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To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Halifax. ¹

From the Hovel at Hamptonwick,

April 7, 1711.

My Lord,

When I first resolved upon doing myself this honour, I could not but indulge a certain vanity in dating from this little covert, where I have frequently had the honour of your Lordship's company, and received from you very many obligations. The elegant solitude of this place, and the greatest pleasures of it, I owe to its being so near those beautiful manors wherein you sometimes reside: it is not retiring from the world, but enjoying its most valuable blessings, when a man is permitted to share in your Lordship's conversations in the country. All the bright images which the wits of past ages have left behind them in their writings, the noble plans which the greatest statesmen have laid down for administration of affairs, are equally the familiar objects of your knowledge. But what is peculiar to your Lordship above all the illustrious personages that have appeared in any age, is, that wit and learning have from your example fallen into a new era. Your patronage has produced those arts, which before shunned the commerce of the world, into the service of life; and it is to you we owe, that the man of wit has turned himself to be a man of business. The false delicacy of men of genius, and the objections which others were apt to insinuate against their abilities for entering into affairs, have equally vanished. And experience has shown, that men of letters are not only qualified with a greater capacity, but also a greater integrity in the despatch of business. Your own studies have been diverted from being the highest ornament, to the highest use to mankind, and the capacities which would have rendered you the greatest poet of your age, have to the advantage of Great Britain been employed in pursuits which have made you the most able and unbiassed patriot. A vigorous imagination, an extensive apprehension, and a ready judgment have distinguished you in all the illustrious parts of administration, in a reign attended with such difficulties, that the same talents without the same quickness in the possession of them would have been incapable of conquering. The natural success of such abilities has advanced you to a seat in that illustrious House where you were received by a crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours and personal qualities, I know you will forgive a humble neighbour the vanity of pretending to a place in your friendship, and subscribing himself,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's most obliged and most devoted Servant,

Richard Steele.

No. 194. [Steele. ²
From Tuesday, July 4, to Thursday, July 6, 1710

 
Militat omnis amans. – Ovid, Amor. El. ix. 1.
 

From my own Apartment, July 5

I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of Spenser, in which Sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term,³ for the benefit of many English lovers who have by frequent letters desired me to lay down some rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise, that by the shield of love is meant a generous, constant passion for the person beloved.

When the fame, says he, of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple, continues he, bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the shield of love; and underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription:

Happy the man who well can use his bliss;

Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be his.

My heart panted upon reading the inscription: I struck upon the shield with my spear. Immediately issued forth a knight well mounted, and completely armed, who, without speaking, ran fiercely at me. I received him as well as I could, and by good fortune threw him out of the saddle. I encountered the whole twenty successively, and leaving them all extended on the plain, carried off the shield in token of victory. Having thus vanquished my rivals, I passed on without impediment, till I came to the outermost gate of the bridge, which I found locked and barred. I knocked and called, but could get no answer. At last I saw one on the other side of the gate, who stood peeping through a small crevice. This was the porter; he had a double face resembling a Janus, and was continually looking about him, as if he mistrusted some sudden danger. His name, as I afterwards learned, was Doubt. Over against him sat Delay, who entertained passengers with some idle story, while they lost such opportunities as were never to be recovered. As soon as the porter saw my shield, he opened the gate; but upon my entering, Delay caught hold of me, and would fain have made me listen to her fooleries. However, I shook her off, and passed forward till I came to the second gate, the Gate of Good Desert, which always stood wide open; but in the porch was a hideous giant, that stopped the entrance: his name was Danger. Many warriors of good reputation, not able to bear the sternness of his look, went back again. Cowards fled at the first sight of him, except some few, who watching their opportunity, slipped by him unobserved. I prepared to assault him; but upon the first sight of my shield, he immediately gave way. Looking back upon him, I found his hinder parts much more deformed and terrible than his face; Hatred, Murder, Treason, Envy, and Detraction lying in ambush behind him, to fall upon the heedless and unwary.

I now entered the Island of Love, which appeared in all the beauties of art and nature, and feasted every sense with the most agreeable objects. Amidst a pleasing variety of walks and alleys, shady seats and flowery banks, sunny hills and gloomy valleys, were thousands of lovers sitting, or walking together in pairs, and singing hymns to the deity of the place.

I could not forbear envying this happy people, who were already in possession of all they could desire. While I went forward to the temple, the structure was beautiful beyond imagination. The gate stood open. In the entrance sat a most amiable woman, whose name was Concord.

On either side of her stood two young men, both strongly armed, as if afraid of each other. As I afterwards learned, they were both her sons, but begotten of her by two different fathers; their names, Love and Hatred.

The lady so well tempered and reconciled them both, that she forced them to join hands; though I could not but observe, that Hatred turned aside his face, as not able to endure the sight of his younger brother.

I at length entered the inmost temple, the roof of which was raised upon a hundred marble pillars, decked with crowns, chains, and garlands. The ground was strewn with flowers. A hundred altars, at each of which stood a virgin priestess clothed in white, blazed all at once with the sacrifice of lovers, who were perpetually sending up their vows to heaven in clouds of incense.

In the midst stood the goddess herself, upon an altar, whose substance was neither gold nor stone, but infinitely more precious than either. About her neck flew numberless flocks of little Loves, Joys, and Graces; and all about her altar lay scattered heaps of lovers, complaining of the disdain, pride, or treachery of their mistresses. One among the rest, no longer able to contain his grief, broke out into the following prayer: "Venus, queen of grace and beauty, joy of gods and men, who with a smile becalmest the seas, and renewest all nature; goddess, whom all the different species in the universe obey with joy and pleasure, grant I may at last obtain the object of my vows."

The impatient lover pronounced this with great vehemence; but I in a soft murmur besought the goddess to lend me her assistance. While I was thus praying, I chanced to cast my eye on a company of ladies, who were assembled together in a corner of the temple waiting for the anthem.

The foremost seemed something elder and of a more composed countenance than the rest, who all appeared to be under her direction. Her name was Womanhood. On one side of her sat Shamefacedness, with blushes rising in her cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon the ground: on the other was Cheerfulness, with a smiling look, that infused a secret pleasure into the hearts of all that saw her. With these sat Modesty, holding her hand on her heart; Courtesy, with a graceful aspect, and obliging behaviour; and the two sisters, who were always linked together, and resembled each other, Silence and Obedience.

 
Thus sat they all around in seemly rate,
And in the midst of them a goodly maid
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,
The which was all in lily-white arrayed,
Where silver streams among the linen strayed;
Like to the morn, when first her shining face
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed.
That same was fairest Amoret in place,
Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtue's grace.
 

As soon as I beheld the charming Amoret, my heart throbbed with hopes. I stepped to her, and seized her hand; when Womanhood immediately rising up, sharply rebuked me for offering in so rude a manner to lay hold on a virgin. I excused myself as modestly as I could, and at the same time displayed my shield; upon which, as soon as she beheld the god emblazoned with his bow and shafts, she was struck mute, and instantly retired.

I still held fast the fair Amoret, and turning my eyes towards the goddess of the place, saw that she favoured my pretensions with a smile, which so emboldened me, that I carried off my prize.

The maid, sometimes with tears, sometimes with smiles, entreated me to let her go: but I led her through the temple-gate, where the goddess Concord, who had favoured my entrance, befriended my retreat.

This allegory is so natural, that it explains itself. The persons in it are very artfully described, and disposed in proper places. The posts assigned to Doubt, Delay, and Danger, are admirable. The Gate of Good Desert has something noble and instructive in it. But above all, I am most pleased with the beautiful group of figures in the corner of the temple. Among these, Womanhood is drawn like what the philosophers call a universal nature, and is attended with beautiful representatives of all those virtues that are the ornaments of the female sex, considered in its natural perfection and innocence.

No. 195. [Steele.
From Thursday, July 6, to Saturday, July 8, 1710

Grecian Coffee-house, July 7

The learned world are very much offended at many of my ratiocinations, and have but a very mean opinion of me as a politician. The reason of this is, that some erroneously conceive a talent for politics to consist in the regard to a man's own interest; but I am of quite another mind, and think the first and essential quality towards being a statesman is to have a public spirit. One of the gentlemen who are out of humour with me, imputes my falling into a way wherein I am so very awkward to a barrenness of invention, and has the charity to lay new matter before me for the future. He is at the bottom my friend, but is at a loss to know whether I am a fool or a physician, and is pleased to expostulate with me with relation to the latter. He falls heavy upon licentiates, and seems to point more particularly at us who are not regularly of the faculty. But since he has been so civil to me as to meddle only with those who are employed no further than about men's lives, and not reflected upon me as of the astrological sect, who concern ourselves about lives and fortunes also, I am not so much hurt as to stifle any part of his fond letter.⁴

"Sir,

"I am afraid there is something in the suspicions of some people, that you begin to be short of matter for your Lucubrations. Though several of them now and then did appear somewhat dull and insipid to me, I was always charitably inclined to believe the fault lay in myself, and that I wanted the true key to uncipher your mysteries, and remember your advertisement upon this account. But since I have seen you fall in an unpardonable error, yea, with a relapse: I mean, since I have seen you turn politician in the present unhappy dissensions, I have begun to stagger, and could not choose but lessen the great value I had for the censor of our isle. How is it possible that a man, whom interest did naturally lead to a constant impartiality in these matters, and who hath wit enough to judge that his opinion was not like to make many proselytes; how is it possible, I say, that a little passion (for I have still too good an opinion of you to think you was bribed by the staggering party) could blind you so far as to offend the very better half of the nation, and to lessen off so much the number of your friends? Mr. Morphew will not have cause to thank you, unless you give over, and endeavour to regain what you have lost. There is still a great many themes you have left untouched; such as the ill-managements of matters relating to law and physic, the setting down rules for knowing the quacks in both professions. What a large field is there left in discovering the abuses of the College, who had a charter and privileges granted them to hinder the creeping in and prevailing of quacks and pretenders; and yet grant licences to barbers, and write letters of recommendation in the country towns, out of the reach of their practice, in favour of mere boys; valuing the health and lives of their countrymen no further than they get money by them. You have said very little or nothing about the dispensation of justice in town and country, where clerks are the counsellors to their masters.

"But as I can't expect that the censor of Great Britain should publish a letter, wherein he is censured with too much reason himself; yet I hope you will be the better for it, and think upon the themes I have mentioned, which must certainly be of greater service to the world, yourself, and Mr. Morphew, than to let us know whether you are a Whig or a Tory. I am still

"Your Admirer and Servant,

"Cato Junior."

This gentleman and I differ about the words "staggering" and "better part"; but instead of answering to the particulars of this epistle, I shall only acquaint my correspondent, that I am at present forming my thoughts upon the foundation of Sir Scudamore's progress in Spenser,⁵ which has led me from all other amusements, to consider the state of love in this island; and from the corruptions in the government of that, to deduce the chief evils of life. In the meantime that I am thus employed, I have given positive orders to Don Saltero,⁶ of Chelsea, the tooth-drawer, and Dr. Thomas Smith,⁷ the corn-cutter, of King Street, Westminster (who have the modesty to confine their pretensions to manual operations), to bring me in, with all convenient speed, complete lists of all who are but of equal learning with themselves, and yet administer physic beyond the feet and gums. These advices I shall reserve for my future leisure; but have now taken a resolution to dedicate the remaining part of this instant July to the service of the fair sex, and have almost finished a scheme for settling the whole remainder of that sex who are unmarried, and above the age of twenty-five.

