no injury but from the terror of being punished for it.
These miscreants are a set of wretches we authors call pirates, who
print any book, poem, or sermon, as soon as it appears in the world,
in a smaller volume, and sell it (as all other thieves do stolen
goods) at a cheaper rate.[315] I was in my rage calling them rascals,
plunderers, robbers, highwaymen. But they acknowledge all that, and
are pleased with those, as well as any other titles; nay, will print
them themselves to turn the penny. I am extremely at a loss how to act
against such open enemies, who have not shame enough to be touched with
our reproaches, and are as well defended against what we can say as
what we can do. Railing therefore we must turn into complaint, which
I cannot forbear making, when I consider that all the labours of my
long life may be disappointed by the first man that pleases to rob me.
I had flattered myself, that my stock of learning was worth £150 per
annum, which would very handsomely maintain me and my little family,
who are so happy or so wise as to want only necessaries. Before men
had come up to this bare-faced impudence, it was an estate to have a
competency of understanding. An ingenious droll, who is since dead (and
indeed it is well for him he is so, for he must have starved had he
lived to this day), used to give me an account of his good husbandry
in the management of his learning. He was a general dealer, and had
his "Amusements" as well comical as serious. The merry rogue said,
when he wanted a dinner he wrote a paragraph of table-talk, and his
bookseller upon sight paid the reckoning. He was a very good judge of
what would please the people, and could aptly hit both the genius of
his readers and the season of the year in his writings. His brain,
which was his estate, had as regular and different produce as other
men's land. From the beginning of November till the opening of the
campaign, he wrote pamphlets and letters to members of Parliament, or
friends in the country; but sometimes he would relieve his ordinary
readers with a murder, and lived comfortably a week or two upon strange
and lamentable accidents. A little before the armies took the field,
his way was to open your attention with a prodigy; and a monster well
written, was two guineas the lowest price. This prepared his readers
for his great and bloody news from Flanders in June and July. Poor
Tom![316] he is gone. But I observed, he always looked well after a
battle, and was apparently fatter in a fighting year. Had this honest
careless fellow lived till now, famine had stared him in the face,
and interrupted his merriment, as it must be a solid affliction to
all those whose pen is their portion. As for my part, I do not speak
wholly for my own sake on this point; for palmistry and astrology will
bring me in greater gains than these my papers; so that I am only in
the condition of a lawyer who leaves the bar for chamber practice.
However, I may be allowed to speak in the cause of learning itself,
and lament, that a liberal education is the only one which a polite
nation makes unprofitable.[317] All mechanic artisans are allowed to
reap the fruit of their invention and ingenuity without invasion; but
he that has separated himself from the rest of mankind, and studied
the wonders of the creation, the government of his passions, and the
revolutions of the world, and has an ambition to communicate the effect
of half his life spent in such noble inquiries, has no property in
what he is willing to produce, but is exposed to robbery and want,
with this melancholy and just reflection, that he is the only man
who is not protected by his country, at the same time that he best
deserves it. According to the ordinary rules of computation, the
greater the adventure is, the greater ought to be the profit of those
who succeed in it; and by this measure, none have pretence of turning
their labours to greater advantage than persons brought up to letters.
A learned education, passing through great schools and universities,
is very expensive, and consumes a moderate fortune, before it is gone
through in its proper forms. The purchase of an handsome commission or
employment, which would give a man a good figure in another kind of
life, is to be made at a much cheaper rate. Now, if we consider this
expensive voyage which is undertaken in the search of knowledge, and
how few there are who take in any considerable merchandise, how less
frequent it is to be able to turn what men have gained into profit?
How hard is it, that the very small number who are distinguished with
abilities to know how to vend their wares, and have the good fortune
to bring them into port, should suffer being plundered by privateers
under the very cannon that should protect them? The most eminent and
useful author of the age we live in, after having laid out a princely
revenue in works of charity and beneficence, as became the greatness of
his mind, and the sanctity of his character, would have left the person
in the world who was the dearest to him in a narrow condition, had not
the sale of his immortal writings brought her in a very considerable
dowry; though it was impossible for it to be equal to their value.
Every one will know that I here mean the works of the late Archbishop
of Canterbury,[318] the copy of which was sold for £2500.

I do not speak with relation to any party; but it has happened, and may
often so happen, that men of great learning and virtue cannot qualify
themselves for being employed in business, or receiving preferments.
In this case, you cut them off from all support if you take from them
the benefit that may arise from their writings. For my own part, I have
brought myself to consider things in so unprejudiced a manner, that I
esteem more a man who can live by the products of his understanding,
than one who does it by the favour of great men.

The zeal of an author has transported me thus far, though I think
myself as much concerned in the capacity of a reader. If this practice
goes on, we must never expect to see again a beautiful edition of a
book in Great Britain.

We have already seen the Memoirs of Sir William Temple[319] published
in the same character and volume with the history of Tom Thumb, and
the works of our greatest poets shrunk into penny books and garlands.
For my own part, I expect to see my lucubrations printed on browner
paper[320] than they are at present; and, if the humour continues, must
be forced to retrench my expensive way of living, and not smoke above
two pipes a day.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Charles Lillie, perfumer at the corner of Beauford Buildings, has
informed me, that I am obliged to several of my customers for coming
to his shop upon my recommendation; and has also given me further
assurances of his upright dealing with all who shall be so kind as
to make use of my name to him. I acknowledge this favour, and have,
for the service of my friends who frequent his shop, used the force of
magical powers to add value to his wares. By my knowledge in the secret
operations of nature, I have made his powders, perfumed and plain, have
the same effect as love-powder to all who are too much enamoured to do
more than dress at their mistresses. His amber orange-flower, musk,
and civet-violet, put only into a handkerchief, shall have the same
effect towards an honourable lover's wishes as if he had been wrapped
in his mother's smock. Wash-balls perfumed, camphored, and plain, shall
restore complexions to that degree, that a country fox-hunter who uses
them shall in a week's time look with a courtly and affable paleness,
without using the bagnio or cupping. _N. B._--Mr. Lillie has snuffs,
Barcelona, Seville, musty, plain, and Spanish, which may be taken by a
young beginner without danger of sneezing.


_Sheer Lane, Nov. 30._

Whereas several walking-dead persons arrived within the bills of
mortality, before and since the 15th instant, having been informed of
my warrant[321] given to the Company of Upholders, and being terrified
thereat (it not having been advertised that privilege or protection
would be allowed), have resolved forthwith to retire to their several
and respective abodes in the country, hoping thereby to elude any
commission of interment that may issue out against them; and being
informed of such their fallacious designs, I do hereby give notice, as
well for the good of the public as for the great veneration I have for
the before-mentioned useful society, that a process is gone out against
them, and that, in case of contempt, they may be found or heard of at
most coffee-houses in and about Westminster.

I must desire my readers to help me out from time to time in the
correction of these my essays; for as a shaking hand does not always
write legibly, the press sometimes prints one word for another; and
when my paper is to be revised, I am perhaps so busy in observing the
spots of the moon, that I have not time to find out the _errata_ that
are crept into my lucubrations.

FOOTNOTES:

[313] See No. 102.

[314] "Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper" (Tickell).

[315] This paper seems to have been occasioned by a pirated edition
of the _Tatler_ which came out just at this time. The following
advertisement concerning it, was subjoined to the next paper in the
original edition of the _Tatler_ in folio, and often repeated in the
subsequent numbers:

"Whereas I am informed, that there is a spurious and very incorrect
edition of these papers printed in a small volume; these are to give
notice, that there is in the press, and will speedily be published, a
very neat edition, fitted for the pocket, on extraordinary good paper,
a new brevier letter, like the Elzevir editions, and adorned with
several cuts by the best artists. To which is added a preface, index,
and many notes, for the better explanation of these lucubrations, by
the author, who has revised, amended, and made many additions to the
whole. _N. B._--Notice shall be given in this paper, when I conclude my
first volume." (No. 102, Advertisement.)

This spurious edition was sold by Hills. It was thus advertised in
the _Post Boy_, by A. Boyer, 1st to 3rd December 1709: "This day is
published one hundred _Tatlers_, by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., on a fine
paper, in a neat pocket volume. Price, bound, 4s., which is less than
half the price of a set in folio. Sold by H. Hills, in Blackfriars,
near the Water-side."

[316] Tom Brown (died 1704), whose works were published in four volumes
in 1707. His "Amusements Serious and Comical" appeared in 1700.

[317] "As on a former occasion [No. 114] we saw Addison, when the grief
of his friend seemed to break his utterance, with a calm composure
taking up his theme simply to moderate its pain; so in this paper,
to which also both contribute, and of which the exquisite opening
humour closes abruptly in generous indignation, we may see each,
according to his different nature, moved by an intolerable wrong. Of
the maltreatment of authors in regard to copyright, both are speaking,
and high above the irresistible laugh which Addison would raise against
a law that makes only rogues and pirates prosperous, rings out the
clear and manly claim of Steele to be allowed to speak in the cause of
learning itself, and to lament that a liberal education should be the
only one which a polite nation makes unprofitable, and that the only
man who cannot get protection from his country should be he that best
deserves it." (Forster, "Historical and Biographical Essays," 1858:
Steele.)

[318] John Tillotson married Elizabeth French, daughter of Dr. Peter
French, canon of Christ Church, Oxford, and niece of Oliver Cromwell.
On his death in 1694, Tillotson left nothing to his family but the
copyright of his posthumous sermons; but William III. gave the widow an
annuity of £400 in 1695, and added £200 more in 1698.

[319] A third edition of Temple's "Memoirs of what passed in
Christendom from 1672 to 1679" appeared in 1709.

[320] The paper on which the original numbers of the _Tatler_ were
printed is called "tobacco paper" in No. 160. It was very brown.

[321] See No. 96.



No. 102. [ADDISON.

From _Thursday, Dec. 1_, to _Saturday, Dec. 3, 1709_.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 3._

A CONTINUATION OF THE VISION.[322]

The male world were dismissed by the goddess of Justice, and
disappeared, when on a sudden the whole plain was covered with women.
So charming a multitude filled my heart with unspeakable pleasure; and
as the celestial light of the mirror shone upon their faces, several
of them seemed rather persons that descended in the train of the
goddess, than such who were brought before her to their trial. The
clack of tongues, and confusion of voices, in this new assembly, was
so very great, that the goddess was forced to command silence several
times, and with some severity before she could make them attentive
to her edicts. They were all sensible that the most important affair
among womankind was then to be settled, which every one knows to be
the point of place. This had raised innumerable disputes among them,
and put the whole sex into a tumult. Every one produced her claim, and
pleaded her pretensions. Birth, beauty, wit, or wealth, were words
that rung in my ears from all parts of the plain. Some boasted of the
merit of their husbands; others of their own power in governing them.
Some pleaded their unspotted virginity; others their numerous issue.
Some valued themselves as they were the mothers, and others as they
were the daughters, of considerable persons. There was not a single
accomplishment unmentioned or unpractised. The whole congregation
was full of singing, dancing, tossing, ogling, squeaking, smiling,
sighing, fanning, frowning, and all those irresistible arts which women
put in practice to captivate the hearts of reasonable creatures. The
goddess, to end this dispute, caused it to be proclaimed, that every
one should take place according as she was more or less beautiful.
This declaration gave great satisfaction to the whole assembly, which
immediately bridled up, and appeared in all its beauties. Such as
believed themselves graceful in their motion, found an occasion of
falling back, advancing forward, or making a false step, that they
might show their persons in the most becoming air. Such as had fine
necks and bosoms, were wonderfully curious to look over the heads of
the multitude, and observe the most distant parts of the assembly.
Several clapped their hands on their foreheads, as helping their sight
to look upon the glories that surrounded the goddess, but in reality
to show fine hands and arms. The ladies were yet better pleased, when
they heard, that in the decision of this great controversy, each of
them should be her own judge, and take her place according to her own
opinion of herself, when she consulted her looking-glass.

The goddess then let down the mirror of truth in a golden chain, which
appeared larger in proportion as it descended and approached nearer
to the eyes of the beholders. It was the particular property of this
looking-glass to banish all false appearances, and show people what
they are. The whole woman was represented, without regard to the usual
external features, which were made entirely conformable to their real
characters. In short, the most accomplished (taking in the whole circle
of female perfections) were the most beautiful; and the most defective,
the most deformed. The goddess so varied the motion of the glass, and
placed it in so many different lights, that each had an opportunity of
seeing herself in it.

It is impossible to describe the rage, the pleasure, or astonishment,
that appeared in each face upon its representation in the mirror:
multitudes started at their own form, and would have broken the glass
if they could have reached it. Many saw their blooming features
wither as they looked upon them, and their self-admiration turned
into a loathing and abhorrence. The lady who was thought so agreeable
in her anger, and was so often celebrated for a woman of fire and
spirit, was frightened at her own image, and fancied she saw a fury
in the glass. The interested mistress beheld a harpy, and the subtle
jilt a sphinx. I was very much troubled in my own heart to see such
a destruction of fine faces; but at the same time had the pleasure
of seeing several improved, which I had before looked upon as the
greatest masterpieces of nature. I observed, that some few were so
humble as to be surprised at their own charms; and that many a one who
had lived in the retirement and severity of a vestal, shone forth in
all the graces and attractions of a siren. I was ravished at the sight
of a particular image in the mirror, which I think the most beautiful
object that my eyes ever beheld. There was something more than human
in her countenance: her eyes were so full of light, that they seemed
to beautify everything they looked upon. Her face was enlivened with
such a florid bloom, as did not so properly seem the mark of health
as of immortality. Her shape, her stature, and her mien were such as
distinguished her even there where the whole fair sex was assembled.