In order to this good and public service, I shall consider the passion of love in its full extent, as it is attended both with joys and inquietudes; and lay down, for the conduct of my lovers, such rules as shall banish the cares, and heighten the pleasures, which flow from that amiable spring of life and happiness. There is no less than an absolute necessity that some provision be made to take off the dead stock of women in city, town, and country. Let there happen but the least disorder in the streets, and in an instant you see the inequality of the numbers of males and females. Besides that the feminine crowd on such occasions is more numerous in the open way, you may observe them also to the very garrets huddled together, four at least at a casement. Add to this, that by an exact calculation of all that have come to town by stage-coach or waggon for this twelvemonth last, three times in four the treated persons have been males. This over-stock of beauty, for which there are so few bidders, calls for an immediate supply of lovers and husbands; and I am the studious knight-errant who have suffered long nocturnal contemplations to find out methods for the relief of all British females who at present seem to be devoted to involuntary virginity. The scheme upon which I design to act, I have communicated to none but a beauteous young lady (who has for some time left the town), in the following letter:

"To Amanda, in Kent

"Madam,

"I send with this, my discourse of ways and means for encouraging marriage, and repeopling the island. You will soon observe, that according to these rules, the mean considerations (which make beauty and merit cease to be the objects of love and courtship) will be fully exploded. I have unanswerably proved, that jointures and settlements are the bane of happiness; and not only so, but the ruin even of their fortunes who enter into them. I beg of you, therefore, to come to town upon the receipt of this, where I promise you, you shall have as many lovers as toasters; for there needed nothing but to make men's interests fall in with their inclinations, to render you the most courted of your sex. As many as love you will now be willing to marry you: hasten then, and be the honourable mistress of mankind. Cassander, and many others, stand in the Gate of Good Desert⁸ to receive you. I am,

"Madam,

"Your most obedient,

"Most humble Servant,

"Isaac Bickerstaff."

No. 196. [Steele.
From Saturday, July 8, to Tuesday, July 11, 1710

 
Dulcis inexperto cultura potentis amici:
Expertus metuit —
 

Hor., I Ep. xviii. 86.

From my own Apartment, July 10

The intended course of my studies was altered this evening by a visit from an old acquaintance, who complained to me, mentioning one upon whom he had long depended, that he found his labour and perseverance in his patron's service and interests wholly ineffectual; and he thought now, after his best years were spent in a professed adherence to him and his fortunes, he should in the end be forced to break with him, and give over all further expectations from him. He sighed, and ended his discourse by saying, "You, Mr. Censor, some time ago, gave us your thoughts of the behaviour of great men to their creditors. This sort of demand upon them, for what they invite men to expect, is a debt of honour, which, according to custom, they ought to be most careful of paying, and would be a very worthy subject for a lucubration."

Of all men living, I think, I am the most proper to treat of this matter; because in the character and employment of censor, I have had encouragement so infinitely above my desert, that what I say cannot possibly be supposed to arise from peevishness, or any disappointment in that kind which I myself have met with. When we consider patrons and their clients, those who receive addresses, and those who are addressed to, it must not be understood that the dependants are such as are worthless in their natures, abandoned to any vice or dishonour, or such as without a call thrust themselves upon men in power; nor when we say patrons, do we mean such as have it not in their power, or have no obligation, to assist their friends; but we speak of such leagues where there are power and obligation on the one part, and merit and expectation on the other. Were we to be very particular on this subject, I take it that the division of patron and client may include a third part of our nation. The want of merit and real worth will strike out about ninety-nine in the hundred of these, and want of ability in the patron will dispose of as many of that order. He who out of mere vanity to be applied to will take up another's time and fortune in his service, where he has no prospect of returning it, is as much more unjust as those who took up my friend the upholder's⁹ goods without paying him for them. I say, he is as much more unjust as our life and time is more valuable than our goods and movables. Among many whom you see about the great, there is a contented, well-pleased set, who seem to like the attendance for its own sake, and are early at the abodes of the powerful, out of mere fashion. This sort of vanity is as well grounded as if a man should lay aside his own plain suit, and dress himself up in a gay livery of another's.

There are many of this species who exclude others of just expectation, and make those proper dependants appear impatient, because they are not so cheerful as those who expect nothing. I have made use of the penny post for the instruction of these voluntary slaves, and informed them, that they will never be provided for; but they double their diligence upon admonition. Will Afterday has told his friends, that he was to have the next thing these ten years; and Harry Linger has been fourteen within a month of a considerable office. However the fantastic complaisance which is paid to them may blind the great from seeing themselves in a just light, they must needs (if they in the least reflect) at some times have a sense of the injustice they do in raising in others a false expectation. But this is so common a practice in all the stages of power, that there are not more cripples come out of the wars than from the attendance of patrons. You see in one a settled melancholy, in another a bridled rage, a third has lost his memory, and a fourth his whole constitution and humour. In a word, when you see a particular cast of mind or body, which looks a little upon the distracted, you may be sure the poor gentleman has formerly had great friends. For this reason, I have thought it a prudent thing to take a nephew of mine out of a lady's service, where he was a page, and have bound him to a shoemaker.

But what of all the humours under the sun is the most pleasant to consider, is, that you see some men lay as it were a set of acquaintance by them, to converse with when they are out of employment, who had no effect of their power when they were in. Here patrons and clients both make the most fantastical figure imaginable. Friendship indeed is most manifested in adversity; but I do not know how to behave myself to a man who thinks me his friend at no other time but that. Dick Reptile of our club had this in his head the other night, when he said, "I am afraid of ill news when I am visited by any of my old friends." These patrons are a little like some fine gentlemen, who spend all their hours of gaiety with their wenches, but when they fall sick, will let no one come near them but their wives. It seems, truth and honour are companions too sober for prosperity. It is certainly the most black ingratitude to accept of a man's best endeavours to be pleasing to you, and return it with indifference.

I am so much of this mind, that Dick Estcourt¹⁰ the comedian, for coming one night to our club, though he laughed at us all the time he was there, shall have our company at his play on Thursday. A man of talents is to be favoured, or never admitted. Let the ordinary world truck for money and wares, but men of spirit and conversation should in every kind do others as much pleasure as they receive from them. But men are so taken up with outward forms, that they do not consider their actions; else how should it be, that a man shall deny that to the entreaties and almost tears of an old friend, which he shall solicit a new one to accept of? I remember, when I first came out of Staffordshire, I had an intimacy with a man of quality, in whose gift there fell a very good employment. All the town cried, "There's a thing for Mr. Bickerstaff!" when, to my great astonishment, I found my patron had been forced upon twenty artifices to surprise a man with it who never thought of it. But sure it is a degree of murder to amuse men with vain hopes. If a man takes away another's life, where is the difference, whether he does it by taking away the minutes of his time, or the drops of his blood? But indeed, such as have hearts barren of kindness are served accordingly by those whom they employ, and pass their lives away with an empty show of civility for love, and an insipid intercourse of a commerce in which their affections are no way concerned. But on the other side, how beautiful is the life of a patron who performs his duty to his inferiors? a worthy merchant who employs a crowd of artificers? a great lord who is generous and merciful to the several necessities of his tenants? a courtier who uses his credit and power for the welfare of his friends? These have in their several stations a quick relish of the exquisite pleasure of doing good. In a word, good patrons are like the guardian angels of Plato, who are ever busy, though unseen, in the care of their wards; but ill patrons are like the deities of Epicurus, supine, indolent, and unconcerned, though they see mortals in storms and tempests even while they are offering incense to their power.

No. 197. [Steele.
From Tuesday, July 11, to Thursday, July 13, 1710

Semper ego auditor tantum? – Juv., Sat. i. I.

Grecian Coffee-house, July 12

When I came hither this evening, the man of the house delivered me a book very finely bound. When I received it, I overheard one of the boys whisper another, and say, "It was a fine thing to be a great scholar! What a pretty book that is!" It has indeed a very gay outside, and is dedicated to me by a very ingenious gentleman, who does not put his name to it. The title of it (for the work is in Latin) is, "Epistolarum Obscurorum Virorum, ad Dm. M. Ortuinum Gratium, Volumina II. &c."¹¹ ("The Epistles of the Obscure Writers to Ortuinus, &c."). The purpose of the work is signified in the dedication, in very elegant language, and fine raillery. It seems this is a collection of letters which some profound blockheads, who lived before our times, have written in honour of each other, and for their mutual information in each other's absurdities. They are mostly of the German nation, whence from time to time inundations of writers have flowed, more pernicious to the learned world than the swarms of Goths and Vandals to the politic. It is, methinks, wonderful, that fellows could be awake, and utter such incoherent conceptions, and converse with great gravity like learned men, without the least taste of knowledge or good sense. It would have been an endless labour to have taken any other method of exposing such impertinences, than by an edition of their own works, where you see their follies, according to the ambition of such virtuosi, in a most correct edition.

Looking over these accomplished labours, I could not but reflect upon the immense load of writings which the commonalty of scholars have pushed into the world, and the absurdity of parents, who educate crowds to spend their time in pursuit of such cold and sprightless endeavours to appear in public. It seems therefore a fruitless labour to attempt the correction of the taste of our contemporaries, except it was in our power to burn all the senseless labours of our ancestors. There is a secret propensity in nature from generation to generation in the blockheads of one age to admire those of another; and men of the same imperfections are as great admirers of each other, as those of the same abilities.

This great mischief of voluminous follies proceeds from a misfortune which happens in all ages, that men of barren geniuses, but fertile imaginations, are bred scholars. This may at first appear a paradox; but when we consider the talking creatures we meet in public places, it will no longer be such. Ralph Shallow is a young fellow, that has not by nature any the least propensity to strike into what has not been observed and said every day of his life by others; but with that inability of speaking anything that is uncommon, he has a great readiness at what he can speak of, and his imagination runs into all the different views of the subject he treats of in a moment. If Ralph had learning added to the common chit-chat of the town, he would have been a disputant upon all topics that ever were considered by men of his own genius. As for my part, I never am teased by an empty town-fellow, but I bless my stars that he was not bred a scholar. This addition, we must consider, would have made him capable of maintaining his follies. His being in the wrong would have been protected by suitable arguments; and when he was hedged in by logical terms, and false appearances, you must have owned yourself convinced before you could then have got rid of him, and the shame of his triumph had been added to the pain of his impertinence.

There is a sort of littleness in the minds of men of wrong sense, which makes them much more insufferable than mere fools, and has the further inconvenience of being attended by an endless loquacity. For which reason, it would be a very proper work, if some well-wisher to human society would consider the terms upon which people meet in public places, in order to prevent the unseasonable declamations which we meet with there. I remember, in my youth it was a humour at the University, when a fellow pretended to be more eloquent than ordinary, and had formed to himself a plot to gain all our admiration, or triumph over us with an argument, to either of which he had no manner of call; I say, in either of these cases, it was the humour to shut one eye. This whimsical way of taking notice to him of his absurdity, has prevented many a man from being a coxcomb. If amongst us on such an occasion each man offered a voluntary rhetorician some snuff, it would probably produce the same effect. As the matter now stands, whether a man will or no, he is obliged to be informed in whatever another pleases to entertain him with, though the preceptor makes these advances out of vanity, and not to instruct, but insult him.

There is no man will allow him who wants courage to be called a soldier; but men who want good sense are very frequently not only allowed to be scholars, but esteemed for being such. At the same time it must be granted, that as courage is the natural part of a soldier, so is a good understanding of a scholar. Such little minds as these, whose productions are collected in the volume to which I have the honour to be patron, are the instruments for artful men to work with, and become popular with the unthinking part of mankind. In courts, they make transparent flatterers; in camps, ostentatious bullies; in colleges, unintelligible pedants; and their faculties are used accordingly by those who lead them.

When a man who wants judgment is admitted into the conversation of reasonable men, he shall remember such improper circumstances, and draw such groundless conclusions from their discourse, and that with such colour of sense, as would divide the best set of company that can be got together. It is just thus with a fool who has a familiarity with books, he shall quote and recite one author against another, in such a manner as shall puzzle the best understanding to refute him; though the most ordinary capacity may observe, that it is only ignorance which makes the intricacy. All the true use of that we call learning, is to ennoble and improve our natural faculties, and not to disguise our imperfections. It is therefore in vain for folly to attempt to conceal itself by the refuge of learned languages. Literature does but make a man more eminently the thing which nature made him; and Polyglottes, had he studied less than he has, and written only in his mother tongue, had been known only in Great Britain for a pedant.

Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Dorinda, and will both answer her letter,¹² and take her advice.

No. 198. [Steele.
From Thursday, July 13, to Saturday, July 15, 1710

 
Quale sit id quod amas celeri circumspice mente,
Et tua læsuro substrahe colla jugo.
 

Ovid, Rem. Amor., i. 89.¹³

From my own Apartment, July 14

The History of Cælia

It is not necessary to look back into the first years of this young lady, whose story is of consequence only as her life has lately met with passages very uncommon. She is now in the twentieth year of her age, and owes a strict, but cheerful education, to the care of an aunt, to whom she was recommended by her dying father, whose decease was hastened by an inconsolable affliction for the loss of her mother. As Cælia is the offspring of the most generous passion that has been known in our age, she is adorned with as much beauty and grace as the most celebrated of her sex possess; but her domestic life, moderate fortune, and religious education gave her but little opportunity, and less inclination, to be admired in public assemblies. Her abode has been for some years a convenient distance from the Cathedral of St. Paul's, where her aunt and she chose to reside, for the advantage of that rapturous way of devotion which gives ecstasy to the pleasures of innocence, and, in some measure, is the immediate possession of those heavenly enjoyments for which they are addressed.

As you may trace the usual thoughts of men in their countenances, there appeared in the face of Cælia a cheerfulness, the constant companion of unaffected virtue, and a gladness, which is as inseparable from true piety. Her every look and motion spoke the peaceful, mild, resigning, humble inhabitant that animated her beauteous body. Her air discovered her body a mere machine of her mind, and not that her thoughts were employed in studying graces and attractions for her person. Such was Cælia when she was first seen by Palamede at her usual place of worship. Palamede is a young man of two-and-twenty, well-fashioned, learned, genteel, and discreet, and son and heir of a gentleman of a very great estate, and himself possessed of a plentiful one by the gift of an uncle. He became enamoured with Cælia, and after having learned her habitation, had address enough to communicate his passion and circumstances with such an air of good sense and integrity, as soon obtained permission to visit and profess his inclinations towards her. Palamede's present fortune and future expectations were no way prejudicial to his addresses; but after the lovers had passed some time in the agreeable entertainments of a successful courtship, Cælia one day took occasion to interrupt Palamede in the midst of a very pleasing discourse of the happiness he promised himself in so accomplished a companion, and assuming a serious air, told him, there was another heart to be won before he gained hers, which was that of his father. Palamede seemed much disturbed at the overture, and lamented to her, that his father was one of those too provident parents, who only place their thoughts upon bringing riches into their families by marriages, and are wholly insensible of all other considerations. But the strictness of Cælia's rules of life made her insist upon this demand; and the son, at a proper hour, communicated to his father the circumstances of his love, and the merit of the object. The next day the father made her a visit. The beauty of her person, the fame of her virtue, and a certain irresistible charm in her whole behaviour on so tender and delicate an occasion, wrought so much upon him, in spite of all prepossessions, that he hastened the marriage with an impatience equal to that of his son. Their nuptials were celebrated with a privacy suitable to the character and modesty of Cælia, and from that day, till a fatal one of last week, they lived together with all the joy and happiness which attend minds entirely united.

It should have been intimated, that Palamede is a student of the Temple, and usually retired thither early in a morning, Cælia still sleeping.

It happened a few days since, that she followed him thither to communicate to him something she had omitted in her redundant fondness to speak of the evening before. When she came to his apartment, the servant there told her, she was coming with a letter to her. While Cælia in an inner room was reading an apology from her husband, that he had been suddenly taken by some of his acquaintance to dine at Brentford, but that he should return in the evening, a country girl, decently clad, asked, if those were not the chambers of Mr. Palamede? She was answered, they were, but that he was not in town. The stranger asked, when he was expected at home? The servant replied, she would go in and ask his wife. The young woman repeated the word "wife," and fainted. This accident raised no less curiosity than amazement in Cælia, who caused her to be removed into the inner room. Upon proper applications to revive her, the unhappy young creature returned to herself, and said to Cælia, with an earnest and beseeching tone, "Are you really Mr. Palamede's wife?" Cælia replies, "I hope I do not look as if I were any other in the condition you see me." The stranger answers, "No, madam, he is my husband." At the same instant she threw a bundle of letters into Cælia's lap, which confirmed the truth of what she asserted. Their mutual innocence and sorrow made them look at each other as partners in distress, rather than rivals in love. The superiority of Cælia's understanding and genius gave her an authority to examine into this adventure as if she had been offended against, and the other the delinquent. The stranger spoke in the following manner:

"Madam, if it shall please you, Mr. Palamede having an uncle of a good estate near Winchester, was bred at the school there, to gain the more his good-will by being in his sight. His uncle died, and left him the estate, which my husband now has. When he was a mere youth he set his affections on me: but when he could not gain his ends he married me, making me and my mother, who is a farmer's widow, swear we would never tell it upon any account whatsoever; for that it would not look well for him to marry such a one as me; besides, that his father would cut him off of the estate. I was glad to have him in an honest way, and he now and then came and stayed a night and away at our house. But very lately he came down to see us, with a fine young gentleman his friend, who stayed behind there with us, pretending to like the place for the summer; but ever since Master Palamede went, he has attempted to abuse me; and I ran hither to acquaint him with it, and avoid the wicked intentions of his false friend."

Cælia had no more room for doubt, but left her rival the same agonies she felt herself. Palamede returns in the evening, and finding his wife at his chambers, learned all that had passed, and hastened to Cælia's lodgings.

It is much easier to imagine than express the sentiments of either the criminal or the injured at this encounter.

As soon as Palamede had found way for speech, he confessed his marriage, and his placing his companion on purpose to vitiate his wife, that he might break through a marriage made in his nonage, and devote his riper and knowing years to Cælia. She made him no answer; but retired to her closet. He returned to the Temple, where he soon after received from her the following letter:

"Sir,

"You, who this morning were the best, are now the worst of men who breathe vital air. I am at once overwhelmed with love, hatred, rage, and disdain. Can infamy and innocence live together? I feel the weight of the one too strong for the comfort of the other. How bitter, Heaven, how bitter is my portion! How much have I to say; but the infant which I bear about me stirs with my agitation. I am, Palamede, to live in shame, and this creature be heir to it. Farewell for ever."

No. 199. [Steele. ¹⁴
From Saturday, July 15, to Tuesday, July 18, 1710

When we revolve in our thoughts such catastrophes as that in the history of the unhappy Cælia, there seems to be something so hazardous in the changing a single state of life into that of marriage, that (it may happen) all the precautions imaginable are not sufficient to defend a virgin from ruin by her choice. It seems a wonderful inconsistence in the distribution of public justice, that a man who robs a woman of an ear-ring or a jewel, should be punished with death; but one who by false arts and insinuations should take from her her very self, is only to suffer disgrace. This excellent young woman has nothing to console herself with, but the reflection that her sufferings are not the effect of any guilt or misconduct, and has for her protection the influence of a power which, amidst the unjust reproach of all mankind, can give not only patience, but pleasure to innocence in distress.

As the person who is the criminal against Cælia cannot be sufficiently punished according to our present law, so are there numberless unhappy persons without remedy according to present custom. That great ill which has prevailed among us in these latter ages, is the making even beauty and virtue the purchase of money. The generality of parents, and some of those of quality, instead of looking out for introducing health of constitution, frankness of spirit, or dignity of countenance, into their families, lay out all their thoughts upon finding out matches for their estates, and not their children. You shall have one form a plot for the good of his family, that there shall not be six men in England capable of pretending to his daughter. A second shall have a son obliged, out of mere discretion, for fear of doing anything below himself, follow all the drabs in town. These sage parents meet; and as there is no pass, no courtship, between the young ones, it is no unpleasant observation to behold how they proceed to treaty. There is ever in the behaviour of each something that denotes his circumstance; and honest Coupler the conveniencer says, he can distinguish upon sight of the parties, before they have opened any point of their business, which of the two has the daughter to sell. Coupler is of our club, and I have frequently heard him declaim upon this subject, and assert, that the marriage-settlements which are now used have grown fashionable even within his memory.

When the theatre in some late reigns owed its chief support to those scenes which were written to put matrimony out of countenance, and render that state terrible, then it was that pin-money¹⁵ first prevailed, and all the other articles inserted which create a diffidence; and intimate to the young people, that they are very soon to be in a state of war with each other: though this had seldom happened, except the fear of it had been expressed. Coupler will tell you also, that jointures were never frequent till the age before his own; but the women were contented with the third part of the estate the law allotted them, and scorned to engage with men whom they thought capable of abusing their children. He has also informed me, that those who were the oldest benchers when he came to the Temple told him, the first marriage-settlement of considerable length was the invention of an old serjeant, who took the opportunity of two testy fathers, who were ever squabbling to bring about an alliance between their children. These fellows knew each other to be knaves, and the serjeant took hold of their mutual diffidence, for the benefit of the law, to extend the settlement to three skins of parchment.

To this great benefactor to the profession is owing the present price current of lines and words. Thus is tenderness thrown out of the question; and the great care is, what the young couple shall do when they come to hate each other? I do not question but from this one humour of settlements, might very fairly be deduced not only our present defection in point of morals, but also our want of people. This has given way to such unreasonable gallantries, that a man is hardly reproachable that deceives an innocent woman, though she has never so much merit, if she is below him in fortune. The man has no dishonour following his treachery; and her own sex are so debased by force of custom, as to say in the case of the woman, "How could she expect he would marry her."