I was impatient to see the lady represented by so divine an image,
whom I found to be the person that stood at my right hand, and in
the same point of view with myself. This was a little old woman, who
in her prime had been about five feet high, though at present shrunk
to about three-quarters of that measure; her natural aspect was
puckered up with wrinkles, and her head covered with grey hairs. I had
observed all along an innocent cheerfulness in her face, which was now
heightened into rapture as she beheld herself in the glass. It was an
odd circumstance in my dream (but I cannot forbear relating it): I
conceived so great an inclination towards her, that I had thoughts of
discoursing her upon the point of marriage, when on a sudden she was
carried from me; for the word was now given, that all who were pleased
with their own images, should separate, and place themselves at the
head of their sex.

This detachment was afterwards divided into three bodies, consisting
of maids, wives, and widows; the wives being placed in the middle,
with the maids on the right, and widows on the left; though it was
with difficulty that these two last bodies were hindered from falling
into the centre. This separation of those who liked their real selves
not having lessened the number of the main body so considerably as it
might have been wished, the goddess, after having drawn up her mirror,
thought fit to make new distinctions among those who did not like the
figure which they saw in it. She made several wholesome edicts, which
have slipped out of my mind; but there were two which dwelt upon me,
as being very extraordinary in their kind, and executed with great
severity. Their design was to make an example of two extremes in the
female world: of those who are very severe on the conduct of others,
and of those who are very regardless of their own. The first sentence,
therefore, the goddess pronounced, was, that all females addicted
to censoriousness and detraction should lose the use of speech; a
punishment which would be the most grievous to the offender, and (what
should be the end of all punishments) effectual for rooting out the
crime. Upon this edict, which was as soon executed as published, the
noise of the assembly very considerably abated. It was a melancholy
spectacle, to see so many who had the reputation of rigid virtue struck
dumb. A lady who stood by me, and saw my concern, told me, she wondered
I could be concerned for such a pack of--I found, by the shaking of
her head, she was going to give me their characters; but by her saying
no more, I perceived she had lost the command of her tongue. This
calamity fell very heavy upon that part of women who are distinguished
by the name of prudes, a courtly word for female hypocrites, who have
a short way to being virtuous, by showing that others are vicious. The
second sentence was then pronounced against the loose part of the sex,
that all should immediately be pregnant who in any part of their lives
had run the hazard of it. This produced a very goodly appearance, and
revealed so many misconducts, that made those who were lately struck
dumb, repine more than ever at their want of utterance; though, at
the same time (as afflictions seldom come single), many of the mutes
were also seized with this new calamity. The ladies were now in such
a condition, that they would have wanted room, had not the plain
been large enough to let them divide their ground, and extend their
lines on all sides. It was a sensible affliction to me to see such a
multitude of fair ones either dumb or big-bellied. But I was something
more at ease when I found that they agreed upon several regulations to
cover such misfortunes: among others, that it should be an established
maxim in all nations, that a woman's first child might come into the
world within six months after her acquaintance with her husband; and
that grief might retard the birth of her last till fourteen months
after his decease.

This vision lasted till my usual hour of waking, which I did with some
surprise, to find myself alone, after having been engaged almost a
whole night in so prodigious a multitude. I could not but reflect with
wonder at the partiality and extravagance of my vision; which according
to my thoughts, has not done justice to the sex. If virtue in men is
more venerable, it is in women more lovely; which Milton has very
finely expressed in his "Paradise Lost," where Adam, speaking of Eve,
after having asserted his own pre-eminence, as being first in creation
and internal faculties, breaks out into the following rapture:

    ----"_Yet when I approach
    Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
    And in herself complete, so well to know
    Her own, that what she wills, or do, or say,
    Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.
    All higher knowledge in her presence falls
    Degraded. Wisdom, in discourse with her,
    Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shows.
    Authority and Reason on her wait,
    As one intended first, not after made
    Occasionally: and to consummate all
    Greatness of mind and nobleness, their seat
    Build in her loveliest, and create an awe
    About her, as a guard angelic placed._"[323]


FOOTNOTES:

[322] See No. 100.

[323] "Paradise Lost," viii. 546.



No. 103. [ADDISON and STEELE.[324]

From _Saturday, Dec. 3_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 6, 1709_.

                  ----Hæ nugæ seria ducent
    In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinistre.

  HOR., Ars Poet., 45.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 5._

There is nothing gives a man greater satisfaction than the sense of
having despatched a great deal of business, especially when it turns
to the public emolument. I have much pleasure of this kind upon my
spirits at present, occasioned by the fatigue of affairs which I went
through last Saturday. It is some time since I set apart that day
for examining the pretensions of several who had applied to me for
canes, perspective-glasses, snuff-boxes, orange-flower waters, and the
like ornaments of life. In order to adjust this matter, I had before
directed Charles Lillie of Beauford Buildings to prepare a great bundle
of blank licences in the following words:

     "You are hereby required to permit the bearer of this cane to pass
     and repass through the streets and suburbs of London, or any place
     within ten miles of it, without let or molestation; provided that
     he does not walk with it under his arm, brandish it in the air, or
     hang it on a button: in which case it shall be forfeited; and I
     hereby declare it forfeited to any one who shall think it safe to
     take it from him.

  "ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."

     #/

The same form, differing only in the provisos, will serve for a
perspective, snuff-box, or perfumed handkerchief. I had placed myself
in my elbow-chair at the upper end of my great parlour, having
ordered Charles Lillie to take his place upon a joint-stool with a
writing-desk before him. John Morphew[325] also took his station at the
door; I having, for his good and faithful services, appointed him my
chamber-keeper upon court-days. He let me know, that there were a great
number attending without. Upon which, I ordered him to give notice,
that I did not intend to sit upon snuff-boxes that day; but that those
who appeared for canes might enter. The first presented me with the
following petition, which I ordered Mr. Lillie to read:

     "To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain.

     "_The humble Petition of Simon Trippit_:

     "Sheweth--That your petitioner having been bred up to a cane from
     his youth, it is now become as necessary to him as any other of
     his limbs.

     "That a great part of his behaviour depending upon it, he should
     be reduced to the utmost necessities if he should lose the use of
     it.

     "That the knocking of it upon his shoe, leaning one leg upon it,
     or whistling with it on his mouth, are such great reliefs to him
     in conversation, that he does not know how to be good company
     without it.

     "That he is at present engaged in an amour, and must despair of
     success, if it be taken from him.

     "Your petitioner therefore hopes, that (the premises tenderly
     considered) your Worship will not deprive him of so useful and so
     necessary a support.

     "And your petitioner shall ever, &c."

Upon the hearing of his case, I was touched with some compassion, and
the more so when upon observing him nearer I found he was a prig. I
bade him produce his cane in court, which he had left at the door.
He did so, and I finding it to be very curiously clouded, with a
transparent amber head, and a blue ribbon to hang upon his wrist,[326]
I immediately ordered my clerk Lillie to lay it up, and deliver out to
him a plain joint headed with walnut; and then, in order to wean him
from it by degrees, permitted him to wear it three days in a week, and
to abate proportionably till he found himself able to go alone.

The second who appeared, came limping into the court: and setting forth
in his petition many pretences for the use of a cane, I caused them
to be examined one by one; but finding him in different stories, and
confronting him with several witnesses who had seen him walk upright,
I ordered Mr. Lillie to take in his cane, and rejected his petition as
frivolous.

A third made his entry with great difficulty, leaning upon a slight
stick, and in danger of falling every step he took. I saw the weakness
of his hams; and hearing that he had married a young wife about a
fortnight before, I bade him leave his cane, and gave him a new pair
of crutches, with which he went off in great vigour and alacrity.
This gentleman was succeeded by another, who seemed very much pleased
while his petition was reading, in which he had represented, that
he was extremely afflicted with the gout, and set his foot upon the
ground with the caution and dignity which accompany that distemper. I
suspected him for an impostor, and having ordered him to be searched, I
committed him into the hands of Dr. Thomas Smith,[327] in King Street
(my own corn-cutter), who attended in an outward room, and wrought
so speedy a cure upon him, that I thought fit to send him also away
without his cane.

While I was thus dispensing justice, I heard a noise in my outward
room; and inquiring what was the occasion of it, my door-keeper told
me, that they had taken up one in the very fact as he was passing by
my door. They immediately brought in a lively fresh-coloured young
man, who made great resistance with hand and foot, but did not offer
to make use of his cane, which hung upon his fifth button. Upon
examination, I found him to be an Oxford scholar, who was just entered
at the Temple. He at first disputed the jurisdiction of the court; but
being driven out of his little law and logic, he told me very pertly,
that he looked upon such a perpendicular creature as man to make a
very imperfect figure without a cane in his hand. "It is well known,"
says he, "we ought, according to the natural situation of our bodies,
to walk upon our hands and feet; and that the wisdom of the ancients
had described man to be an animal of four legs in the morning, two at
noon, and three at night; by which they intimated, that a cane might
very properly become part of us in some period of life." Upon which I
asked him, whether he wore it at his breast to have it in readiness
when that period should arrive? My young lawyer immediately told me, he
had a property in it, and a right to hang it where he pleased, and to
make use of it as he thought fit, provided that he did not break the
peace with it: and further said, that he never took it off his button,
unless it were to lift it up at a coachman, hold it over the head of a
drawer, point out the circumstances of a story, or for other services
of the like nature, that are all within the laws of the land. I did not
care for discouraging a young man who, I saw, would come to good; and
because his heart was set upon his new purchase, I only ordered him to
wear it about his neck, instead of hanging it upon his button, and so
dismissed him. There were several appeared in court whose pretensions
I found to be very good, and therefore gave them their licences upon
paying their fees; as many others had their licences renewed who
required more time for recovery of their lameness than I had before
allowed them.

Having despatched this set of my petitioners, there came in a
well-dressed man, with a glass tube in one hand, and his petition in
the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right side
of his wig, put forward his right leg, and advancing the glass to
his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the meanwhile, to make my
observations also, I put on my spectacles; in which posture we surveyed
each other for some time. Upon the removal of our glasses, I desired
him to read his petition, which he did very promptly and easily; though
at the same time it set forth, that he could see nothing distinctly,
and was within very few degrees of being utterly blind; concluding
with a prayer, that he might be permitted to strengthen and extend his
sight by a glass. In answer to this I told him, he might sometimes
extend it to his own destruction. "As you are now," said I, "you are
out of the reach of beauty; the shafts of the finest eyes lose their
force before they can come at you; you can't distinguish a toast from
an orange-wench; you can see a whole circle of beauty without any
interruption from an impertinent face to discompose you. In short,
what are snares for others--" My petitioner would hear no more, but
told me very seriously, "Mr. Bickerstaff, you quite mistake your man;
it is the joy, the pleasure, the employment of my life, to frequent
public assemblies, and gaze upon the fair." In a word, I found his
use of a glass was occasioned by no other infirmity but his vanity,
and was not so much designed to make him see, as to make him be seen
and distinguished by others. I therefore refused him a licence for a
perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full permission
to use them in any public assembly as he should think fit. He was
followed by so very few of this order of men, that I have reason to
hope this sort of cheats are almost at an end.

The orange-flower men appeared next with petitions, perfumed so
strongly with musk, that I was almost overcome with the scent; and
for my own sake was obliged forthwith to license their handkerchiefs,
especially when I found they had sweetened them at Charles Lillie's,
and that some of their persons would not be altogether inoffensive
without them. John Morphew, whom I have made the general of my dead
men, acquainted me, that the petitioners were all of that order, and
could produce certificates to prove it if I required it. I was so well
pleased with this way of their embalming themselves, that I commanded
the above-said Morphew to give it in orders to his whole army, that
every one who did not surrender himself up to be disposed of by the
Upholders should use the same method to keep himself sweet during his
present state of putrefaction.

I finished my session with great content of mind, reflecting upon
the good I had done; for however slightly men may regard these
particularities and little follies in dress and behaviour, they lead
to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for such singularities,
teach us insensibly an impertinent fortitude, and enable us to bear
public censure for things which more substantially deserve it. By
this means they open a gate to folly, and oftentimes render a man so
ridiculous as to discredit his virtues and capacities, and unqualify
them from doing any good in the world. Besides, the giving into
uncommon habits of this nature is a want of that humble deference which
is due to mankind, and (what is worst of all) the certain indication of
some secret flaw in the mind of the person that commits them. When I
was a young man, I remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth
was very remarkable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger instead of
a fashionable sword, though in all other points a very well-bred man.
I suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but was
not able for a long while to discover any collateral proofs of it. I
watched him narrowly for six-and-thirty years, when at last, to the
surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to see the
folly break out, he married his own cook-maid.

FOOTNOTES:

[324] "Written by Addison and Steele jointly" (Tickell).

[325] The publisher of the original issue of the _Tatler_.

[326] See No. 26.

[327] "In King Street, Westminster, liveth Thomas Smith, who, by
experience and ingenuity, has learnt the art of taking out and curing
all manner of corns, without pain or drawing blood. He likewise takes
out all manner of nails which cause any disaster, trouble, or pain,
which no man in England can do the like. He can, on several occasions,
help persons afflicted, as killing the scurvy in the gums; though they
be eaten away never so much, he can raise them up again. He cures the
toothache in half-an hour, let the pain be never so great, and cleanses
and preserves the teeth. He can, with God's assistance, perform the
same in a little time. I wear a silver badge, with three verses, the
first in English, the second in Dutch, the third in French, with the
States of Holland's crownet on the top, which was given me as a present
by the States-General of Holland, for the many cures, &c. My name on
the badge underwritten, Thomas Smith, who will not fail, God willing,
to make out every particular in this bill, &c., &c.