By this means the good offices, the pleasures and graces of life, are not put into the balance: the bridegroom has given his estate out of himself, and he has no more left but to follow the blind decree of his fate, whether he shall be succeeded by a sot, or a man of merit, in his fortune. On the other side, a fine woman, who has also a fortune, is set up by way of auction; her first lover has ten to one against him. The very hour after he has opened his heart and his rent-roll, he is made no other use of, but to raise her price. She and her friends lose no opportunity of publishing it to call in new bidders. While the poor lover very innocently waits till the plenipotentiaries at the Inns of Court have debated about the alliance, all the partisans of the lady throw difficulties in the way, till other offers come in; and the man who came first is not put in possession, till she has been refused by half the town. If an abhorrence to such mercenary proceedings were well settled in the minds of my fair readers, those of merit would have a way opened to their advancement; nay, those who abound in wealth only, would in reality find their account in it. It would not be in the power of their prude acquaintance, their waiters, their nurses, cousins and whisperers, to persuade them, that there are not above twenty men in a kingdom (and those such as perhaps they may never set eyes on) whom they can think of with discretion. As the case stands now, let any one consider, how the great heiresses, and those to whom they were offered, for no other reason but that they could make them suitable settlements, live together. What can be more insipid, if not loathsome, than for two persons to be at the head of a crowd, who have as little regard for them as they for each other, and behold one another in an affected sense of prosperity, without the least relish of that exquisite gladness at meeting, that sweet inquietude at parting, together with the charms of voice, look, gesture, and that general benevolence between well-chosen lovers, which makes all things please, and leaves not the least trifle indifferent.

But I am diverted from these sketches for future essays¹⁶ in behalf of my numerous clients of the fair sex, by a notice sent to my office in Sheer Lane, that a blooming widow, in the third year of her widowhood, and twenty-sixth of her age, designs to take a colonel of twenty-eight. The parties request I would draw up their terms of coming together, as having a regard to my opinion against long and diffident settlements; and I have sent them the following indenture:

"We John – and Mary – having estates for life, resolve to take each other. I John will venture my life to enrich thee Mary; and I Mary will consult my health to nurse thee John. To which we have interchangeably set our hands, hearts, and seals, this 17th of July, 1710."

No. 200. [Steele.
From Tuesday, July 18, to Thursday, July 20, 1710

From my own Apartment, July 19

Having devoted the greater part of my time to the service of the fair sex, I must ask pardon of my men correspondents if I postpone their commands, when I have any from the ladies which lie unanswered. That which follows is of importance:

"Sir,

"You can't think it strange if I, who know little of the world, apply to you for advice in the weighty affair of matrimony, since you yourself have often declared it to be of that consequence as to require the utmost deliberation. Without further preface, therefore, give me leave to tell you, that my father at his death left me a fortune sufficient to make me a match for any gentleman. My mother (for she is still alive) is very pressing with me to marry; and I am apt to think, to gratify her, I shall venture upon one of two gentlemen who at this time make their addresses to me. My request is, that you would direct me in my choice; which that you may the better do, I shall give you their characters; and to avoid confusion, desire you to call them by the names of Philander and Silvius. Philander is young, and has a good estate; Silvius is as young, and has a better. The former has had a liberal education, has seen the town, is retired from thence to his estate in the country, is a man of few words, and much given to books. The latter was brought up under his father's eye, who gave him just learning enough to enable him to keep his accounts; but made him withal very expert in country business, such as ploughing, sowing, buying, selling, and the like. They are both very sober men, neither of their persons is disagreeable, nor did I know which to prefer till I had heard them discourse; when the conversation of Philander so much prevailed, as to give him the advantage, with me, in all other respects. My mother pleads strongly for Silvius, and uses these arguments, that he not only has the larger estate at present, but by his good husbandry and management increases it daily; that his little knowledge in other affairs will make him easy and tractable; whereas (according to her) men of letters know too much to make good husbands. To part of this I imagine I answer effectually, by saying, Philander's estate is large enough; that they who think £2000 a year sufficient, make no difference between that and three. I easily believe him less conversant in those affairs, the knowledge of which she so much commends in Silvius; but I think them neither so necessary or becoming in a gentleman as the accomplishments of Philander. It is no great character of a man to say, he rides in his coach and six, and understands as much as he who follows his plough. Add to this, that the conversation of these sort of men seems so disagreeable to me, that though they may make good bailiffs, I can hardly be persuaded they can be good companions. It is possible I may seem to have odd notions, when I say I am not fond of a man only for being of (what is called) a thriving temper. To conclude, I own I am at a loss to conceive how good sense should make a man an ill husband, or conversing with books less complaisant.

"Cælia."

The resolution which this lady is going to take, she may very well say is founded on reason: for after the necessities of life are served, there is no manner of competition between a man of liberal education and an illiterate. Men are not altered by their circumstances, but as they give them opportunities of exerting what they are in themselves; and a powerful clown is a tyrant in the most ugly form he can possibly appear. There lies a seeming objection in the thoughtful manner of Philander: but let her consider which she shall oftener have occasion to wish, that Philander would speak, or Silvius hold his tongue.

The train of my discourse is prevented by the urgent haste of another correspondent:

July 14.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"This comes to you from one of those virgins of twenty-five years old and upwards, that you, like a patron of the distressed, promised to provide for;¹⁷ who makes it her humble request, that no occasional stories or subjects may (as they have for three or four of your last days) prevent your publishing the scheme you have communicated to Amanda, for every day and hour is of the greatest consequence to damsels of so advanced an age. Be quick then, if you intend to do any service for

"Your Admirer,

"Diana Forecast."

In this important affair, I have not neglected the proposals of others. Among them is the following sketch of a lottery for persons. The author of it has proposed very ample encouragement, not only to myself, but also to Charles Lillie and John Morphew. If the matter bears, I shall not be unjust to his merit: I only desire to enlarge his plan; for which purpose I lay it before the town, as well for the improvement as encouragement of it.

The Amicable Contribution for raising the Fortunes of Ten Young Ladies

"Imprimis, It is proposed to raise 100,000 crowns by way of lots, which will advance for each lady £2500, which sum, together with one of the ladies, the gentleman that shall be so happy as to draw a prize (provided they both like), will be entitled to, under such restrictions hereafter mentioned. And in case they do not like, then either party that refuses shall be entitled to £1000 only, and the remainder to him or her that shall be willing to marry, the man being first to declare his mind. But it is provided, that if both parties shall consent to have one another, the gentleman shall, before he receives the money thus raised, settle £1000 of the same in substantial hands (who shall be as trustees for the said ladies), and shall have the whole and sole disposal of it for her use only.

"Note.– Each party shall have three months' time to consider, after an interview had, which shall be within ten days after the lots are drawn.

"Note also.– The name and place of abode of the prize shall be placed on a proper ticket.

"Item.– They shall be ladies that have had a liberal education, between fifteen and twenty-three, all genteel, witty, and of unblamable characters.

"The money to be raised shall be kept in an iron box, and when there shall be 2000 subscriptions, which amounts to £500, it shall be taken out and put into a goldsmith's hands, and the note made payable to the proper lady, or her assigns (with a clause therein to hinder her from receiving it, till the fortunate person that draws her shall first sign the note), and so on till the whole sum is subscribed for: and as soon as 100,000 subscriptions are completed, and 200 crowns more to pay the charges, the lottery shall be drawn at a proper place, to be appointed a fortnight before the drawing."

Note.– Mr. Bickerstaff objects to the marriageable years here mentioned; and is of opinion, they should not commence till after twenty-three. But he appeals to the learned, both of Warwick Lane and Bishopsgate Street,¹⁸ on this subject.

No. 201. [Steele.
From Thursday, July 20, to Saturday, July 22, 1710

White's Chocolate-house, July 21

It has been often asserted in these papers, that the great source of our wrong pursuits is the impertinent manner with which we treat women, both in the common and important circumstances of life. In vain do we say, the whole sex would run into England, while the privileges which are allowed them do no way balance the inconveniences arising from those very immunities. Our women have very much indulged to them in the participation of our fortunes and our liberty; but the errors they commit in the use of either, are by no means so impartially considered as the false steps which are made by men. In the commerce of lovers, the man makes the address, assails, and betrays, and yet stands in the same degree of acceptance as he was in before he committed that treachery: the woman, for no other crime but believing one whom she thought loved her, is treated with shyness and indifference at the best, and commonly with reproach and scorn. He that is past the power of beauty may talk of this matter with the same unconcern as of any other subject: therefore I shall take upon me to consider the sex, as they live within rules, and as they transgress them. The ordinary class of the good or the ill have very little influence upon the actions of others; but the eminent in either kind are those who lead the world below them. The ill are employed in communicating scandal, infamy, and disease, like furies; the good distribute benevolence, friendship, and health, like angels. The ill are damped with pain and anguish at the sight of all that is laudable, lovely, or happy. The virtuous are touched with commiseration toward the guilty, the disagreeable, and the wretched. There are those who betray the innocent of their own sex, and solicit the lewd of ours. There are those who have abandoned the very memory, not only of innocence, but shame. There are those who never forgave, nor could ever bear being forgiven. There are also who visit the beds of the sick, lull the cares of the sorrowful, and double the joys of the joyful. Such is the destroying fiend, such the guardian angel, woman.

The way to have a greater number of the amiable part of womankind, and lessen the crowd of the other sort, is to contribute what we can to the success of well-grounded passions; and therefore I comply with the request of an enamoured man in inserting the following billet:

"Madam,

"Mr. Bickerstaff you always read, though me you will never hear. I am obliged therefore to his compassion for the opportunity of imploring yours. I sigh for the most accomplished of her sex. That is so just a distinction of her to whom I write, that the owning I think so is no distinction of me who write. Your good qualities are peculiar to you, my admiration in common with thousands. I shall be present when you read this, but fear every woman will take it for her character, sooner than she who deserves it."

If the next letter which presents itself should come from the mistress of this modest lover, and I make them break through the oppression of their passions, I shall expect gloves at their nuptials.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"You that are a philosopher know very well the make of the mind of woman, and can best instruct me in the conduct of an affair which highly concerns me. I never can admit my lover to speak to me of love, yet think him impertinent when he offers to talk of anything else. What shall I do with a man that always believes me? 'Tis a strange thing this distance in men of sense; why do not they always urge their fate? If we are sincere in our severity, you lose nothing by attempting. If we are hypocrites, you certainly succeed."

From my own Apartment, July 21

Before I withdraw from business for the night, it is my custom to receive all addresses to me, that others may go to rest as well as myself, at least as far as I can contribute to it. When I called to know if any would speak with me, I was informed that Mr. Mills,¹⁹ the player, desired to be admitted. He was so, and with much modesty acquainted me, as he did other people of note, that "Hamlet" was to be acted on Wednesday next for his benefit. I had long wanted to speak with this person, because I thought I could admonish him of many things which would tend to his improvement. In the general I observed to him, that though action was his business, the way to that action was not to study gesture, for the behaviour would follow the sentiments of the mind.

Action to the player, is what speech is to an orator. If the matter be well conceived, words will flow with ease; and if the actor is well possessed of the nature of his part, a proper action will necessarily follow. He informed me, that Wilks was to act Hamlet. I desired him, to request of him in my name, that he would wholly forget Mr. Betterton; for that he failed in no part of Othello, but where he had him in view. An actor's forming himself by the carriage of another, is like the trick among the widows, who lament their husbands as their neighbours did theirs, and not according to their own sentiments of the deceased.

There is a fault also in the audience which interrupts their satisfaction very much, that is, the figuring to themselves the actor in some part wherein they formerly particularly liked him, and not attending to the part he is at that time performing. Thus, whatever Wilks (who is the strictest follower of nature) is acting, the vulgar spectators turn their thoughts upon Sir Harry Wildair.

When I had indulged the loquacity of an old man for some time in such loose hints, I took my leave of Mr. Mills, and was told, Mr. Elliot²⁰ of St. James's Coffee-house would speak with me. His business was to desire I would, as I am an astrologer, let him know beforehand who were to have the benefit tickets in the ensuing lottery; which knowledge he was of opinion he could turn to great account, as he was concerned in news.