"The famousest ware in England, which never fails to cure the toothache
in half-an-hour, price 1s. the bottle. Likewise a powder for cleansing
the teeth, which makes them as ivory, without wearing them, and without
prejudice to the gums, 1s. the box. Also two sorts of water for curing
the scurvy in the gums; though they are eaten away to the bottom, it
will heal them, and cause them to grow as firm as ever; very safe,
without mercury, or any unwholesome spirit. To avoid counterfeits, they
are only sold at his own house, &c.; price of each bottle half a crown,
or more, according to the bigness, with directions." Smith seems in
the course of the week to have made his appearance, at fixed times, in
every coffee-house then in London. (Harl. MSS., 5931.) See No. 187.



No. 104. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Dec. 6_, to _Thursday, Dec. 8, 1709_.

    ----Garrit aniles
    Ex re fabellas----

  HOR., 2 Sat. vi. 77.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 7._

My brother Tranquillus being gone out of town for some days, my sister
Jenny sent me word she would come and dine with me, and therefore
desired me to have no other company. I took care accordingly, and
was not a little pleased to see her enter the room with a decent and
matron-like behaviour, which I thought very much became her. I saw she
had a great deal to say to me, and easily discovered in her eyes, and
the air of her countenance, that she had abundance of satisfaction in
her heart, which she longed to communicate. However, I was resolved
to let her break into her discourse her own way, and reduced her to
a thousand little devices and intimations to bring me to the mention
of her husband. But finding I was resolved not to name him, she began
of her own accord. "My husband," said she, "gives his humble service
to you;" to which I only answered, "I hope he is well," and without
waiting for a reply, fell into other subjects. She at last was out of
all patience, and said (with a smile and manner that I thought had
more beauty and spirit than I had ever observed before in her), "I
did not think, brother, you had been so ill-natured. You have seen,
ever since I came in, that I had a mind to talk of my husband, and
you won't be so kind as to give me an occasion." "I did not know,"
said I, "but it might be a disagreeable subject to you. You do not
take me for so old-fashioned a fellow as to think of entertaining a
young lady with the discourse of her husband. I know, nothing is more
acceptable than to speak of one who is to be so; but to speak of one
who is so! Indeed, Jenny, I am a better bred man than you think me."
She showed a little dislike at my raillery; and by her bridling up, I
perceived she expected to be treated hereafter not as Jenny Distaff,
but Mrs. Tranquillus. I was very well pleased with this change in her
humour; and upon talking with her on several subjects, I could not
but fancy that I saw a great deal of her husband's way and manner in
her remarks, her phrases, the tone of her voice, and the very air of
her countenance. This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only
because I had found her a husband, from whom she could learn many
things that were laudable, but also because I looked upon her imitation
of him as an infallible sign that she entirely loved him. This is an
observation that I never knew fail, though I do not remember that any
other has made it. The natural shyness of her sex hindered her from
telling me the greatness of her own passion; but I easily collected
it, from the representation she gave me of his. "I have everything,"
says she, "in Tranquillus that I can wish for; and enjoy in him (what
indeed you have told me were to be met with in a good husband) the
fondness of a lover, the tenderness of a parent, and the intimacy
of a friend." It transported me to see her eyes swimming in tears of
affection when she spoke. "And is there not, dear sister," said I,
"more pleasure in the possession of such a man than in all the little
impertinences of balls, assemblies, and equipage, which it cost me so
much pains to make you contemn?" She answered, smiling, "Tranquillus
has made me a sincere convert in a few weeks, though I am afraid you
could not have done it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have
only one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me trouble in the
midst of all my satisfactions: I am afraid, you must know, that I shall
not always make the same amiable appearance in his eye that I do at
present. You know, brother Bickerstaff, that you have the reputation
of a conjurer; and if you have any one secret in your art to make your
sister always beautiful, I should be happier than if I were mistress
of all the worlds you have shown me in a starry night." "Jenny," said
I, "without having recourse to magic, I shall give you one plain rule,
that will not fail of making you always amiable to a man who has so
great a passion for you, and is of so equal and reasonable a temper
as Tranquillus. Endeavour to please, and you must please; be always
in the same disposition as you are when you ask for this secret, and,
you may take my word, you will never want it. An inviolable fidelity,
good humour, and complacency of temper outlive all the charms of a fine
face, and make the decays of it invisible."

We discoursed very long upon this head, which was equally agreeable to
us both; for I must confess (as I tenderly love her), I take as much
pleasure in giving her instructions for her welfare as she herself
does in receiving them. I proceeded therefore to inculcate these
sentiments, by relating a very particular passage that happened within
my own knowledge.

There were several of us making merry at a friend's house in a country
village, when the sexton of the parish church entered the room in a
sort of surprise, and told us, that as he was digging a grave in the
chancel, a little blow of his pick-axe opened a decayed coffin, in
which there were several written papers. Our curiosity was immediately
raised, so that we went to the place where the sexton had been at work,
and found a great concourse of people about the grave. Among the rest,
there was an old woman, who told us, the person buried there was a
lady, whose name I do not think fit to mention, though there is nothing
in the story but what tends very much to her honour[328]. This lady
lived several years an exemplary pattern of conjugal love, and dying
soon after her husband, who every way answered her character in virtue
and affection, made it her death-bed request, that all the letters
which she had received from him, both before and after her marriage,
should be buried in the coffin with her. These I found upon examination
were the papers before us. Several of them had suffered so much by
time, that I could only pick out a few words; as, "My soul!" "Lilies!"
"Roses!" "Dearest angel!" and the like. One of them (which was legible
throughout) ran thus:

     "MADAM,

     "If you would know the greatness of my love, consider that of
     your own beauty. That blooming countenance, that snowy bosom,
     that graceful person, return every moment to my imagination: the
     brightness of your eyes hath hindered me from closing mine since
     I last saw you. You may still add to your beauties by a smile.
     A frown will make me the most wretched of men, as I am the most
     passionate of lovers."

It filled the whole company with a deep melancholy, to compare the
description of the letter with the person that occasioned it, who was
now reduced to a few crumbling bones, and a little mouldering heap of
earth. With much ado I deciphered another letter, which begun with "My
dear, dear wife." This gave me a curiosity to see how the style of
one written in marriage differed from one written in courtship. To my
surprise, I found the fondness rather augmented than lessened, though
the panegyric turned upon a different accomplishment. The words were as
follow:

     "Before this short absence from you, I did not know that I loved
     you so much as I really do; though at the same time, I thought I
     loved you as much as possible. I am under great apprehensions,
     lest you should have any uneasiness whilst I am defrauded of my
     share in it, and can't think of tasting any pleasures that you
     don't partake with me. Pray, my dear, be careful of your health,
     if for no other reason because you know I could not outlive you.
     It is natural in absence to make professions of an inviolable
     constancy; but towards so much merit, it is scarce a virtue,
     especially when it is but a bare return to that of which you have
     given me such continued proofs ever since our first acquaintance.

  "I am, &c."


It happened that the daughter of these two excellent persons was by
when I was reading this letter. At the sight of the coffin, in which
was the body of her mother, near that of her father, she melted into
a flood of tears. As I had heard a great character of her virtue, and
observed in her this instance of filial piety, I could not resist my
natural inclination of giving advice to young people, and therefore
addressed myself to her: "Young lady," said I, "you see how short is
the possession of that beauty in which Nature has been so liberal to
you. You find the melancholy sight before you, is a contradiction
to the first letter that you heard on that subject; whereas you may
observe, the second letter, which celebrates your mother's constancy,
is itself, being found in this place, an argument of it. But, Madam, I
ought to caution you, not to think the bodies that lie before you, your
father and your mother. Know their constancy is rewarded by a nobler
union than by this mingling of their ashes, in a state where there is
no danger or possibility of a second separation."

FOOTNOTES:

[328] We are told that a son of Sir Thomas Chicheley, one of King
William's admirals, said that this lady was his mother, and that the
letters were genuine. There is a mezzotint of Mrs. Sarah Chicheley, by
Smith, from a painting by Kneller. Sir Thomas Chicheley (1618-1694) was
Master-general of the Ordnance; the admiral was Sir John Chicheley, who
died in 1691, leaving a son John.



No. 105. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Dec. 8_, to _Saturday, Dec. 10, 1709_.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 9._

As soon as my midnight studies are finished, I take but a very short
repose, and am again up at an exercise of another kind; that is to
say, my fencing. Thus my life passes away in a restless pursuit of
fame, and a preparation to defend myself against such as attack it.
This anxiety on the point of reputation is the peculiar distress of
fine spirits, and makes them liable to a thousand inquietudes, from
which men of grosser understandings are exempt; so that nothing is more
common than to see one part of mankind live at perfect ease under such
circumstances as would make another part of them entirely miserable.

This may serve for a preface to the history of poor Will Rosin, the
fiddler of Wapping[329], who is a man as much made for happiness, and a
quiet life, as any one breathing; but has been lately entangled in so
many intricate and unreasonable distresses, as would have made him (had
he been a man of too nice honour) the most wretched of all mortals.
I came to the knowledge of his affairs by mere accident. Several of
the narrow end of our lane having made an appointment to visit some
friends beyond St. Katherine's[330], where there was to be a merry
meeting, they would needs take with them the old gentleman, as they are
pleased to call me. I, who value my company by their good-will, which
naturally has the same effect as good-breeding, was not too stately, or
too wise, to accept of the invitation. Our design was to be spectators
of a sea-ball; to which I readily consented, provided I might be
_incognito_, being naturally pleased with the survey of human life in
all its degrees and circumstances.

In order to this merriment, Will Rosin (who is the Corelli[331] of
the Wapping side, as Tom Scrape is the Bononcini[332] of Redriffe) was
immediately sent for; but to our utter disappointment, poor Will was
under an arrest, and desired the assistance of all his kind masters
and mistresses, or he must go to gaol. The whole company received
his message with great humanity, and very generously threw in their
halfpence apiece in a great dish, which purchased his redemption out of
the hands of the bailiffs. During the negotiation for his enlargement,
I had an opportunity of acquainting myself with his history.

Mr. William Rosin, of the parish of St. Katherine, is somewhat stricken
in years, and married to a young widow, who has very much the ascendant
over him: this degenerate age being so perverted in all things, that
even in the state of matrimony the young pretend to govern their
elders. The musician is extremely fond of her; but is often obliged to
lay by his fiddle to hear louder notes of hers, when she is pleased
to be angry with him: for you are to know, Will is not of consequence
enough to enjoy her conversation but when she chides him, or makes use
of him to carry on her amours. For she is a woman of stratagem; and
even in that part of the world where one would expect but very little
gallantry, by the force of natural genius, she can be sullen, sick,
out of humour, splenetic, want new clothes, and more money, as well as
if she had been bred in Cheapside or Cornhill. She was lately under
a secret discontent upon account of a lover she was like to lose by
his marriage: for her gallant, Mr. Ezekiel Boniface, had been twice
asked in church, in order to be joined in matrimony with Mrs. Winifred
Dimple, spinster, of the same parish. Hereupon Mrs. Rosin was far gone
in that distemper which well-governed husbands know by the description
of, "I am I know not how;" and Will soon understood, that it was his
part to inquire into the occasion of her melancholy, or suffer as the
cause of it himself. After much importunity, all he could get out of
her, was, that she was the most unhappy and the most wicked of all
women, and had no friend in the world to tell her grief to. Upon this,
Will doubled his importunities; but she said that she should break
her poor heart, if he did not take a solemn oath upon a Book, that he
would not be angry; and that he would expose the person who had wronged
her to all the world, for the ease of her mind, which was no way else
to be quieted. The fiddler was so melted, that he immediately kissed
her, and afterwards the Book. When his oath was taken, she began to
lament herself, and revealed to him, that (miserable woman as she was)
she had been false to his bed. Will was glad to hear it was no worse;
but before he could reply, "Nay," said she, "I will make you all the
atonement I can, and take shame upon me by proclaiming it to all the
world, which is the only thing that can remove my present terrors of
mind." This was indeed too true; for her design was to prevent Mr.
Boniface's marriage, which was all she apprehended. Will was thoroughly
angry, and began to curse and swear, the ordinary expressions of
passion in persons of his condition. Upon which his wife--"Ah William!
how well you mind the oath you have taken, and the distress of your
poor wife, who can keep nothing from you; I hope you won't be such a
perjured wretch as to forswear yourself." The fiddler answered, that
his oath obliged him only not to be angry at what was past; "but I find
you intend to make me laughed at all over Wapping." "No, no," replied
Mrs. Rosin, "I see well enough what you would be at, you poor-spirited
cuckold--you are afraid to expose Boniface, who has abused your
poor wife, and would fain persuade me still to suffer the stings of
conscience; but I assure you, sirrah, I won't go to the devil for
you." Poor Will was not made for contention, and beseeching her to be
pacified, desired she would consult the good of her soul her own way,
for he would not say her nay in anything.

Mrs. Rosin was so very loud and public in her invectives against
Boniface, that the parents of his mistress forbade the banns, and
his match was prevented, which was the whole design of this deep
stratagem. The father of Boniface brought his action of defamation,
arrested the fiddler, and recovered damages. This was the distress
from which he was relieved by the company; and the good husband's air,
history, and jollity, upon his enlargement, gave occasion to very
much mirth; especially when Will, finding he had friends to stand by
him, proclaimed himself a cuckold by way of insult over the family of
the Bonifaces. Here is a man of tranquillity without reading Seneca!
What work had such an incident made among persons of distinction?
The brothers and kindred of each side must have been drawn out, and
hereditary hatreds entailed on the families as long as their very names
remained in the world. Who would believe that Herod, Othello, and Will
Rosin were of the same species?

There are quite different sentiments which reign in the parlour and the
kitchen; and it is by the point of honour, when justly regulated and
inviolably observed, that some men are superior to others, as much as
mankind in general are to brutes. This puts me in mind of a passage in
the admirable poem called the "Dispensary,"[333] where the nature of
true honour is artfully described in an ironical dispraise of it:

    _But e'er we once engage in honour's cause,
    First know what honour is, and whence it was.
    Scorned by the base, 'tis courted by the brave,
    The hero's tyrant, and the coward's slave.
    Born in the noisy camp, it lives on air;
    And both exists by hope and by despair.
    Angry whene'er a moment's ease we gain,
    And reconciled at our returns of pain.
    It lives when in death's arms the hero lies;
    But when his safety he consults, it dies.
    Bigoted to this idol, we disclaim
    Rest, health, and ease, for nothing but a name._

A very old fellow visited me to-day at my lodgings, and desired
encouragement and recommendation from me for a new invention of
knockers to doors, which he told me he had made, and professed to
teach rustic servants the use of them. I desired him to show me an
experiment of this invention; upon which he fixed one of his knockers
to my parlour door. He then gave me a complete set of knocks, from the
solitary rap of the dun and beggar to the thunderings of the saucy
footman of quality, with several flourishes and rattlings never yet
performed. He likewise played over some private notes, distinguishing
the familiar friend or relation from the most modish visitor; and
directing when the reserve candles are to be lighted. He has several
other curiosities in this art. He waits only to receive my approbation
of the main design. He is now ready to practise to such as shall apply
themselves to him; but I have put off his public licence till next
court day.

_N. B._--He teaches underground.

FOOTNOTES:

[329] Sir John Hawkins ("History of Music," iv. 379) gives an account
of the music-houses at Wapping, Shadwell, &c. Steele lived at Poplar at
one time, and may then have made Rosin's acquaintance. See No. 23 of
the _Medley_, where Steele tells a story of a ball at a music-house in
Wapping, attended by colliers and sailors.

[330] St. Katherine's-by-the-Tower stood close to the Thames; it
was pulled down in 1825, when St. Katherine's Dock was constructed.
The precinct or liberty of St. Katherine extended from the Tower to
Ratcliff.

[331] Archangelo Corelli, the famous violinist and composer, died at
Rome in 1713.

[332] Giovanni Bononcini, the youngest son of the musician Giovanni
Maria Bononcini, was for some time a rival of Handel. The opera of
"Camilla" was composed when he was eighteen.

[333] By Sir Samuel Garth, 1699.



No. 106. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Dec. 10_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 13, 1709_.

    Invenies dissecti membra poetæ.

  HOR., 1 Sat. iv. 62.[334]


_Will's Coffee-house, Dec. 12._

I was this evening sitting at the side-table, and reading one of my own
papers with great satisfaction, not knowing that I was observed by any
in the room. I had not long enjoyed this secret pleasure of an author,
when a gentleman, some of whose works I have been highly entertained
with,[335] accosted me after the following manner: "Mr. Bickerstaff,
you know I have for some years devoted myself wholly to the Muses, and
perhaps you will be surprised when I tell you I am resolved to take
up and apply myself to business: I shall therefore beg you will stand
my friend, and recommend a customer to me for several goods that I
have now upon my hands." I desired him to let me have a particular,
and I would do my utmost to serve him. "I have first of all," says
he, "the progress of an amour digested into sonnets, beginning with
a poem to the unknown fair, and ending with an epithalamium. I have
celebrated in it, her cruelty, her pity, her face, her shape, her
wit, her good-humour, her dancing, her singing--" I could not forbear
interrupting him: "This is a most accomplished lady," said I; "but has
she really, with all these perfections, a fine voice?" "Pugh," says
he, "you do not believe there is such a person in nature. This was
only my employment in solitude last summer, when I had neither friends
nor books to divert me." "I was going," says I, "to ask her name, but
I find it is only an imaginary mistress." "That's true," replied my
friend, "but her name is Flavia. I have," continued he, "in the second
place, a collection of lampoons, calculated either for the Bath,
Tunbridge, or any place where they drink waters, with blank spaces
for the names of such person or persons as may be inserted in them on
occasion. Thus much I have told only of what I have by me proceeding
from love and malice. I have also at this time the sketch of an heroic
poem upon the next peace:[336] several indeed of the verses are either
too long or too short, it being a rough draught of my thoughts upon
that subject." I thereupon told him, that as it was, it might probably
pass for a very good Pindaric, and I believed I knew one who would
be willing to deal with him for it upon that foot. "I must tell you
also, I have made a dedication to it, which is about four sides close
written, that may serve any one that is tall, and understands Latin. I
have further, about fifty similes that were never yet applied, besides
three-and-twenty descriptions of the sun rising, that might be of great
use to an epic poet. These are my more bulky commodities: besides
which, I have several small-wares that I would part with at easy
rates; as, observations upon life, and moral sentences, reduced into
several couplets, very proper to close up acts of plays, and may be
easily introduced by two or three lines of prose, either in tragedy or
comedy. If I could find a purchaser curious in Latin poetry, I could
accommodate him with two dozen of epigrams, which, by reason of a few
false quantities, should come for little or nothing."

I heard the gentleman with much attention, and asked him, whether
he would break bulk, and sell his goods by retail, or designed they
should all go in a lump? He told me, that he should be very loth to
part them, unless it was to oblige a man of quality, or any person for
whom I had a particular friendship. "My reason for asking," said I,
"is, only because I know a young gentleman who intends to appear next
spring in a new jingling chariot, with the figures of the nine Muses on
each side of it; and I believe, would be glad to come into the world
in verse." We could not go on in our treaty, by reason of two or three
critics that joined us. They had been talking, it seems, of the two
letters which were found in the coffin, and mentioned in one of my
late lucubrations,[337] and came with a request to me, that I would
communicate any others of them that were legible. One of the gentlemen
was pleased to say, that it was a very proper instance of a widow's
constancy; and said, he wished I had subjoined, as a foil to it, the
following passage in "Hamlet." The young Prince was not yet acquainted
with all the guilt of his mother, but turns his thoughts on her sudden
forgetfulness of his father, and the indecency of her hasty marriage.

    ----_That it should come to this!
    But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two!
    So excellent a king! that was to this
    Hyperion to a satyr! So loving to my mother,
    That he permitted not the winds of heaven
    To visit her face too roughly! Heaven and earth!
    Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
    As if increase of appetite had grown
    By what it fed on. And yet, within a month!
    Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!
    A little month! or ere those shoes were old,
    With which she followed my poor father's body,
    Like Niobe all tears; why she, even she--
    O Heaven! a brute, that wants discourse of reason,
    Would have mourned longer!--married with mine uncle,
    My father's brother! But no more like my father
    Than I to Hercules! Within a month!
    Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
    Had left the flushing of her galled eyes,
    She married--O most wicked speed! to post
    With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
    It is not, nor it cannot come to good!
    But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue_![338]

The several emotions of mind, and breaks of passion, in this speech,
are admirable. He has touched every circumstance that aggravated
the fact, and seemed capable of hurrying the thoughts of a son into
distraction. His father's tenderness for his mother, expressed in so
delicate a particular; his mother's fondness for his father, no less
exquisitely described; the great and amiable figure of his dead parent
drawn by a true filial piety; his disdain of so unworthy a successor to
his bed; but above all, the shortness of the time between his father's
death and his mother's second marriage, brought together with so much
disorder, make up as noble a part as any in that celebrated tragedy.
The circumstance of time I never could enough admire. The widowhood had
lasted two months--this is his first reflection: but as his indignation
rises, he sinks to scarce two months: afterwards into a month; and at
last, into a little month. But all this so naturally, that the reader
accompanies him in the violence of his passion, and finds the time
lessen insensibly, according to the different workings of his disdain.
I have not mentioned the incest of her marriage, which is so obvious a
provocation; but cannot forbear taking notice, that when his fury is at
its height, he cries, "Frailty, thy name is woman!" as railing at the
sex in general, rather than giving himself leave to think his mother
worse than others.--_Desiderantur multa._

       *       *       *       *       *

Whereas Mr. Jeffery Groggram has surrendered himself by his letter
bearing date December 7, and has sent an acknowledgment that he is
dead, praying an order to the Company of Upholders for interment at
such a reasonable rate as may not impoverish his heirs: the said
Groggram having been dead ever since he was born, and added nothing
to his small patrimony, Mr. Bickerstaff has taken the premises into
consideration; and being sensible of the ingenuous and singular
behaviour of this petitioner, pronounces the said Jeffery Groggram
a live man, and will not suffer that he should bury himself out of
modesty; but requires him to remain among the living, as an example to
those obstinate dead men, who will neither labour for life, nor go to
their grave.

_N. B._--Mr. Groggram is the first person that has come in upon Mr.
Bickerstaff's dead warrant.

       *       *       *       *       *

Florinda demands by her letter of this day to be allowed to pass for a
living woman, having danced the Derbyshire hornpipe in the presence of
several friends on Saturday last.

Granted; provided she can bring proof, that she can make a pudding on
the 24th instant.

FOOTNOTES:

[334] Horace's words are, "Invenias etiam disjecti membra poetæ."

[335] Perhaps Peter Anthony Motteux (1660-1718), dramatist and
translator of Rabelais and "Don Quixote." In a letter in No. 288 of the
_Spectator_, Motteux spoke of himself as "an author turned dealer," and
described the goods in his warehouse in Leadenhall Street. In No. 552,
Steele gave a glowing account of his friend's "spacious warehouses,
filled and adorned with tea, china, and Indian wares."

[336] _Cf._ the account of Tom Spindle in No. 47.

[337] See No. 104.

[338] "Hamlet," act i. sc. 2.



No. 107. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Dec. 13_, to _Thursday, Dec. 15, 1709_.

              ----Ah miser,
    Quanta laborabas Charybdi
    Digne puer meliore flammâ!

  HOR., 1 Od. xxvii. 18.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 14._

About four this afternoon, which is the hour I usually put myself in
readiness to receive company, there entered a gentleman who I believed
at first came upon some ordinary question; but as he approached nearer
to me, I saw in his countenance a deep sorrow, mixed with a certain
ingenuous complacency that gave me a sudden good-will towards him.
He stared, and betrayed an absence of thought as he was going to
communicate his business to me. But at last, recovering himself, he
said, with an air of great respect, "Sir, it would be an injury to your
knowledge in the occult sciences, to tell you what is my distress;
I dare say, you read it in my countenance: I therefore beg your
advice to the most unhappy of all men." Much experience has made me
particularly sagacious in the discovery of distempers, and I soon saw
that his was love. I then turned to my commonplace book, and found his
case under the word "coquette"; and reading over the catalogue which
I have collected out of this great city of all under that character,
I saw at the name of Cynthia his fit came upon him. I repeated the
name thrice after a musing manner, and immediately perceived his
pulse quicken two-thirds; when his eyes, instead of the wildness with
which they appeared at his entrance, looked with all the gentleness
imaginable upon me, not without tears. "O sir!" said he, "you know
not the unworthy usage I have met with from the woman my soul dotes
on. I could gaze at her to the end of my being; yet when I have done
so, for some time past I have found her eyes fixed on another. She is
now two-and-twenty, in the full tyranny of her charms, which she once
acknowledged she rejoiced in, only as they made her choice of me, out
of a crowd of admirers, the more obliging. But in the midst of this
happiness, so it is, Mr. Bickerstaff, that young Quicksett, who is
just come to town, without any other recommendation than that of being
tolerably handsome, and excessively rich, has won her heart in so
shameless a manner, that she dies for him. In a word, I would consult
you, how to cure myself of this passion for an ungrateful woman, who
triumphs in her falsehood, and can make no man happy, because her own
satisfaction consists chiefly in being capable of giving distress. I
know Quicksett is at present considerable with her for no other reason
but that he can be without her, and feel no pain in the loss. Let me
therefore desire you, sir, to fortify my reason against the levity of
an inconstant, who ought only to be treated with neglect." All this
time I was looking over my receipts, and asked him if he had any good
winter boots. "Boots, sir!" said my patient. I went on: "You may easily
reach Harwich in a day, so as to be there when the packet goes off."
"Sir," said the lover, "I find you design me for travelling; but alas!
I have no language; it will be the same thing to me as solitude, to be
in a strange country. I have," continued he, sighing, "been many years
in love with this creature, and have almost lost even my English, at
least to speak such as anybody else does. I asked a tenant of ours, who
came up to town the other day with rent, whether the flowery mead near
my father's house in the country had any shepherd in it. I have called
a cave a grotto these three years, and must keep ordinary company, and
frequent busy people for some time, before I can recover my common
words." I smiled at his raillery upon himself, though I well saw it
came from a heavy heart. "You are," said I, "acquainted, to be sure,
with some of the general officers; suppose you made a campaign?" "If I
did," said he, "I should venture more than any man there, for I should
be in danger of starving; my father is such an untoward old gentleman,
that he would tell me he found it hard enough to pay his taxes towards
the war, without making it more expensive by an allowance to me. With
all this, he is as fond as he is rugged, and I am his only son."