I granted his request, upon an oath of secrecy, that he would only make his own use of it, and not let it be publicly known till after they were drawn. I had not done speaking, when he produced to me a plan which he had formed of keeping books, with the names of all such adventurers, and the numbers of their tickets, as should come to him, in order to give an hourly account²¹ of what tickets shall come up during the whole time of the lottery, the drawing of which is to begin on Wednesday next. I liked his method of disguising the secret I had told him, and pronounced him a thriving man who could so well watch the motion of things, and profit by a prevailing humour and impatience so aptly, as to make his honest industry agreeable to his customers, as it is to be the messenger of their good fortune.

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From the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, July 20

Ordered, that for the improvement of the pleasures of society, a member of this house, one of the most wakeful of the soporific assembly beyond Smithfield Bars, and one of the order of story-tellers in Holborn, may meet and exchange stale matter, and report the same to their principals.

N.B.– No man is to tell above one story in the same evening; but has liberty to tell the same the night following.

Mr. Bickerstaff desires his love correspondents to vary the names they shall assume in their future letters, for that he is overstocked with Philanders.

No. 202. [Steele.
From Saturday, July 22, to Tuesday, July 25, 1710

 
– Est hic,
Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.
 

Hor., 1 Ep. xi. 30.

From my own Apartment, July 24

This afternoon I went to visit a gentleman of my acquaintance at Mile End, and passing through Stepney Churchyard, I could not forbear entertaining myself with the inscriptions on the tombs and graves. Among others, I observed one with this notable memorial:

"Here lies the body of T.B."

This fantastical desire of being remembered only by the two first letters of a name, led me into the contemplation of the vanity and imperfect attainments of ambition in general. When I run back in my imagination all the men whom I have ever known and conversed with in my whole life, there are but very few who have not used their faculties in the pursuit of what it is impossible to acquire, or left the possession of what they might have been (at their setting out) masters, to search for it where it was out of their reach. In this thought it was not possible to forget the instance of Pyrrhus, who proposing to himself in discourse with a philosopher,²² one, and another, and another conquest, was asked, what he would do after all that? "Then," says the King, "we will make merry." He was well answered, "What hinders your doing that in the condition you are already?" The restless desire of exerting themselves above the common level of mankind is not to be resisted in some tempers; and minds of this make may be observed in every condition of life. Where such men do not make to themselves or meet with employment, the soil of their constitution runs into tares and weeds. An old friend of mine, who lost a major's post forty years ago, and quitted, has ever since studied maps, encampments, retreats, and countermarches, with no other design but to feed his spleen and ill-humour, and furnish himself with matter for arguing against all the successful actions of others. He that at his first setting out in the world was the gayest man in our regiment, ventured his life with alacrity, and enjoyed it with satisfaction, encouraged men below him, and was courted by men above him, has been ever since the most froward creature breathing. His warm complexion spends itself now only in a general spirit of contradiction; for which he watches all occasions, and is in his conversation still upon sentry, treats all men like enemies, with every other impertinence of a speculative warrior.

He that observes in himself this natural inquietude, should take all imaginable care to put his mind in some method of gratification, or he will soon find himself grow into the condition of this disappointed major. Instead of courting proper occasions to rise above others, he will be ever studious of pulling others down to him: it being the common refuge of disappointed ambition, to ease themselves by detraction. It would be no great argument against ambition, that there are such mortal things in the disappointment of it; but it certainly is a forcible exception, that there can be no solid happiness in the success of it. If we value popular praise, it is in the power of the meanest of the people to disturb us by calumny. If the fame of being happy, we cannot look into a village but we see crowds in actual possession of what we seek only the appearance. To this may be added, that there is I know not what malignity in the minds of ordinary men to oppose you in what they see you fond of; and it is a certain exception against a man's receiving applause, that he visibly courts it. However, this is not only the passion of great and undertaking spirits, but you see it in the lives of such as one would believe were far enough removed from the ways of ambition. The rural squires of this nation even eat and drink out of vanity. A vainglorious fox-hunter shall entertain half a county for the ostentation of his beef and beer, without the least affection for any of the crowd about him. He feeds them, because he thinks it a superiority over them that he does so: and they devour him, because they know he treats them out of insolence. This indeed is ambition in grotesque, but may figure to us the condition of politer men, whose only pursuit is glory. When the superior acts out of a principle of vanity, the dependant will be sure to allow it him; because he knows it destructive of the very applause which is courted by the man who favours him, and consequently makes him nearer himself.

But as every man living has more or less of this incentive, which makes men impatient of an inactive condition, and urges men to attempt what may tend to their reputation, it is absolutely necessary they should form to themselves an ambition which is in every man's power to gratify. This ambition would be independent, and would consist only in acting what to a man's own mind appears most great and laudable. It is a pursuit in the power of every man, and is only a regular prosecution of what he himself approves. It is what can be interrupted by no outward accidents, for no man can be robbed of his good intention. One of our society of the Trumpet therefore started last night a notion which I thought had reason in it. "It is, methinks," said he, "an unreasonable thing, that heroic virtue should (as it seems to be at present) be confined to a certain order of men, and be attainable by none but those whom fortune has elevated to the most conspicuous stations. I would have everything to be esteemed as heroic which is great and uncommon in the circumstances in the man who performs it." Thus there would be no virtue in human life which every one of the species would not have a pretence to arrive at, and an ardency to exert. Since Fortune is not in our power, let us be as little as possible in hers. Why should it be necessary that a man should be rich, to be generous? If we measured by the quality, and not the quantity, of things, the particulars which accompany an action are what should denominate it mean or great. The highest station of human life is to be attained by each man that pretends to it: for every man can be as valiant, as generous, as wise, and as merciful, as the faculties and opportunities which he has from Heaven and fortune will permit. He that can say to himself, I do as much good, and am as virtuous, as my most earnest endeavours will allow me, whatever is his station in the world, is to himself possessed of the highest honour. If ambition is not thus turned, it is no other than a continual succession of anxiety and vexation. But when it has this cast, it invigorates the mind, and the consciousness of its own worth is a reward which it is not in the power of envy, reproach, or detraction, to take from it. Thus the seat of solid honour is in a man's own bosom, and no one can want support who is in possession of an honest conscience, but he who would suffer the reproaches of it for other greatness.

P.S.– I was going on in my philosophy, when notice was brought me that there was a great crowd in my ante-chamber, who expected audience. When they were admitted, I found they all met at my lodgings; each coming upon the same errand, to know whether they were of the fortunate in the lottery, which is now ready to be drawn. I was much at a loss how to extricate myself from their importunity; but observing the assembly made up of both sexes, I signified to them, that in this case it would appear Fortune is not blind, for all the lots would fall upon the wisest and the fairest. This gave so general a satisfaction, that the room was soon emptied, and the company retired with the best air, and the most pleasing grace, I had anywhere observed. Mr. Elliot²³ of St. James's Coffee-house now stood alone before me, and signified to me, he had now not only prepared his books, but had received a very great subscription already. His design was, to advertise his subscribers at their respective places of abode, within an hour after their number is drawn, whether it was a blank or benefit, if the adventurer lives within the bills of mortality; if he dwells in the country, by the next post. I encouraged the man in his industry, and told him, the ready path to good fortune was to believe there was no such thing.

No. 203. [Steele.
From Tuesday, July 25, to Thursday, July 27, 1710

 
Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus. – Hor., 1 Ep. viii. 17.
 

From my own Apartment, July 26

It is natural for the imaginations of men who lead their lives in too solitary a manner, to prey upon themselves, and form from their own conceptions beings and things which have no place in nature. This often makes an adept as much at a loss when he comes into the world as a mere savage. To avoid therefore that ineptitude for society, which is frequently the fault of us scholars, and has to men of understanding and breeding something much more shocking and untractable than rusticity itself, I take care to visit all public solemnities, and go into assemblies as often as my studies will permit. This being therefore the first day of the drawing of the lottery,²⁴ I did not neglect spending a considerable time in the crowd: but as much a philosopher as I pretend to be, I could not but look with a sort of veneration upon the two boys which received the tickets from the wheels, as the impartial and equal dispensers of the fortunes which were to be distributed among the crowd, who all stood expecting the same chance. It seems at first thought very wonderful, that one passion should so universally have the pre-eminence of another in the possession of men's minds as that in this case; all in general have a secret hope of the great ticket: and yet fear in another instance, as in going into a battle, shall have so little influence, as that though each man believes there will be many thousands slain, each is confident he himself shall escape. This certainty proceeds from our vanity; for every man sees abundance in himself that deserves reward, and nothing which should meet with mortification. But of all the adventurers that filled the hall, there was one who stood by me, who I could not but fancy expected the thousand pounds per annum, as a mere justice to his parts and industry. He had his pencil and table-book, and was at the drawing of each lot, counting how much a man with seven tickets was now nearer the great prize, by the striking out another and another competitor. This man was of the most particular constitution I had ever observed; his passions were so active, that he worked in the utmost stretch of hope and fear. When one rival fell before him, you might see a short gleam of triumph in his countenance, which immediately vanished at the approach of another. What added to the particularity of this man, was, that he every moment cast a look, either upon the commissioners, the wheels, or the boys. I gently whispered him, and asked, when he thought the thousand pounds would come up? "Pugh!" says he, "who knows that?" and then looks upon a little list of his own tickets, which were pretty high in their numbers, and said it would not come this ten days. This fellow will have a good chance, though not that which he has put his heart on. The man is mechanically turned, and made for getting. The simplicity and eagerness which he is in, argues an attention to his point; though what he is labouring at does not in the least contribute to it. Were it not for such honest fellows as these, the men who govern the rest of their species would have no tools to work with: for the outward show of the world is carried on by such as cannot find out that they are doing nothing. I left my man with great reluctance, seeing the care he took to observe the whole conduct of the persons concerned, and compute the inequality of the chances with his own hands and eyes. "Dear sir," said I, "they must rise early that cheat you." "Ay," said he, "there's nothing like a man's minding his business himself." "'Tis very true," said I; "the master's eye makes the horse fat."

As it is much the greater number who are to go without prizes, it is but very expedient to turn our lecture²⁵ to the forming just sentiments on the subject of fortune. One said this morning, that the chief lot he was confident would fall upon some puppy; but this gentleman is one of those wrong tempers who approve only the unhappy, and have a natural prejudice to the fortunate. But as it is certain that there is a great meanness in being attached to a man purely for his fortune, there is no less a meanness in disliking him for his happiness. It is the same perverseness under different colours, and both these resentments arise from mere pride.

The true greatness of mind consists in valuing men apart from their circumstances, or according to their behaviour in them. Wealth is a distinction only in traffic; but it must not be allowed as a recommendation in any other particular, but only just as it is applied. It was very prettily said, that we may learn the little value of fortune by the persons on whom Heaven is pleased to bestow it.²⁶ However, there is not a harder part in human life than becoming wealth and greatness. He must be very well stocked with merit, who is not willing to draw some superiority over his friends from his fortune: for it is not every man that can entertain with the air of a guest, and do good offices with the mien of one that receives them.

I must confess, I cannot conceive how a man can place himself in a figure wherein he can so much enjoy his own soul, and that greatest of pleasures, the just approbation of his own actions, than as an adventurer on this occasion, to sit and see the lots go off without hope or fear, perfectly unconcerned as to himself, but taking part in the good fortune of others.