I looked upon the young gentleman with much tenderness, and not like a
physician, but a friend; for I talked to him so largely, that if I had
parcelled my discourse into distinct prescriptions, I am confident I
gave him two hundred pounds' worth of advice. He heard me with great
attention, bowing, smiling, and showing all other instances of that
natural good-breeding which ingenuous tempers pay to those who are
elder and wiser than themselves. I entertained him to the following
purpose. "I am sorry, sir, that your passion is of so long a date, for
evils are much more curable in their beginnings; but at the same time
must allow, that you are not to be blamed, since your youth and merit
has been abused by one of the most charming, but the most unworthy,
sort of women, the coquettes. A coquette is a chaste jilt, and differs
only from a common one, as a soldier, who is perfect in exercise, does
from one that is actually in service. This grief, like all other, is
to be cured only by time; and although you are convinced this moment,
as much as you will be ten years hence, that she ought to be scorned
and neglected, you see you must not expect your remedy from the force
of reason. The cure then is only in time, and the hastening of the cure
only in the manner of employing that time. You have answered me as to
travel and a campaign, so that we have only Great Britain to avoid her
in. Be then yourself, and listen to the following rules, which only can
be of use to you in this unaccountable distemper, wherein the patient
is often averse even to his recovery. It has been of benefit to some
to apply themselves to business; but as that may not lie in your way,
go down to your estate, mind your fox-hounds, and venture the life
you are weary of over every hedge and ditch in the country. These are
wholesome remedies; but if you can have resolution enough, rather stay
in town, and recover yourself even in the town where she inhabits.
Take particular care to avoid all places where you may possibly meet
her, and shun the sight of everything which may bring her to your
remembrance; there is an infection in all that relates to her: you'll
find, her house, her chariot, her domestics, and her very lap-dog, are
so many instruments of torment. Tell me seriously, do you think you
could bear the sight of her fan?" He shook his head at the question,
and said, "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff, you must have been a patient, or you
could not have been so good a physician." "To tell you truly," said
I, "about the thirtieth year of my age, I received a wound that has
still left a scar in my mind, never to be quite worn out by time or
philosophy.

"The means which I found the most effectual for my cure, were
reflections upon the ill-usage I had received from the woman I loved,
and the pleasure I saw her take in my sufferings.

"I considered the distress she brought upon me the greatest that could
befall a human creature, at the same time that she did not inflict this
upon one who was her enemy, one that had done her an injury, one that
had wished her ill; but on the man who loved her more than any else
loved her, and more than it was possible for him to love any other
person.

"In the next place, I took pains to consider her in all her
imperfections; and that I might be sure to hear of them constantly,
kept company with those her female friends who were her dearest and
most intimate acquaintance.

"Among her highest imperfections, I still dwelt upon her baseness of
mind and ingratitude, that made her triumph in the pain and anguish of
the man who loved her, and of one who in those days (without vanity be
it spoken) was thought to deserve her love.

"To shorten my story, she was married to another, which would have
distracted me had he proved a good husband; but to my great pleasure,
he used her at first with coldness, and afterwards with contempt. I
hear he still treats her very ill; and am informed, that she often says
to her woman, 'This is a just revenge for my falsehood to my first
love: what a wretch am I, that might have been married to the famous
Mr. Bickerstaff.'"

My patient looked upon me with a kind of melancholy pleasure, and told
me, he did not think it was possible for a man to live to the age I now
am of, who in his thirtieth year had been tortured with that passion in
its violence. "For my part," said he, "I can neither eat, drink, nor
sleep in it; nor keep company with anybody, but two or three friends
who are in the same condition."

"There," answered I, "you are to blame; for as you ought to avoid
nothing more than keeping company with yourself, so you ought to be
particularly cautious of keeping company with men like yourself. As
long as you do this, you do but indulge your distemper.

"I must not dismiss you without further instructions. If possible,
transfer your passion from the woman you are now in love with, to
another; or if you cannot do that, change the passion itself into
some other passion; that is, to speak more plainly, find out some
other agreeable woman:[339] or if you can't do this, grow covetous,
ambitious, litigious; turn your love of woman into that of profit,
preferment, reputation; and for a time, give up yourself entirely to
the pursuit.

"This is a method we sometimes take in physic, when we turn a desperate
disease into one we can more easily cure."

He made little answer to all this, but crying out, "Ah, sir!" for his
passion reduced his discourse to interjections.

"There is one thing added, which is present death to a man in your
condition, and therefore to be avoided with the greatest care and
caution: that is, in a word, to think of your mistress and rival
together, whether walking, discoursing, dallying--" "The devil!" he
cried out, "who can bear it?" To compose him, for I pitied him very
much, "The time will come," said I, "when you shall not only bear it,
but laugh at it. As a preparation to it, ride every morning an hour at
least with the wind full in your face. Upon your return, recollect
the several precepts which I have now given you, and drink upon them a
bottle of spa-water. Repeat this every day for a month successively,
and let me see you at the end of it." He was taking his leave, with
many thanks, and some appearance of consolation in his countenance,
when I called him back to acquaint him, that I had private information
of a design of the coquettes to buy up all the true spa-water in town;
upon which he took his leave in haste, with a resolution to get all
things ready for entering upon his regimen the next morning.

FOOTNOTES:

[339] This passage was censured by Thomas Baker in No. 72 of the
_Female Tatler_ (December 21, 1707): "Wisdom, virtue, and laboriousness
have always been inseparable from the famous Bickerstaff; but if the
characters that have first recommended him to the public, and by which
only he was known to the world, are no more to be found in those
works that go under his name, the author is dead, and the papers are
spurious," &c.



No. 108. [ADDISON.

From _Thursday, Dec. 15_, to _Saturday, Dec. 17, 1709_.

    Pronaque cum spectent animalia cætera terram,
    Os homini sublime dedit, cælumque tueri
    Jussit.----

  OVID, Met. i. 85.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 16._

It is not to be imagined, how great an effect well-disposed lights,
with proper forms and orders in assemblies, have upon some tempers. I
am sure I feel it in so extraordinary a manner, that I cannot in a day
or two get out of my imagination any very beautiful or disagreeable
impression which I receive on such occasions. For this reason I
frequently look in at the play-house, in order to enlarge my thoughts,
and warm my mind with some new ideas, that may be serviceable to me in
my lucubrations. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other
day, and placed myself in a corner of it, very convenient for seeing,
without being myself observed. I found the audience hushed in a very
deep attention, and did not question but some noble tragedy was just
then in its crisis, or that an incident was to be unravelled which
would determine the fate of a hero. While I was in this suspense,
expecting every moment to see my old friend Mr. Betterton[340] appear
in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amazement, there came
up a monster with a face between his feet; and as I was looking on, he
raised himself on one leg in such a perpendicular posture, that the
other grew in a direct line above his head.[341] It afterwards twisted
itself into the motions and wreathings of several different animals,
and after great variety of shapes and transformations, went off the
stage in the figure of a human creature. The admiration, the applause,
the satisfaction, of the audience, during this strange entertainment,
is not to be expressed. I was very much out of countenance for my
dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension for fear any
foreigner should be present. Is it possible, thought I, that human
nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its
own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into forms that raise
horror and aversion? There is something disingenuous and immoral in
the being able to bear such a sight. Men of elegant and noble minds
are shocked at seeing the characters of persons who deserve esteem
for their virtue, knowledge, or services to their country, placed in
wrong lights, and by misrepresentation made the subject of buffoonery.
Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar; but
methinks it is wonderful, that those who have nothing but the outward
figure to distinguish them as men, should delight in seeing it abused,
vilified, and disgraced.

I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me in all that I
read in books, or see among mankind, than such passages as represent
human nature in its proper dignity. As man is a creature made up of
different extremes, he has something in him very great and very mean:
a skilful artist may draw an excellent picture of him in either of
these views. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more
advantageous side. They cultivate the natural grandeur of the soul,
raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality
and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition between the
virtuous and the vicious, by making the difference betwixt them as
great as between gods and brutes. In short, it is impossible to read a
page in Plato, Tully, and a thousand other ancient moralists, without
being a greater and a better man for it. On the contrary, I could never
read any of our modish French authors, or those of our own country who
are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being
for some time out of humour with myself, and at everything about me.
Their business is to depreciate human nature, and consider it under its
worst appearances. They give mean interpretations and base motives to
the worthiest actions: they resolve virtue and vice into constitution.
In short, they endeavour to make no distinction between man and man, or
between the species of men and that of brutes. As an instance of this
kind of authors, among many others, let any one examine the celebrated
Rochefoucault, who is the great philosopher for administering of
consolation to the idle, the envious, and worthless part of mankind.

I remember a young gentleman of moderate understanding, but great
vivacity, who by dipping into many authors of this nature, had got
a little smattering of knowledge, just enough to make an atheist or
a free-thinker, but not a philosopher or a man of sense. With these
accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the country, who was a
plain, rough, honest man, and wise, though not learned. The son, who
took all opportunities to show his learning, began to establish a new
religion in the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country
notions; in which he succeeded so well, that he had reduced the butler
by his table-talk, and staggered his eldest sister. The old gentleman
began to be alarmed at the schisms that arose among his children, but
did not yet believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really
was, till one day talking of his setting-dog, the son said, he did not
question but Tray was as immortal as any one of the family; and in the
heat of the argument told his father, that for his own part he expected
to die like a dog. Upon which the old man, starting up in a very great
passion, cried out, "Then, sirrah, you shall live like one;" and taking
his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his system. This had so good
an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good
books, and is now a Bencher in the Middle Temple.

I do not mention this cudgelling part of the story with a design to
engage the secular arm in matters of this nature; but certainly, if
it ever exerts itself in affairs of opinion and speculation, it ought
to do it on such shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, who
endeavour to give man dark and uncomfortable prospects of his being,
and destroy those principles which are the support, happiness, and
glory of all public societies, as well as private persons.

I think it is one of Pythagoras's Golden Sayings, that a man should
take care above all things to have a due respect for himself;[342]
and it is certain, that this licentious sort of authors, who are for
depreciating mankind, endeavour to disappoint and undo what the most
refined spirits have been labouring to advance since the beginning
of the world. The very design of dress, good-breeding, outward
ornaments, and ceremony, were to lift up human nature, and set it off
to advantage. Architecture, painting, and statuary were invented with
the same design; as indeed every art and science contributes to the
embellishment of life, and to the wearing off or throwing into shades
the mean or low parts of our nature. Poetry carries on this great end
more than all the rest, as may be seen in the following passage, taken
out of Sir Francis Bacon's "Advancement of Learning,"[343] which gives
a truer and better account of this art than all the volumes that were
ever written upon it.

"Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised altogether from a
noble foundation, which makes much for the dignity of man's nature.
For seeing this sensible world is in dignity inferior to the soul
of man, poesy seems to endow human nature with that which history
denies, and to give satisfaction to the mind, with at least the shadow
of things, where the substance cannot be had. For if the matter be
thoroughly considered, a strong argument may be drawn from poesy,
that a more stately greatness of things, a more perfect order, and a
more beautiful variety, delights the soul of man, than any way can be
found in nature since the Fall. Wherefore seeing the acts and events,
which are the subject of true history, are not of that amplitude as
to content the mind of man; poesy is ready at hand to feign acts more
heroical. Because true history reports the successes of business not
proportionable to the merit of virtues and vices, poesy corrects it,
and presents events and fortunes according to desert, and according
to the law of Providence. Because true history, through the frequent
satiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and misprision in
the mind of man, poesy cheereth and refresheth the soul, chanting
things rare and various, and full of vicissitudes. So as poesy
serveth and conferreth to delectation, magnanimity, and morality;
and therefore it may seem deservedly to have some participation of
divineness, because it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit with
high raptures, by proportioning the shows of things to the desires of
the mind; and not submitting the mind to things, as reason and history
do. And by these allurements and congruities, whereby it cherisheth the
soul of man, joined also with consort of music, whereby it may more
sweetly insinuate itself; it hath won such access, that it hath been
in estimation even in rude times and barbarous nations, when other
learning stood excluded."

But there is nothing which favours and falls in with this natural
greatness and dignity of human nature so much as religion, which does
not only promise the entire refinement of the mind, but the glorifying
of the body, and the immortality of both.

FOOTNOTES:

[340] See No. 71.

[341] An advertisement in the Harl. MSS. (Bagford's Collection, 5961)
describes the performances of a young posture-master from Exeter: "He
makes his hip and shoulder bones meet together; stands on one leg, and
extends the other in a direct line over his head, half a yard." It has
been suggested that the posture-master alluded to by Addison was Joseph
Clark, of whom there are various prints; but he died in 1690, and
therefore cannot have been seen by Isaac Bickerstaff "the other day" in
1709.

[342] "Golden Sayings," 12.

[343] Second Book, iii. 4. 2.



No. 109. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Dec. 17_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 20, 1709_.

    Perditur hæc inter miseris lux.--HOR., 2 Sat. vi. 59.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 19._

There has not some years been such a tumult in our neighbourhood as
this evening about six. At the lower end of the lane the word was
given, that there was a great funeral coming by. The next moment came
forward in a very hasty, instead of a solemn manner, a long train of
lights, when at last a footman, in very high youth and health, with
all his force, ran through the whole art of beating the door of the
house next to me, and ended his rattle with the true finishing rap.
This did not only bring one to the door at which he knocked, but to
that of every one in the lane in an instant. Among the rest, my country
maid took the alarm, and immediately running to me, told me, there
was a fine, fine lady, who had three men with burial torches making
way before her, carried by two men upon poles, with looking-glasses
on each side of her, and one glass also before, she herself appearing
the prettiest that ever was. The girl was going on in her story,
when the lady was come to my door in her chair, having mistaken the
house. As soon as she entered, I saw she was Mr. Isaac's[344] scholar
by her speaking air, and the becoming stop she made when she began
her apology. "You'll be surprised, sir," said she, "that I take this
liberty, who am utterly a stranger to you: besides that it may be
thought an indecorum that I visit a man." She made here a pretty
hesitation, and held her fan to her face. Then, as if recovering her
resolution, she proceeded: "But I think you have said, that men of
your age are of no sex; therefore I may be as free with you as one of
my own." The lady did me the honour to consult me on some particular
matters, which I am not at liberty to report. But before she took
her leave, she produced a long list of names, which she looked upon
to know whither she was to go next. I must confess, I could hardly
forbear discovering to her immediately, that I secretly laughed at the
fantastical regularity she observed in throwing away her time; but I
seemed to indulge her in it, out of a curiosity to hear her own sense
of her way of life. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said she, "you cannot imagine
how much you are obliged to me in staying thus long with you, having so
many visits to make; and indeed, if I had not hopes that a third part
of those I am going to will be abroad, I should be unable to despatch
them this evening." "Madam," said I, "are you in all this haste and
perplexity, and only going to such as you have not a mind to see?"
"Yes, sir," said she, "I have several now with whom I keep a constant
correspondence, and return visit for visit punctually every week, and
yet we have not seen each other since last November was twelvemonth."

She went on with a very good air, and, fixing her eyes on her list,
told me, she was obliged to ride about three miles and a half before
she arrived at her own house. I asked after what manner this list was
taken, whether the persons wrote their names to her and desired that
favour, or how she knew she was not cheated in her muster roll? "The
method we take," says she, "is, that the porter or servant who comes to
the door, writes down all the names who come to see us, and all such
are entitled to a return of their visit." "But," said I, "madam, I
presume those who are searching for each other, and know one another
by messages, may be understood as candidates only for each other's
favour; and that after so many howdees,[345] you proceed to visit or
not, as you like the run of each other's reputation or fortune." "You
understand it aright," said she, "and we become friends as soon as we
are convinced that our dislike to each other may be of any consequence;
for to tell you truly," said she "(for it is in vain to hide anything
from a man of your penetration), general visits are not made out of
good-will, but for fear of ill-will. Punctuality in this case is
often a suspicious circumstance; and there is nothing so common as
to have a lady say, 'I hope she has heard nothing of what I said of
her, that she grows so great with me.' But indeed, my porter is so
dull and negligent, that I fear he has not put down half the people I
owe visits to." "Madam," said I, "methinks it should be very proper
if your gentleman-usher or groom of the chamber were always to keep
an account by way of debtor and creditor. I know a city lady who uses
that method, which I think very laudable; for though you may possibly
at the Court end of the town receive at the door, and light up better
than within Temple Bar, yet I must do that justice to my friends the
ladies within the walls to own, that they are much more exact in their
correspondence. The lady I was going to mention as an example, has
always the second apprentice out of the counting-house for her own use
on her visiting day, and he sets down very methodically all the visits
which are made her. I remember very well, that on the first of January
last, when she made up her account for the year 1708, it stood thus:

    Mrs. COURTWOOD.             _Dr._ |_Per contra._            _Cr._
                                      |
  To seventeen hundred and            |By eleven hundred and nine
  four visits received          1704  |paid                     1109
                                      |Due to balance            595
                                      |                         ----
                                      |                         1704

"This gentlewoman is a woman of great economy, and was not afraid to go
to the bottom of her affairs; and therefore ordered her apprentice to
give her credit for my Lady Easy's impertinent visits upon wrong days,
and deduct only twelve per cent. He had orders also to subtract one and
a half from the whole of such as she had denied herself to before she
kept a day; and after taking those proper articles of credit on her
side, she was in arrear but five hundred. She ordered her husband to
buy in a couple of fresh coach-horses; and with no other loss than the
death of two footmen, and a churchyard cough brought upon her coachman,
she was clear in the world on the 10th of February last, and keeps so
beforehand, that she pays everybody their own, and yet makes daily
new acquaintances." I know not whether this agreeable visitant was
fired with the example of the lady I told her of, but she immediately
vanished out of my sight, it being, it seems, as necessary a point of
good-breeding, to go off as if you stole something out of the house, as
it is to enter as if you came to fire it. I do not know one thing that
contributes so much to the lessening the esteem men of sense have to
the fair sex as this article of visits. A young lady cannot be married,
but all the impertinents in town must be beating the tattoo from one
quarter of the town to the other, to show they know what passes. If
a man of honour should once in an age marry a woman of merit for her
intrinsic value, the envious things are all in motion in an instant
to make it known to the sisterhood as an indiscretion, and publish to
the town how many pounds he might have had to have been troubled with
one of them. After they are tired with that, the next thing is, to
make their compliments to the married couple and their relations. They
are equally busy at a funeral, and the death of a person of quality
is always attended with the murder of several sets of coach-horses
and chairmen. In both cases, the visitants are wholly unaffected,
either with joy or sorrow. For which reason, their congratulations
and condolences are equally words of course; and one would be thought
wonderfully ill-bred, that should build upon such expressions as
encouragements, to expect from them any instance of friendship.

Thus are the true causes of living, and the solid pleasures of life,
lost in show, imposture, and impertinence. As for my part, I think most
of the misfortunes in families arise from the trifling way the women
have in spending their time, and gratifying only their eyes and ears,
instead of their reason and understanding.

A fine young woman, bred under a visiting mother, knows all that is
possible for her to be acquainted with by report, and sees the virtuous
and the vicious used so indifferently, that the fears she is born with
are abated, and desires indulged, in proportion to her love of that
light and trifling conversation. I know I talk like an old man; but I
must go on to say, that I think the general reception of mixed company,
and the pretty fellows that are admitted at those assemblies, give a
young woman so false an idea of life, that she is generally bred up
with a scorn of that sort of merit in a man which only can make her
happy in marriage; and the wretch to whose lot she falls, very often
receives in his arms a coquette, with the refuse of a heart long before
given away to a coxcomb.

Having received from the Society of Upholders sundry complaints of the
obstinate and refractory behaviour of several dead persons, who have
been guilty of very great outrages and disorders, and by that means
elapsed the proper time of their interment; and having on the other
hand received many appeals from the aforesaid dead persons, wherein
they desire to be heard before such their interment; I have set apart
Wednesday the 21st instant, as an extraordinary court-day for the
hearing both parties. If therefore any one can allege why they or any
of their acquaintance should or should not be buried, I desire they may
be ready with their witnesses at that time, or that they will for ever
after hold their tongues.

_N.B._--This is the last hearing on this subject.

FOOTNOTES:

[344] A dancing-master (see No. 34).

[345] _Cf._ Swift, "Journal to Stella," May 10, 1712--"I have been
returning the visits of those that sent howdees in my sickness;" and
"Verses on his own Death," 1731 (quoted by Mr. Dobson):

    "When daily howd'y's come of course,
    And servants answer, 'Worse and worse!'"

Servants were frequently sent to make these polite inquiries; and
Steele speaks of "the how-d'ye servants of our women" (_Spectator_, No.
143).



No. 110. [ADDISON and STEELE.[346]

From _Tuesday, Dec. 20_, to _Thursday, Dec. 22, 1709_.

    ----Quæ lucis miseris tam dira cupido?--VIRG., Æn. vi. 721.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 21._

As soon as I had placed myself in my chair of judicature, I ordered my
clerk Mr. Lillie to read to the assembly (who were gathered together
according to notice) a certain declaration, by way of charge, to open
the purpose of my session, which tended only to this explanation,
that as other courts were often called to demand the execution of
persons dead in law, so this was held to give the last orders relating
to those who were dead in reason. The solicitor of the new Company
of Upholders near the Haymarket appeared in behalf of that useful
society, and brought in an accusation of a young woman, who herself
stood at the bar before me. Mr. Lillie read her indictment, which was
in substance, that whereas Mrs. Rebecca Pindust, of the parish of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, had, by the use of one instrument, called a
looking-glass, and by the further use of certain attire, made either of
cambric, muslin, or other linen wares, upon her head, attained to such
an evil art and magical force in the motion of her eyes and turn of her
countenance, that she the said Rebecca had put to death several young
men of the said parish; and that the said young men had acknowledged
in certain papers, commonly called love letters (which were produced
in court, gilded on the edges, and sealed with a particular wax, with
certain amorous and enchanting words wrought upon the said seals), that
they died for the said Rebecca: and whereas the said Rebecca persisted
in the said evil practice; this way of life the said society construed
to be, according to former edicts, a state of death, and demanded an
order for the interment of the said Rebecca.

I looked upon the maid with great humanity, and desired her to make
answer to what was said against her. She said, it was indeed true
that she had practised all the arts and means she could to dispose of
herself happily in marriage, but thought she did not come under the
censure expressed in my writings for the same; and humbly hoped, I
would not condemn her for the ignorance of her accusers, who, according
to their own words, had rather represented her killing than dead. She
further alleged, that the expressions mentioned in the papers written
to her, were become mere words, and that she had been always ready to
marry any of those who said they died for her; but that they made their
escape as soon as they found themselves pitied or believed. She ended
her discourse by desiring I would for the future settle the meaning of
the words, "I die," in letters of love.

Mrs. Pindust behaved herself with such an air of innocence, that she
easily gained credit, and was acquitted. Upon which occasion, I gave
it as a standing rule, that any persons who in any letter, billet, or
discourse, should tell a woman he died for her, should, if she pleased,
be obliged to live with her, or be immediately interred, upon such
their own confession, without bail or mainprize.

It happened, that the very next who was brought before me was one of
her admirers, who was indicted upon that very head. A letter which he
acknowledged to be his own hand was read; in which were the following
words: "Cruel creature, I die for you." It was observable, that he took
snuff all the time his accusation was reading. I asked him, how he came
to use these words, if he were not a dead man? He told me, he was in
love with the lady, and did not know any other way of telling her so;
and that all his acquaintance took the same method. Though I was moved
with compassion towards him by reason of the weakness of his parts,
yet for example's sake, I was forced to answer, "Your sentence shall
be a warning to all the rest of your companions, not to tell lies for
want of wit." Upon this, he began to beat his snuff-box with a very
saucy air; and opening it again, "Faith, Isaac," said he, "thou art
a very unaccountable old fellow--prithee, who gave thee power of life
and death? What a pox hast thou to do with ladies and lovers? I suppose
thou wouldst have a man be in company with his mistress, and say
nothing to her. Dost thou call breaking a jest, telling a lie? Ha! is
that thy wisdom, old Stiffrump, ha?" He was going on with this insipid
commonplace mirth, sometimes opening his box, sometimes shutting it,
then viewing the picture on the lid, and then the workmanship of the
hinge, when, in the midst of his eloquence, I ordered his box to be
taken from him; upon which he was immediately struck speechless, and
carried off stone dead.[347]

The next who appeared, was a hale old fellow of sixty. He was brought
in by his relations, who desired leave to bury him. Upon requiring a
distinct account of the prisoner, a credible witness deposed, that
he always rose at ten of the clock, played with his cat till twelve,
smoked tobacco till one, was at dinner till two, then took another
pipe, played at backgammon till six, talked of one Madam Frances, an
old mistress of his, till eight, repeated the same account at the
tavern till ten, then returned home, took another pipe, and then to
bed. I asked him what he had to say for himself. "As to what," said he,
"they mention concerning Madam Frances--" I did not care for hearing a
Canterbury tale, and therefore thought myself seasonably interrupted by
a young gentleman who appeared in the behalf of the old man, and prayed
an arrest of judgment; for that he the said young man held certain
lands by his the said old man's life. Upon this, the solicitor of the
Upholders took an occasion to demand him also, and thereupon produced
several evidences that witnessed to his life and conversation. It
appeared, that each of them divided their hours in matters of equal
moment and importance to themselves and to the public. They rose at
the same hour: while the old man was playing with his cat, the young
one was looking out of his window; while the old man was smoking his
pipe, the young man was rubbing his teeth; while one was at dinner,
the other was dressing; while one was at backgammon, the other was at
dinner; while the old fellow was talking of Madam Frances, the young
one was either at play, or toasting women whom he never conversed with.
The only difference was, that the young man had never been good for
anything; the old man, a man of worth before he knew Madam Frances.
Upon the whole, I ordered them to be both interred together, with
inscriptions proper to their characters, signifying, that the old man
died in the year 1689, and was buried in the year 1709. And over the
young one it was said, that he departed this world in the twenty-fifth
year of his death.

The next class of criminals were authors in prose and verse. Those of
them who had produced any still-born work, were immediately dismissed
to their burial, and were followed by others, who, notwithstanding
some sprightly issue in their lifetime, had given proofs of their
death by some posthumous children, that bore no resemblance to their
elder brethren. As for those who were the fathers of a mixed progeny,
provided always they could prove the last to be a live child, they
escaped with life, but not without loss of limbs; for in this case, I
was satisfied with amputation of the parts which were mortified.