I will believe there are happy tempers in being, to whom all the good that arrives to any of their fellow-creatures gives a pleasure. These live in a course of substantial and lasting happiness, and have the satisfaction to see all men endeavour to gratify them. This state of mind not only lets a man into certain enjoyments, but relieves him from as certain anxieties. If you will not rejoice with happy men, you must repine at them. Dick Reptile alluded to this when he said, he would hate no man out of pure idleness. As for my own part, I look at fortune quite in another view than the rest of the world; and, by my knowledge in futurity, tremble at the approaching prize which I see coming to a young lady for whom I have much tenderness; and have therefore written her the following letter, to be sent by Mr. Elliot with the notice of her ticket:

"Madam,

"You receive at the instant this comes to your hands, an account of your having (what only you wanted) fortune; and to admonish you, that you may not now want everything else. You had yesterday wit, virtue, beauty; but you never heard of them till to-day. They say Fortune is blind; but you will find she has opened the eyes of all your beholders. I beseech you, madam, make use of the advantages of having been educated without flattery. If you can still be Chloe, Fortune has indeed been kind to you; if you are altered, she has it not in her power to give you an equivalent."²⁷

Grecian Coffee-house, July 26

Some time ago a virtuoso, my very good friend, sent me a plan of a covered summer-house, which a little after was rallied by another of my correspondents.²⁸ I cannot therefore defer giving him an opportunity of making his defence to the learned in his own words.

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. "Sir, July 15, 1710

"I have been this summer upon a ramble to visit several friends and relations; which is the reason I have left you, and our ingenious, unknown friend of South Wales, so long in your error concerning the grass-plots in my green-house. I will not give you the particulars of my gardener's conduct in the management of my covered garden, but content myself with letting you know, that my little fields within doors, though by their novelty they appear too extravagant to you to subsist even in a regular imagination, are in the effect things that require no conjuration. Your correspondent may depend upon it, that under a sashed roof, which lets in the sun at all times, and the air as often as is convenient, he may have grass-plots in the greatest perfection, if he will be at the pains to water, mow, and roll them. Grass and herbs in general, the less they are exposed to the sun and wind, the livelier is their verdure. They require only warmth and moisture; and if you were to see my plots, your eye would soon confess, that the bowling-green at Marybone²⁹ wears not half so bright a livery.

"The motto with which the gentleman has been pleased to furnish you, is so very proper, and pleases me so well, that I design to have it set upon the front of my green-house in letters of gold.

"I am, Sir, &c."

No. 204. [Steele.
From Thursday, July 27, to Saturday, July 29, 1710

 
-Gaudent prænomine molles
Auriculæ. —
 

Hor., 2 Sat. v. 32.

From my own Apartment, July 28

Many are the inconveniences which happen from the improper manner of address in common speech between persons of the same or of different quality. Among these errors, there is none greater than that of the impertinent use of title, and a paraphrastical way of saying "you." I had the curiosity the other day to follow a crowd of people near Billingsgate, who were conducting a passionate woman who sold fish to a magistrate, in order to explain some words which were ill taken by one of her own quality and profession in the public market. When she came to make her defence, she was so very full of, "his Worship," and of, "if it should please his Honour," that we could for some time hardly hear any other apology she made for herself than that of atoning for the ill language she had been accused of towards her neighbour by the great civilities she paid to her judge. But this extravagance in her sense of doing honour, was no more to be wondered at than that her many rings on each finger were worn as instances of finery and dress. The vulgar may thus heap and huddle terms of respect, and nothing better be expected from them; but for people of rank to repeat appellatives insignificantly, is a folly not to be endured, neither with regard to our times or our understanding. It is below the dignity of speech to extend it with more words or phrases than are necessary to explain ourselves with elegance: and it is, methinks, an instance of ignorance, if not of servitude, to be redundant in such expressions.

I waited upon a man of quality some mornings ago: he happened to be dressing; and his shoemaker fitting him, told him, that if his Lordship would please to tread hard, or that if his Lordship would stamp a little, his Lordship would find his Lordship's shoe will fit as easy as any piece of work his Lordship should see in England. As soon as my lord was dressed, a gentleman approached him with a very good air, and told him, he had an affair which had long depended in the Lower Courts, which, through the inadvertency of his ancestors on the one side, and the ill arts of their adversaries on the other, could not possibly be settled according to the rules of the Lower Courts: that therefore he designed to bring his cause before the House of Lords next session, where he should be glad if his Lordship should happen to be present; for he doubted not but his cause would be approved by all men of justice and honour. In this place the word "Lordship" was gracefully inserted, because it was applied to him in that circumstance wherein his quality was the occasion of the discourse, and wherein it was most useful to the one, and most honourable to the other.

This way is so far from being disrespectful to the honour of nobles, that it is an expedient for using them with greater deference. I would not put "Lordship" to a man's hat, gloves, wig, or cane; but to desire his Lordship's favour, his Lordship's judgment, or his Lordship's patronage, is a manner of speaking which expresses an alliance between his quality and his merit. It is this knowledge which distinguished the discourse of the shoemaker from that of the gentleman. The highest point of good-breeding, if any one can hit it, is to show a very nice regard to your own dignity, and with that in your heart express your value for the man above you.

But the silly humour to the contrary has so much prevailed, that the slavish addition of title enervates discourse, and renders the application of it almost ridiculous. We writers of diurnals are nearer in our styles to that of common talk than any other writers, by which means we use words of respect sometimes very unfortunately. The Post-Man,³⁰ who is one of the most celebrated of our fraternity, fell into this misfortune yesterday in his paragraph from Berlin of July 26. "Count Wartenberg," says he, "Great Chamberlain, and Chief Minister of this Court, who on Monday last accompanied the King of Prussia to Oranienburg, was taken so very ill, that on Wednesday his life was despaired of; and we had a report, that his Excellency was dead."

I humbly presume, that it flattens the narration, to say "his Excellency" in a case which is common to all men; except you would infer what is not to be inferred, to wit, that the author designed to say, "all wherein he excelled others was departed from him."

Were distinctions used according to the rules of reason and sense, those additions to men's names would be, as they were first intended, significant of their worth, and not their persons; so that in some cases it might be proper to say, "The man is dead, but his excellency will never die." It is, methinks, very unjust to laugh at a Quaker, because he has taken up a resolution to treat you with a word, the most expressive of complaisance that can be thought of, and with an air of good-nature and charity calls you friend. I say, it is very unjust to rally him for this term to a stranger, when you yourselves, in all your phrases of distinction, confound phrases of honour into no use at all.

Tom Courtly, who is the pink of courtesy, is an instance of how little moment an undistinguishing application of sounds of honour are to those who understand themselves. Tom never fails of paying his obeisance to every man he sees, who has title or office to make him conspicuous; but his deference is wholly given to outward considerations. I, who know him, can tell within half an acre how much land one man has more than another by Tom's bow to him. Title is all he knows of honour, and civility of friendship: for this reason, because he cares for no man living, he is religiously strict in performing what he calls his respects to you. To this end he is very learned in pedigree, and will abate something in the ceremony of his approaches to a man, if he is in any doubt about the bearing of his coat of arms. What is the most pleasant of all his character is, that he acts with a sort of integrity in these impertinences; and though he would not do any man any solid kindness, he is wonderfully just and careful not to wrong his quality. But as integrity is very scarce in the world, I cannot forbear having respect for the impertinent: it is some virtue to be bound by anything. Tom and I are upon very good terms for the respect he has for the house of Bickerstaff. Though one cannot but laugh at his serious consideration of things so little essential, one must have a value even for a frivolous good conscience.

No. 205. [Fuller. ³¹
From Saturday, July 29, to Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1710

 
Νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός,
Οὐδ' ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἀσφοδέλῳ μέγ' ὄνειαρ.
 

Hesiod, Works and Days, 20.

From my own Apartment, July 31

Nature has implanted in us two very strong desires, hunger for the preservation of the individual, and lust for the support of the species; or, to speak more intelligibly, the former to continue our own persons, and the latter to introduce others into the world. According as men behave themselves with regard to these appetites, they are above or below the beasts of the field, which are incited by them without choice or reflection. But reasonable creatures correct these incentives, and improve them into elegant motives of friendship and society. It is chiefly from this homely foundation, that we are under the necessity of seeking for the agreeable companion, and the honourable mistress. By this cultivation of art and reason, our wants are made pleasures, and the gratification of our desires, under proper restrictions, a work no way below our noblest faculties. The wisest man may maintain his character, and yet consider in what manner he shall best entertain his friend, or divert his mistress: nay, it is so far from being a derogation to him, that he can in no other instances show so true a taste of his life or his fortune. What concerns one of the above-mentioned appetites, as it is elevated into love, I shall have abundant occasion to discourse of before I have provided for the numberless crowd of damsels I have proposed to take care of. The subject therefore of the present paper shall be that part of society which owes its beginning to the common necessity of hunger. When this is considered as the support of our being, we may take in under the same head thirst also; otherwise when we are pursuing the glutton, the drunkard may make his escape. The true choice of our diet, and our companions at it, seems to consist in that which contributes most to cheerfulness and refreshment: and these certainly are best consulted by simplicity in the food, and sincerity in the company. By this rule are in the first place excluded from pretence to happiness all meals of state and ceremony, which are performed in dumb show and greedy sullenness. At the boards of the great, they say, you shall have a number attending with as good habits and countenances as the guests, which only circumstance must destroy the whole pleasure of the repast: for if such attendants are introduced for the dignity of their appearance, modest minds are shocked by considering them as spectators, or else look upon them as equals, for whose servitude they are in a kind of suffering. It may be here added, that the sumptuous sideboard to an ingenuous eye has often more the air of an altar than a table. The next absurd way of enjoying ourselves at meals, is, where the bottle is plied without being called for, where humour takes place of appetite, and the good company are too dull or too merry to know any enjoyment in their senses.

Though this part of time is absolutely necessary to sustain life, it must be also considered, that life itself is to the endless being of man but what a meal is to this life, not valuable for itself, but for the purpose of it. If there be any truth in this, the expense of many hours this way is somewhat unaccountable; and placing much thought either in too great sumptuousness and elegance in this matter, or wallowing in noise and riot at it, are both, though not equally, unaccountable. I have often considered these different people with very great attention, and always speak of them with the distinction of the eaters and the swallowers. The eaters sacrifice all their senses and understanding to this appetite: the swallowers hurry themselves out of both, without pleasing this or any other appetite at all. The latter are improved brutes, the former degenerated men. I have sometimes thought it would not be improper to add to my dead and living men, persons in an intermediate state of humanity, under the appellation of dozers. The dozers are a sect, who, instead of keeping their appetites in subjection, live in subjection to them; nay, they are so truly slaves to them, that they keep at too great a distance ever to come into their presence. Within my own acquaintance, I know those that I daresay have forgot that they ever were hungry, and are no less utter strangers to thirst and weariness, who are beholden to sauces for their food, and to their food for their weariness.

I have often wondered, considering the excellent and choice spirits that we have among our divines, that they do not think of putting vicious habits into a more contemptible and unlovely figure than they do at present. So many men of wit and spirit as there are in sacred orders, have it in their power to make the fashion of their side. The leaders in human society are more effectually prevailed upon this way than can easily be imagined. I have more than one in my thoughts at this time capable of doing this against all the opposition of the most witty, as well as the most voluptuous. There may possibly be more acceptable subjects, but sure there are none more useful. It is visible, that though men's fortunes, circumstances, and pleasures give them prepossessions too strong to regard any mention either of punishments or rewards, they will listen to what makes them inconsiderable or mean in the imaginations of others, and by degrees in their own.

It is certain such topics are to be touched upon in the light we mean, only by men of the most consummate prudence, as well as excellent wit: for these discourses are to be made, if made to run into example, before such as have their thoughts more intent upon the propriety than the reason of the discourse. What indeed leads me into this way of thinking, is, that the last thing I read was a sermon of the learned Dr. South,³² upon the Ways of Pleasantness. This admirable discourse was made at court, where the preacher was too wise a man not to believe; the greatest argument, in that place, against the pleasures then in vogue, must be, that they lost greater pleasures by prosecuting the course they were in. The charming discourse has in it whatever wit and wisdom can put together. This gentleman has a talent of making all his faculties bear to the great end of his hallowed profession. Happy genius! he is the better man for being a wit. The best way to praise this author is to quote him; and, I think, I may defy any man to say a greater thing of him, or his ability, than that there are no paragraphs in the whole discourse I speak of below these which follow.

After having recommended the satisfaction of the mind, and the pleasure of conscience, he proceeds:

"An ennobling property of it is, that it is such a pleasure as never satiates or wearies; for it properly affects the spirit, and a spirit feels no weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it. But can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures he so much dotes upon? Do they not expire while they satisfy, and after a few minutes' refreshment determine in loathing and unquietness? How short is the interval between a pleasure and a burden! How undiscernible the transition from one to the other! Pleasure dwells no longer upon the appetite than the necessities of nature, which are quickly and easily provided for; and then all that follows is a load and an oppression. Every morsel to a satisfied hunger is only a new labour to a tired digestion. Every draught to him that has quenched his thirst is but a further quenching of nature, and a provision for rheum and diseases, a drowning of the quickness and activity of the spirits.

"He that prolongs his meals, and sacrifices his time, as well as his other conveniences, to his luxury, how quickly does he outsit his pleasure! And then, how is all the following time bestowed upon ceremony and surfeit! Till at length, after a long fatigue of eating, and drinking, and babbling, he concludes the great work of dining genteelly, and so makes a shift to rise from table, that he may lie down upon his bed; where, after he has slept himself into some use of himself, by much ado he staggers to his table again, and there acts over the same brutish scene: so that he passes his whole life in a dozed condition, between sleeping and waking, with a kind of drowsiness and confusion upon his senses, which, what pleasure it can be, is hard to conceive. All that is of it dwells upon the tip of his tongue, and within the compass of his palate. A worthy prize for a man to purchase with the loss of his time, his reason, and himself!"

No. 206. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Aug. 1, to Thursday, Aug. 3, 1710

Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.

Hor., 1 Ep. vii. 98.

From my own Apartment, Aug. 2

The general purposes of men in the conduct of their lives (I mean with relation to this life only), end in gaining either the affection or the esteem of those with whom they converse. Esteem makes a man powerful in business, and affection desirable in conversation; which is certainly the reason that very agreeable men fail of their point in the world, and those who are by no means such arrive at it with much ease. If it be visible in a man's carriage that he has a strong passion to please, no one is much at a loss how to keep measures with him, because there is always a balance in people's hands to make up with him, by giving him what he still wants in exchange for what you think fit to deny him. Such a person asks with diffidence, and ever leaves room for denial by that softness of his complexion. At the same time he himself is capable of denying nothing, even what he is not able to perform. The other sort of man who courts esteem, having a quite different view, has as different a behaviour, and acts as much by the dictates of his reason, as the other does by the impulse of his inclination. You must pay for everything you have of him. He considers mankind as a people in commerce, and never gives out of himself what he is sure will not come in with interest from another. All his words and actions tend to the advancement of his reputation and of his fortune, toward which he makes hourly progress, because he lavishes no part of his good-will upon such as do not make some advances to merit it. The man who values affection sometimes becomes popular, he who aims at esteem seldom fails of growing rich.

Thus far we have looked at these different men as persons who endeavour to be valued and beloved from design or ambition; but they appear in quite another figure, when you observe the men who are agreeable and venerable from the force of their natural inclinations. We affect the company of him who has least regard of himself in his carriage, who throws himself into unguarded gaiety, voluntary mirth, and general good-humour; who has nothing in his head but the present hour, and seems to have all his interests and passions gratified, if every man else in the room is as unconcerned as himself. This man usually has no quality or character among his companions; let him be born of whom he will, have what great qualities he please, let him be capable of assuming for a moment what figure he pleases, he still dwells in the imagination of all who know him but as Jack Such-a-One. This makes Jack brighten up the room wherever he enters, and change the severity of the company into that gaiety and good-humour into which his conversation generally leads them. It is not unpleasant to observe even this sort of creature go out of his character, to check himself sometimes for his familiarities, and pretend so awkwardly at procuring to himself more esteem than he finds he meets with. I was the other day walking with Jack Gainly towards Lincoln's Inn Walks. We met a fellow who is a lower officer where Jack is in the direction. Jack cries to him, so, "How is it, Mr. – ?" He answers, "Mr. Gainly, I am glad to see you well." This expression of equality gave my friend a pang, which appeared in a flush of his countenance. "Prithee, Jack," says I, "do not be angry at the man; for do what you will, the man can only love you: be contented with the image the man has of thee; for if thou aimest at any other, it must be hatred or contempt." I went on, and told him, "Look'ee, Jack, I have heard thee sometimes talk like an oracle for half-an-hour, with the sentiments of a Roman, the closeness of a school-man, and the integrity of a divine; but then, Jack, while I admired thee, it was upon topics which did not concern thyself, and where the greatness of the subject (added to thy being personally unconcerned in it) created all that was great in thy discourse." I did not mind his being a little out of humour, but comforted him, by giving him several instances of men of our acquaintance, who had no one quality in any eminence, that were much more esteemed than he was with very many: but the thing is, if your character is to give pleasure, men will consider you only in that light, and not in those acts which turn to esteem and veneration.

When I think of Jack Gainly, I cannot but reflect also upon his sister Gatty. She is young, witty, pleasant, innocent. This is her natural character; but when she observes any one admired for what they call a fine woman, she is all the next day womanly, prudent, observing, and virtuous. She is every moment asked in her prudential behaviour, whether she is not well? Upon which she as often answers in a fret, "Do people think one must be always romping, always a Jack-pudding?" I never fail to inquire of her, if my Lady Such-a-One, that awful beauty, was not at the play last night? She knows the connection between that question and her change of humour, and says, "It would be very well, if some people would examine into themselves as much as they do into others;" or, "Sure there is nothing in the world so ridiculous as an amorous old man."

As I was saying, there is a class which every man is in by his post in nature, from which it is impossible for him to withdraw to another, and become it. Therefore it is necessary that each should be contented with it, and not endeavour at any progress out of that tract. To follow nature, is the only agreeable course; which is what I would fain inculcate to those jarring companions, Flavia and Lucia. They are mother and daughter. Flavia, who is the mamma, has all the charms and desires of youth still about her, and not much turned of thirty: Lucia is blooming and amorous, and but a little above fifteen. The mother looks very much younger than she is, the girl very much older. If it were possible to fix the girl to her sick-bed, and preserve the portion (the use of which the mother partakes), the good widow Flavia would certainly do it. But for fear of Lucia's escape, the mother is forced to be constantly attended with a rival, that explains her age, and draws off the eyes of her admirers. The jest is, they can never be together in strangers' company, but Lucy is eternally reprimanded for something very particular in her behaviour; for which she has the malice to say, she hopes she shall always obey her parents. She carried her passion and jealousy to that height the other day, that coming suddenly into the room, and surprising Colonel Lofty speaking rapture on one knee to her mother, she clapped down by him and asked her blessing.

I do not know whether it is so proper to tell family occurrences of this nature; but we every day see the same thing happen in the public conversation in the world. Men cannot be contented with what is laudable, but they must have all that is laudable. This affectation is what destroys the familiar man into pretences to take state upon him, and the contrary character to the folly of aiming at being winning and complaisant. But in these cases men may easily lay aside what they are, but can never arrive at what they are not.

As to the pursuits after affection and esteem, the fair sex are happy in this particular, that with them the one is much more nearly related to the other than in men. The love of a woman is inseparable from some esteem of her; and as she is naturally the object of affection, the woman who has your esteem has also some degree of your love.³³ A man that dotes on a woman for her beauty, will whisper his friend, "That creature has a great deal of wit when you are well acquainted with her." And if you examine the bottom of your esteem for a woman, you will find you have a greater opinion of her beauty than anybody else. As to us men, I design to pass most of my time with the facetious Harry Bickerstaff; but William Bickerstaff, the most prudent man of our family, shall be my executor.

No. 207. [Steele.
From Thursday, Aug. 3, to Saturday, Aug. 5, 1710

From my own Apartment, Aug. 4

Having yesterday morning received a paper of Latin verses, written with much elegance in honour of these my papers, and being informed at the same time that they were composed by a youth under age, I read them with much delight, as an instance of his improvement. There is not a greater pleasure to old age, than seeing young people entertain themselves in such a manner as that we can partake of their enjoyments. On such occasions we flatter ourselves that we are not quite laid aside in the world, but that we are either used with gratitude for what we were, or honoured for what we are. A well-inclined young man, and whose good-breeding is founded upon the principles of nature and virtue, must needs take delight in being agreeable to his elders, as we are truly delighted when we are not the jest of them. When I say this, I must confess I cannot but think it a very lamentable thing that there should be a necessity for making that a rule of life, which should be, methinks, a mere instinct of nature. If reflection upon a man in poverty, whom we once knew in riches, is an argument of commiseration with generous minds; sure old age, which is a decay from that vigour which the young possess, and must certainly (if not prevented against their will) arrive at, should be more forcibly the object of that reverence which honest spirits are inclined to from a sense of being themselves liable to what they observe has already overtaken others.

My three nephews, whom in June last was twelvemonth I disposed of according to their several capacities and inclinations, the first to the University, the second to a merchant, and the third to a woman of quality as her page, by my invitation dined with me to-day. It is my custom often, when I have a mind to give myself a more than ordinary cheerfulness, to invite a certain young gentlewoman of our neighbourhood to make one of the company. She did me that favour this day. The presence of a beautiful woman of honour, to minds which are not trivially disposed, displays an alacrity which is not to be communicated by any other object. It was not unpleasant to me to look into her thoughts of the company she was in. She smiled at the party of pleasure I had thought of for her, which was composed of an old man and three boys. My scholar, my citizen, and myself were very soon neglected; and the young courtier, by the bow he made to her at her entrance, engaged her observation without a rival. I observed the Oxonian not a little discomposed at this preference, while the trader kept his eye upon his uncle. My nephew Will had a thousand secret resolutions to break in upon the discourse of his younger brother, who gave my fair companion a full account of the fashion, and what was reckoned most becoming to this complexion, and what sort of habit appeared best upon the other shape. He proceeded to acquaint her, who of quality was well or sick within the bills of mortality, and named very familiarly all his lady's acquaintance, not forgetting her very words when he spoke of their characters. Besides all this, he had a road of flattery; and upon her inquiring what sort of woman Lady Lovely was in her person, "Really, madam," says the jackanapes, "she is exactly of your height and shape; but as you are fair, she is a brown woman." There was no enduring that this fop should outshine us all at this unmerciful rate, therefore I thought fit to talk to my young scholar concerning his studies; and because I would throw his learning into present service, I desired him to repeat to me the translation he had made of some tender verses in Theocritus. He did so, with an air of elegance peculiar to the college to which I sent him. I made some exceptions to the turn of the phrases, which he defended with much modesty, as believing in that place the matter was rather to consult the softness of a swain's passion, than the strength of his expressions. It soon appeared that Will had outstripped his brother in the opinion of our young lady. A little poetry to one who is bred a scholar has the same effect that a good carriage of his person has on one who is to live in courts. The favour of women is so natural a passion, that I envied both the boys their success in the approbation of my guest; and I thought the only person invulnerable was my young trader. During the whole meal, I could observe in the children a mutual contempt and scorn of each other, arising from their different way of life and education, and took that occasion to advertise them of such growing distastes, which might mislead them in their future life, and disappoint their friends, as well as themselves, of the advantages which might be expected from the diversity of their professions and interests.