These were followed by a great crowd of superannuated benchers of the
Inns of Court, senior Fellows of colleges, and defunct statesmen;
all whom I ordered to be decimated indifferently, allowing the rest
a reprieve for one year, with a promise of a free pardon in case of
resuscitation.

There were still great multitudes to be examined; but finding it very
late, I adjourned the court; not without the secret pleasure that I had
done my duty, and furnished out a handsome execution.

Going out of the court, I received a letter, informing me, that in
pursuance of the edict of justice in one of my late visions, all those
of the fair sex began to appear pregnant who had run any hazard of it;
as was manifest by a particular swelling in the petticoats of several
ladies in and about this great city. I must confess, I do not attribute
the rising of this part of the dress to this occasion, yet must own,
that I am very much disposed to be offended with such a new and
unaccountable fashion. I shall, however, pronounce nothing upon it till
I have examined all that can be said for and against it. And in the
meantime, think fit to give this notice to the fair ladies who are now
making up their winter suits, that they may abstain from all dresses of
that kind till they shall find what judgment will be passed upon them;
for it would very much trouble me, that they should put themselves to
an unnecessary expense; and could not but think myself to blame, if I
should hereafter forbid them the wearing of such garments, when they
have laid out money upon them, without having given them any previous
admonition.[348]

_N.B._--A letter of the 16th instant about one of the 5th will be
answered according to the desire of the party, which he will see in few
days.

FOOTNOTES:

[346] "Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper" (Tickell)

[347] An account of the effects of this gentleman is given by Hughes in
No. 113.

[348] See Nos. 113 and 116.



No. 111. [ADDISON and STEELE.[349]

From _Thursday, Dec. 22_, to _Saturday, Dec. 24, 1709_.

    ----Procul O! procul este, profani!--VIRG., Æn. vi. 258.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 23._

The watchman, who does me particular honours, as being the chief man
in the lane, gave so very great a thump at my door last night, that I
awakened at the knock, and heard myself complimented with the usual
salutation of "Good morrow, Mr. Bickerstaff; good morrow, my masters
all." The silence and darkness of the night disposed me to be more
than ordinarily serious; and as my attention was not drawn out among
exterior objects by the avocations of sense, my thoughts naturally fell
upon myself. I was considering, amidst the stillness of the night,
what was the proper employment of a thinking being? what were the
perfections it should propose to itself? and what the end it should aim
at? My mind is of such a particular cast, that the falling of a shower
of rain, or the whistling of wind, at such a time, is apt to fill my
thoughts with something awful and solemn. I was in this disposition,
when our bellman began his midnight homily (which he has been repeating
to us every winter night for these twenty years) with the usual
exordium:

    _Oh! mortal man, thou that art born in sin!_

Sentiments of this nature, which are in themselves just and reasonable,
however debased by the circumstances that accompany them, do not fail
to produce their natural effect in a mind that is not perverted and
depraved by wrong notions of gallantry, politeness, and ridicule. The
temper which I now found myself in, as well as the time of the year,
put me in mind of those lines in Shakespeare, wherein, according to his
agreeable wildness of imagination, he has wrought a country tradition
into a beautiful piece of poetry. In the tragedy of "Hamlet," where
the ghost vanishes upon the cock's crowing, he takes occasion to
mention its crowing all hours of the night about Christmas time, and to
insinuate a kind of religious veneration for that season.

    _It faded on the crowing of the cock.
    Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
    Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
    The bird of dawning singeth all night long;
    And then, they say, no spirit dares walk abroad;
    The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
    No fairy takes, no witch has power to charm;
    So hallowed, and so gracious is the time._[350]

This admirable author, as well as the best and greatest men of all
ages, and of all nations, seems to have had his mind thoroughly
seasoned with religion, as is evident by many passages in his plays,
that would not be suffered by a modern audience; and are therefore
certain instances, that the age he lived in had a much greater sense of
virtue than the present.

It is indeed a melancholy reflection to consider, that the British
nation, which is now at a greater height of glory for its counsels
and conquests than it ever was before, should distinguish itself
by a certain looseness of principles, and a falling off from those
schemes of thinking, which conduce to the happiness and perfection
of human nature. This evil comes upon us from the works of a few
solemn blockheads, that meet together with the zeal and seriousness of
apostles, to extirpate common-sense, and propagate infidelity. These
are the wretches, who, without any show of wit, learning, or reason,
publish their crude conceptions with an ambition of appearing more
wise than the rest of mankind, upon no other pretence than that of
dissenting from them. One gets by heart a catalogue of title-pages
and editions; and immediately to become conspicuous, declares that
he is an unbeliever. Another knows how to write a receipt, or cut up
a dog, and forthwith argues against the immortality of the soul. I
have known many a little wit, in the ostentation of his parts, rally
the truth of the Scripture, who was not able to read a chapter in it.
These poor wretches talk blasphemy for want of discourse, and are
rather the objects of scorn or pity, than of our indignation; but the
grave disputant, that reads and writes, and spends all his time in
convincing himself and the world that he is no better than a brute,
ought to be whipped out of a government, as a blot to a civil society,
and a defamer of mankind. I love to consider an infidel, whether
distinguished by the title of deist, atheist, or free-thinker, in three
different lights, in his solitudes, his afflictions, and his last
moments.

A wise man that lives up to the principles of reason and virtue, if one
considers him in his solitude, as taking in the system of the universe,
observing the mutual dependence and harmony by which the whole frame of
it hangs together, beating down his passions, or swelling his thoughts
with magnificent ideas of Providence, makes a nobler figure in the eye
of an intelligent being, than the greatest conqueror amidst all the
pomps and solemnities of a triumph. On the contrary, there is not a
more ridiculous animal than an atheist in his retirement. His mind
is incapable of rapture or elevation: he can only consider himself
as an insignificant figure in a landscape, and wandering up and down
in a field or a meadow, under the same terms as the meanest animals
about him, and as subject to as total a mortality as they, with this
aggravation, that he is the only one amongst them who lies under the
apprehension of it.

In distresses, he must be of all creatures the most helpless and
forlorn; he feels the whole pressure of a present calamity, without
being relieved by the memory of anything that is passed, or the
prospect of anything that is to come. Annihilation is the greatest
blessing that he proposes to himself, and a halter or a pistol the
only refuge he can fly to. But if you would behold one of these gloomy
miscreants in his poorest figure, you must consider him under the
terrors, or at the approach, of death.

About thirty years ago I was a-shipboard with one of these vermin, when
there arose a brisk gale, which could frighten nobody but himself. Upon
the rolling of the ship he fell upon his knees, and confessed to the
chaplain, that he had been a vile atheist, and had denied a Supreme
Being ever since he came to his estate. The good man was astonished,
and a report immediately ran through the ship, that there was an
atheist upon the upper deck. Several of the common seamen, who had
never heard the word before, thought it had been some strange fish;
but they were more surprised when they saw it was a man, and heard out
of his own mouth, that he never believed till that day that there was
a God. As he lay in the agonies of confession, one of the honest tars
whispered to the boatswain, that it would be a good deed to heave him
overboard. But we were now within sight of port, when of a sudden the
wind fell, and the penitent relapsed, begging all of us that were
present, as we were gentlemen, not to say anything of what had passed.

He had not been ashore above two days, when one of the company began
to rally him upon his devotion on shipboard, which the other denied in
so high terms, that it produced the lie on both sides, and ended in
a duel. The atheist was run through the body, and after some loss of
blood, became as good a Christian as he was at sea, till he found that
his wound was not mortal. He is at present one of the free-thinkers of
the age, and now writing a pamphlet against several received opinions
concerning the existence of fairies.

As I have taken upon me to censure the faults of the age and country
which I live in, I should have thought myself inexcusable to have
passed over this crying one, which is the subject of my present
discourse. I shall therefore from time to time give my countrymen
particular cautions against this distemper of the mind, that is almost
become fashionable, and by that means more likely to spread. I have
somewhere either read or heard a very memorable sentence, that a man
would be a most insupportable monster, should he have the faults that
are incident to his years, constitution, profession, family, religion,
age, and country; and yet every man is in danger of them all. For this
reason, as I am an old man, I take particular care to avoid being
covetous, and telling long stories. As I am choleric, I forbear not
only swearing, but all interjections of fretting, as "Pugh!" "Pish!"
and the like. As I am a layman, I resolve not to conceive an aversion
for a wise and a good man, because his coat is of a different colour
from mine. As I am descended of the ancient family of the Bickerstaffs,
I never call a man of merit an upstart. As a Protestant, I do not
suffer my zeal so far to transport me, as to name the Pope and the
devil together. As I am fallen into this degenerate age, I guard myself
particularly against the folly I have been now speaking of. And as I am
an Englishman, I am very cautious not to hate a stranger, or despise a
poor Palatine.[351]

FOOTNOTES:

[349] "Steele assisted in this paper" (Tickell).

[350] "Hamlet," act i. sc. i.



No. 112. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Dec. 24_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 27, 1709_.

    Accedat suavitas quædam oportet sermonum, atque morum, haudquaquam
        mediocre condimentum amicitiæ. Tristitia autem, et in omni re
        severitas absit. Habet illa quidem gravitatem, sed amicitia
        remissior esse debet, et liberior, et dulcior, et ad omnem
        comitatem facilitatemque proclivior.--CICERO, De Amicitia,
        xviii. 66.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 26._

As I was looking over my letters this morning, I chanced to cast my
eye upon the following one, which came to my hands about two months
ago from an old friend of mine, who, as I have since learned, was the
person that wrote the agreeable epistle inserted in my paper of the
third of the last month.[352] It is of the same turn with the other,
and may be looked upon as a specimen of right country letters.

     "Sir,

     "This sets out to you from my summer-house upon the terrace, where
     I am enjoying a few hours' sunshine, the scanty sweet remains of
     a fine autumn. The year is almost at the lowest; so that in all
     appearance, the rest of my letters between this and spring will
     be dated from my parlour fire, where the little fond prattle of
     a wife and children will so often break in upon the connection
     of my thoughts, that you will easily discover it in my style. If
     this winter should prove as severe as the last, I can tell you
     beforehand, that I am likely to be a very miserable man, through
     the perverse temper of my eldest boy. When the frost was in its
     extremity, you must know, that most of the blackbirds, robins,
     and finches of the parish (whose music had entertained me in
     the summer) took refuge under my roof. Upon this, my care was,
     to rise every morning before day to set open my windows for the
     reception of the cold and the hungry, whom at the same time I
     relieved with a very plentiful alms, by strewing corn and seeds
     upon the floors and shelves. But Dicky, without any regard to the
     laws of hospitality, considered the casements as so many traps,
     and used every bird as a prisoner at discretion. Never did tyrant
     exercise more various cruelties: some of the poor creatures he
     chased to death about the room; others he drove into the jaws
     of a bloodthirsty cat; and even in his greatest acts of mercy,
     either clipped the wings, or singed the tails, of his innocent
     captives. You will laugh, when I tell you I sympathised with
     every bird in its misfortunes; but I believe you will think me in
     the right for bewailing the child's unlucky humour. On the other
     hand, I am extremely pleased to see his younger brother carry a
     universal benevolence towards everything that has life. When he
     was between four and five years old, I caught him weeping over a
     beautiful butterfly, which he chanced to kill as he was playing
     with it; and I am informed, that this morning he has given his
     brother three halfpence (which was his whole estate) to spare the
     life of a tomtit. These are at present the matters of greatest
     moment within my observation, and I know are too trifling to be
     communicated to any but so wise a man as yourself, and from one
     who has the happiness to be,

  "Your most faithful,
  And most obedient Servant."


The best critic that ever wrote, speaking of some passages in Homer
which appear extravagant or frivolous, says indeed that they are
dreams, but the dreams of Jupiter. My friend's letter appears to me
in the same light. One sees him in an idle hour; but at the same time
in the idle hour of a wise man. A great mind has something in it too
severe and forbidding, that is not capable of giving itself such little
relaxations, and of condescending to these agreeable ways of trifling.
Tully, when he celebrates the friendship of Scipio and Lælius,[353]
who were the greatest, as well as the politest, men of their age,
represents it as a beautiful passage in their retirement, that they
used to gather up shells on the seashore, and amuse themselves with
the variety of shape and colour which they met with in those little
unregarded works of nature. The great Agesilaus could be a companion to
his own children, and was surprised by the ambassadors of Sparta[354]
as he was riding among them upon a hobby-horse. Augustus indeed had no
playfellows of his own begetting; but is said to have passed many of
his hours with little Moorish boys at a game of marbles, not unlike
our modern taw. There is (methinks) a pleasure in seeing great men
thus fall into the rank of mankind, and entertain themselves with
diversions and amusements that are agreeable to the very weakest of
the species. I must frankly confess, that it is to me a beauty in
Cato's character, that he would drink a cheerful bottle with a friend;
and I cannot but own, that I have seen with great delight one of the
most celebrated authors[355] of the last age feeding the ducks in St.
James's Park. By instances of this nature, the heroes, the statesmen,
the philosophers, become as it were familiar with us, and grow the more
amiable the less they endeavour to appear awful. A man who always acts
in the severity of wisdom, or the haughtiness of quality, seems to move
in a personated part: it looks too constrained and theatrical for a man
to be always in that character which distinguishes him from others.
Besides that, the slackening and unbending our minds on some occasions,
makes them exert themselves with greater vigour and alacrity when they
return to their proper and natural state.

As this innocent way of passing a leisure hour is not only consistent
with a great character, but very graceful in it, so there are two sorts
of people to whom I would most earnestly recommend it. The first are
those who are uneasy out of want of thought; the second are those who
are so out of a turbulence of spirit. The first are the impertinent,
and the second the dangerous part of mankind.

It grieves me to the very heart when I see several young gentlemen,
descended of honest parents, run up and down hurrying from one end
of the town to the other, calling in at every place of resort,
without being able to fix a quarter of an hour in any, and in a
particular haste without knowing for what. It would (methinks) be some
consolation, if I could persuade these precipitate young gentlemen
to compose this restlessness of mind, and apply themselves to any
amusement, how trivial soever, that might give them employment, and
keep them out of harm's way. They cannot imagine how great a relief it
would be to them if they could grow sedate enough to play for two or
three hours at a game of pushpin. But these busy, idle animals are only
their own tormentors: the turbulent and dangerous are for embroiling
counsels, stirring up seditions, and subverting constitutions, out of a
mere restlessness of temper, and an insensibility of all the pleasures
of life that are calm and innocent. It is impossible for a man to be
so much employed in any scene of action as to have great and good
affairs enough to fill up his whole time; there will still be chasms
and empty spaces, in which a working mind will employ itself to its own
prejudice, or that of others, unless it can be at ease in the exercise
of such actions as are in themselves indifferent. How often have I
wished, for the good of the nation, that several famous politicians
could take any pleasure in feeding ducks. I look upon an able statesman
out of business like a huge whale, that will endeavour to overturn the
ship unless he has an empty cask to play with.

But to return to my good friend and correspondent, I am afraid we shall
both be laughed at, when I confess, that we have often gone out into
the field to look upon a bird's nest; and have more than once taken an
evening's walk together on purpose to see the sun set. I shall conclude
with my answer to his foregoing letter:

     "DEAR SIR,

     "I thank you for your obliging letter, and your kindness to the
     distressed, who will, doubtless, express their gratitude to you
     themselves the next spring. As for Dick the tyrant, I must desire
     you will put a stop to his proceedings; and at the same time
     take care, that his little brother be no loser by his mercy to
     the tomtit. For my own part, I am excluded all conversation with
     animals that delight only in a country life, and am therefore
     forced to entertain myself as well as I can with my little dog
     and cat. They both of them sit by my fire every night, expecting
     my coming home with impatience; and at my entrance, never fail
     of running up to me, and bidding me welcome, each of them in his
     proper language. As they have been bred up together from their
     infancy, and seen no other company, they have learned each other's
     manners, so that the dog often gives himself the airs of a cat,
     and the cat, in several of her motions and gestures, affects the
     behaviour of the little dog. When they are at play, I often make
     one with them; and sometimes please myself with considering, how
     much reason and instinct are capable of delighting each other.
     Thus, you see, I have communicated to you the material occurrences
     in my family, with the same freedom that you use to me; as I am
     with the same sincerity and affection,

  "Your most faithful,
  Humble Servant,
  ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."

     #/

FOOTNOTES:

[351] See No. 69.

[352] No. 89. Nichols suggested that the old friend was Steele's
fellow-collegian, Richard Parker, vicar of Embleton, in Northumberland.

[353] The friendship of C. Lælius Sapiens with the younger Scipio
Africanus is described in Cicero's "Lælius, sive de Amicitia."

[354] A mistake for Persia. Agesilaus II., King of Sparta, reigned from
398 to 361 B.C., and was, says Plutarch, "as good as thought commander
and king of all Greece."

[355] Probably St. Evremond, for whom the office of Governor of the
Duck Island was created. Cibber ("Apology," 4th edition, i. 24) says of
Charles II., "Even his indolent amusement of playing with his dogs, and
feeding his ducks, in St. James Park (which I have seen him do), made
the common people adore him."



No. 113. [HUGHES.[356]

From _Tuesday, Dec. 27_, to _Thursday, Dec. 29, 1709_.

    Ecce iterum Crispinus!--JUV., Sat. iv. 1.


_Haymarket, Dec. 23._

Whereas the gentleman that behaved himself in a very disobedient
and obstinate manner at his late trial in Sheer Lane on the 20th
instant,[357] and was carried off dead upon the taking away of his
snuff-box, remains still unburied; the Company of Upholders not knowing
otherwise how they should be paid, have taken his goods in execution to
defray the charge of his funeral. His said effects are to be exposed to
sale by auction at their office in the Haymarket on the 4th of January
next, and are as follow:

A very rich tweezer-case, containing twelve instruments for the use of
each hour in the day.

Four pounds of scented snuff, with three gilt snuff-boxes; one of them
with an invisible hinge, and a looking-glass in the lid.

Two more of ivory, with the portraitures on their lids of two ladies of
the town; the originals to be seen every night in the side-boxes[358]
of the play-house.

A sword with a steel diamond hilt, never drawn but once at May
Fair.[359]

Six clean packs of cards, a quart of orange-flower water, a pair of
French scissors, a toothpick case, and an eyebrow brush.

A large glass case, containing the linen and clothes of the deceased;
among which are, two embroidered suits, a pocket perspective, a dozen
pair of red-heeled shoes, three pair of red silk stockings, and an
amber-headed cane.

The strong box of the deceased, wherein were found, five billet-doux, a
Bath shilling, a crooked sixpence, a silk garter, a lock of hair, and
three broken fans.

A press for books; containing on the upper shelf,

    Three bottles of diet-drink.
    Two boxes of pills.
    A syringe, and other mathematical instruments.

On the second shelf are several miscellaneous works; as,

    Lampoons.
    Plays.
    Tailors' bills.
    And an almanac for the year 1700.

On the third shelf,

    A bundle of letters unopened, endorsed (in the hand of the
        deceased), "Letters from the old gentleman."

    Lessons for the flute.

    Toland's "Christianity not Mysterious."[360]. And a paper filled
        with patterns of several fashionable stuffs.

On the lowest shelf,

    One shoe.
    A pair of snuffers.
    A French grammar.
    A mourning hat-band: and half a bottle of usquebaugh.


There will be added to these goods, to make a complete auction, a
collection of gold snuff-boxes and clouded canes,[361] which are to
continue in fashion for three months after the sale.

The whole are to be set up and prized by Charles Bubbleboy,[362] who is
to open the auction with a speech.

       *       *       *       *       *

I find that I am so very unhappy, that while I am busy in correcting
the folly and vice of one sex, several exorbitances break out in the
other. I have not thoroughly examined their new-fashioned petticoats,
but shall set aside one day in the next week for that purpose. The
following petition on this subject was presented to me this morning:

     "The humble Petition of WILLIAM JINGLE, Coach-maker and
     Chair-maker of the Liberty of Westminster.

     "To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain:

     "Showeth--That upon the late invention of Mrs. Catherine
     Cross-stitch, mantle-maker, the petticoats of ladies were too wide
     for entering into any coach or chair which was in use before the
     said invention.

     "That for the service of the said ladies, your petitioner has
     built a round chair, in the form of a lanthorn, six yards and a
     half in circumference, with a stool in the centre of it; the said
     vehicle being so contrived, as to receive the passenger by opening
     in two in the middle, and closing mathematically when she is
     seated.

     "That your petitioner has also invented a coach for the reception
     of one lady only, who is to be let in at the top.

     "That the said coach has been tried by a lady's woman in one of
     these full petticoats, who was let down from a balcony, and drawn
     up again by pulleys, to the great satisfaction of her lady and all
     who beheld her.

     "Your petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that for the
     encouragement of ingenuity and useful inventions, he may be heard
     before you pass sentence upon the petticoats aforesaid.

  "And your petitioner, &c."


I have likewise received a female petition, signed by several
thousands, praying, that I would not any longer defer giving judgment
in the case of the petticoat, many of them having put off the making
new clothes till such time as they know what verdict I will pass upon
it. I do therefore hereby certify to all whom it may concern, that I do
design to set apart Tuesday next for the final determination of that
matter, having already ordered a jury of matrons to be impanelled, for
the clearing up of any difficult points that may arise in the trial.

       *       *       *       *       *

Being informed, that several dead men in and about this city do keep
out of the way and abscond, for fear of being buried; and being willing
to respite their interment, in consideration of their families, and
in hopes of their amendment, I shall allow them certain privileged
places, where they may appear to one another, without causing any let
or molestation to the living, or receiving any in their own persons
from the Company of Upholders. Between the hours of seven and nine in
the morning, they may appear in safety at St. James's Coffee-house, or
at White's, if they do not keep their beds, which is more proper for
men in their condition. From nine to eleven, I allow them to walk from
Story's to Rosamond's Pond[363] in the Park, or in any other public
walks which are not frequented by the living at that time. Between
eleven and three, they are to vanish, and keep out of sight till three
in the afternoon; at which time they may go to 'Change till five; and
then, if they please, divert themselves at the Haymarket, or Drury
Lane, till the play begins. It is further granted in favour of these
persons, that they may be received at any table where there are more
present than seven in number; provided, that they do not take upon
them to talk, judge, commend, or find fault with any speech, action,
or behaviour of the living. In which case, it shall be lawful to seize
their persons at any place or hour whatsoever, and to convey their
bodies to the next undertakers; anything in this advertisement to the
contrary notwithstanding.

FOOTNOTES:

[356] On the authority of the Rev. John Duncombe (see Hughes's
"Correspondence," iii. 7).

[357] See No. 110.

[358] See No. 50.

[359] See No. 4.

[360] Published first in 1696. We are told that John Toland "was once
the butt of the _Tatler_" (_Examiner_, vol. iv. No. 35).

[361] _Cf._ Pope's "Odyssey"--

    "The handle smooth and plain,
    Made of the clouded olive's easy grain."



[362] Charles Mather; see No. 27.



No. 114. [ADDISON and STEELE[364]

From _Thursday, Dec. 29_, to _Saturday, Dec. 31, 1709_.

    Ut in vitâ, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum existimo,
        severitatem comitatemque miscere, ne illa in tristitiam, hæc in
        petulantium procedat.--PLIN., Epist.


_Sheer Lane, Dec. 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, whom I perceived to be the eldest son of my bosom friend
that I gave some account of in my paper of the 17th of the last
month.[365] 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 out in tears. I was extremely moved,
and immediately 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 seasonable performances 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 sickness, 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,[366] not without a secret satisfaction
to find he had been there. I had formerly conversed with him at this
house; and as he abounds with that sort of virtue and knowledge which
makes religion beautiful, and never leads the conversation into the
violence and rage of party disputes, I listened 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 instead of being terrible, it appeared to a mind rightly
cultivated, altogether to be contemned, or rather to be desired. As
I met him at the door, I saw in his face a certain 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 expressions 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 bedside:
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 bedside, she told me, with a low broken voice,
"This is kindly done. Take care of your friend--don't go from him."
She had before taken leave of her husband and children, in a manner
proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness peculiar to a
woman of her character. My heart was torn in 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 endured, for fear of increasing 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 himself) gave a
deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bedside.[367] 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 resolution to accompany him till the
first pangs of his affliction 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,[368] who, in one of his epistles relating the virtues
and death of Macrinus's wife, expresses himself thus:[369] "I shall
suspend my advice to this best of friends, till he is made capable of
receiving 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 meantime, 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 entertaining to him by her participation of them. The
most agreeable objects recall 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 admirably described in Milton, who
represents Eve, though in Paradise itself, no further pleased with the
beautiful objects 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._"[370]

The variety of images in this passage is infinitely pleasing, and the
recapitulation of each particular image, with a little varying of
the expression, makes one of the finest turns of words that I have
ever seen; which I rather mention, because Mr. Dryden has said in
his preface to Juvenal, that he could meet with no turn of words in
Milton.[371]

It may further be observed, that though the sweetness of these verses
has something in it of a pastoral, yet it excels the ordinary kind,
as much as the scene of it is above 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 predestination, free-will, and foreknowledge; and
to humour the perplexity, makes a kind of labyrinth in the very words
that describe it:

    _Others apart sat on a hill retired,
    In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high
    Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate,
    Fixed fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,
    And found no end in wandering mazes lost._[372]

FOOTNOTES:

[363] Story's Gate and Rosamond's Pond were at opposite ends of
Birdcage Walk (see No. 60).

[364] "Steele assisted in this paper" (Tickell).

[365] No. 95.

[366] Dr. Smalridge (see No. 72).

[367] What follows is said to have been written by Addison. "It would
seem as though Steele felt himself unable to proceed, and his friend
had taken the pen from his trembling hand" (Forster, "Historical and
Biographical Essays," 1858, ii. 141).

[368] Pliny, Book viii., Epist. 5.

[369] "Says very justly" (folio).

[370] "Paradise Lost," iv. 639.

[371] "But as he [Milton] endeavours everywhere to express Homer,
whose age had not arrived to that fineness, I found in him a true
sublimity, lofty thoughts which were clothed with admirable Grecisms,
and ancient words which he had been digging from the mines of Chaucer
and of Spenser, and which, with all their rusticity, had somewhat of
venerable in them. But I found not there neither that for which I
looked ['beautiful turns']." (Dryden's" Discourse on Satire.")

[372] "Paradise Lost," ii. 557.

                     THE END OF THE SECOND VOLUME

                  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.
                          London & Edinburgh



     Transcriber's Notes:


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     were corrected.

     Italics markup is denoted by _underscores_.

     Greek text has been transliterated and is denoted by #number marks#.

     P. 74 & 257 added missing footnote anchors.

     P. 188 added missing footnote number.





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