The prejudices which are growing up between these brothers from the different ways of education, are what create the most fatal misunderstandings in life. But all distinctions of disparagement merely from our circumstances, are such as will not bear the examination of reason. The courtier, the trader, and the scholar should all have an equal pretension to the denomination of a gentleman. That tradesman who deals with me in a commodity which I do not understand with uprightness, has much more right to that character, than the courtier who gives me false hopes, or the scholar who laughs at my ignorance.

The appellation of gentleman is never to be affixed to a man's circumstances, but to his behaviour in them. For this reason I shall ever, as far as I am able, give my nephews such impressions as shall make them value themselves rather as they are useful to others, than as they are conscious of merit in themselves. There are no qualities from which we ought to pretend to the esteem of others, but such as render us serviceable to them; for free men have no superiors but benefactors. I was going on like a true old fellow to this purpose to my guests, when I received the following epistle:

"Sir,

"I have yours,³⁴ with notice of a benefit ticket of £400 per annum, both enclosed by Mr. Elliot, who had my numbers for that purpose. Your philosophic advice came very seasonably to me with that good fortune; but I must be so sincere with you as to acknowledge, I owe my present moderation more to my own folly than your wisdom. You will think this strange till I inform you, that I had fixed my thoughts upon the £1000 a year, and had with that expectation laid down so many agreeable plans for my behaviour towards my new lovers and old friends, that I have received this favour of fortune with an air of disappointment. This is interpreted by all who know not the springs of my heart as a wonderful piece of humility. I hope my present state of mind will grow into that; but I confess my conduct to be now owing to another cause. However, I know you will approve my taking hold even of imperfections to find my way towards virtue, which is so feeble in us at the best, that we are often beholden to our faults for the first appearances of it. I am,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"Chloe."

No. 208. [Steele.
From Saturday, Aug. 5, to Tuesday, Aug. 8, 1710

Si dixeris "æstuo," sudat. —

Juv., Sat. iii. 103.

From my own Apartment Aug. 7

An old acquaintance who met me this morning seemed overjoyed to see me, and told me, I looked as well as he had known me do these forty years: but, continued he, "not quite the man you were when we visited together at Lady Brightly's. Oh, Isaac! those days are over. Do you think there are any such fine creatures now living as we then conversed with?" He went on with a thousand incoherent circumstances, which, in his imagination, must needs please me; but they had the quite contrary effect. The flattery with which he began, in telling me how well I wore, was not disagreeable; but his indiscreet mention of a set of acquaintances we had outlived, recalled ten thousand things to my memory, which made me reflect upon my present condition with regret. Had he indeed been so kind as, after a long absence, to felicitate me upon an indolent and easy old age, and mentioned how much he and I had to thank for, who at our time of day could walk firmly, eat heartily, and converse cheerfully, he had kept up my pleasure in myself. But of all mankind there are none so shocking as these injudicious civil people. They ordinarily begin upon something that they know must be a satisfaction; but then, for fear of the imputation of flattery, they follow it with the last thing in the world of which you would be reminded. It is this that perplexes civil persons. The reason that there is such a general outcry amongst us against flatterers, is, that there are so very few good ones. It is the nicest art in this life, and is a part of eloquence which does not want the preparation that is necessary to all other parts of it, that your audience should be your well-wishers: for praise from an enemy is the most pleasing of all commendations.

It is generally to be observed, that the person most agreeable to a man for a constancy is he that has no shining qualities, but is a certain degree above great imperfections, whom he can live with as his inferior, and who will either overlook or not observe his little defects. Such an easy companion as this, either now and then throws out a little flattery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his superiority to him. If you take notice, there is hardly a rich man in the world who has not such a led friend³⁵ of small consideration, who is a darling for his insignificancy. It is a great ease to have one in our own shape a species below us, and who, without being listed in our service, is by nature of our retinue. These dependants are of excellent use on a rainy day, or when a man has not a mind to dress or to exclude solitude, when one has neither a mind to that or to company. There are of this good-natured order who are so kind as to divide themselves, and do these good offices to many. Five or six of them visit a whole quarter of the town, and exclude the spleen without fees from the families they frequent. If they do not prescribe physic, they can be company when you take it. Very great benefactors to the rich, or those whom they call people at their ease, are your persons of no consequence. I have known some of them, by the help of a little cunning, make delicious flatterers. They know the course of the town and the general characters of persons: by this means they will sometimes tell the most agreeable falsehoods imaginable. They will acquaint you, that such a one of a quite contrary party said, that though you were engaged in different interests, yet he had the greatest respect for your good sense and address. When one of these has a little cunning, he passes his time in the utmost satisfaction to himself and his friends: for his position is never to report or speak a displeasing thing to his friend. As for letting him go on in an error, he knows advice against them is the office of persons of greater talents and less discretion.

The Latin word for a flatterer (assentator) implies no more than a person that barely consents; and indeed such a one, if a man were able to purchase or maintain him, cannot be bought too dear. Such a one never contradicts you, but gains upon you, not by a fulsome way of commending you in broad terms, but liking whatever you propose or utter; at the same time is ready to beg your pardon, and gainsay you, if you chance to speak ill of yourself. An old lady is very seldom without such a companion as this, who can recite the names of all her lovers, and the matches refused by her in the days when she minded such vanities (as she is pleased to call them, though she so much approves the mention of them). It is to be noted, that a woman's flatterer is generally older than herself, her years serving at once to recommend her patroness's age, and to add weight to her complaisance in all other particulars.

We gentlemen of small fortunes are extremely necessitous in this particular. I have indeed one who smokes with me often; but his parts are so low, that all the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with me, and to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all the praise or assent that he is capable of, yet there are more hours when I would rather be in his company than that of the brightest man I know. It would be a hard matter to give an account of this inclination to be flattered; but if we go to the bottom of it, we shall find that the pleasure in it is something like that of receiving money which lay out. Every man thinks he has an estate of reputation, and is glad to see one that will bring any of it home to him: it is no matter how dirty a bag it is conveyed to him in, or by how clownish a messenger, so the money is good. All that we want to be pleased with flattery, is to believe that the man is sincere who gives it us. It is by this one accident that absurd creatures often outrun the more skilful in this art. Their want of ability is here an advantage, and their bluntness, as it is the seeming effect of sincerity, is the best cover to artifice.

Terence introduces a flatterer talking to a coxcomb whom he cheats out of a livelihood, and a third person on the stage makes on him this pleasant remark, "This fellow has an art of making fools madmen."³⁶ The love of flattery is indeed sometimes the weakness of a great mind; but you see it also in persons who otherwise discover no manner of relish of anything above mere sensuality. These latter it sometimes improves, but always debases the former. A fool is in himself the object of pity till he is flattered. By the force of that his stupidity is raised into affectation, and he becomes of dignity enough to be ridiculous. I remember a droll, that upon one's saying, "The times are so ticklish that there must great care be taken what one says in conversation," answered with an air of surliness and honesty, "If people will be free, let them be so in the manner that I am, who never abuse a man but to his face." He had no reputation for saying dangerous truths; therefore when it was repeated, "You abuse a man but to his face?" "Yes," says he, "I flatter him."

It is indeed the greatest of injuries to flatter any but the unhappy, or such as are displeased with themselves for some infirmity. In this latter case we have a member of our club, that when Sir Jeffery falls asleep, wakens him with snoring. This makes Sir Jeffery hold up for some moments the longer, to see there are men younger than himself among us who are more lethargic than he is.

When flattery is practised upon any other consideration, it is the most abject thing in nature; nay, I cannot think of any character below the flatterer, except he that envies him. You meet with fellows prepared to be as mean as possible in their condescensions and expressions; but they want persons and talents to rise up to such a baseness. As a coxcomb is a fool of parts, so is a flatterer a knave of parts.

The best of this order that I know, is one who disguises it under a spirit of contradiction or reproof. He told an errant driveller the other day, that he did not care for being in company with him, because he heard he turned his absent friends into ridicule. And upon Lady Autumn's³⁷ disputing with him about something that happened at the Revolution, he replied with a very angry tone, "Pray, madam, give me leave to know more of a thing in which I was actually concerned, than you, who were then in your nurse's arms."

No. 209. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Aug. 8, to Thursday, Aug. 10, 1710

From my own Apartment, Aug. 9

A noble painter, who has an ambition to draw a history-piece, has desired of me to give him a subject on which he may show the utmost force of his art and genius. For this purpose I have pitched upon that remarkable incident between Alexander the Great and his physician. This Prince, in the midst of his conquests in Persia, was seized by a violent fever; and according to the account we have of his vast mind, his thoughts were more employed about his recovery as it regarded the war, than as it concerned his own life. He professed, a slow method was worse than death to him, because it was what he more dreaded, an interruption of his glory. He desired a dangerous, so it might be a speedy remedy. During this impatience of the King, it is well known that Darius had offered an immense sum to any who should take away his life. But Philippus, the most esteemed and most knowing of his physicians, promised, that within three days' time he would prepare a medicine for him which should restore him more expeditiously than could be imagined. Immediately after this engagement, Alexander receives a letter from the most considerable of his captains, with intelligence, that Darius had bribed Philippus to poison him. Every circumstance imaginable favoured this suspicion; but this monarch, who did nothing but in an extraordinary manner, concealed the letter; and while the medicine was preparing, spent all his thoughts upon his behaviour in this important incident. From his long soliloquy he came to this resolution: "Alexander must not lie here alive to be oppressed by his enemy. I will not believe my physician guilty; or, I will perish rather by his guilt than my own diffidence."

At the appointed hour, Philippus enters with the potion. One cannot but form to one's self on occasion the encounter of their eyes, the resolution in those of the patient, and the benevolence in the countenance of the physician. The hero raised himself in his bed, and holding the letter in one hand, and the potion in the other, drank the medicine. It will exercise my friend's pencil and brain to place this action in its proper beauty. A prince observing the features of a suspected traitor after having drank the poison he offered him, is a circumstance so full of passion, that it will require the highest strength of his imagination to conceive it, much more to express it. But as painting is eloquence and poetry in mechanism, I shall raise his ideas, by reading with him the finest draughts of the passions concerned in this circumstance from the most excellent poets and orators. The confidence which Alexander assumes from the air of Philippus's face as he is reading his accusation, and the generous disdain which is to rise in the features of a falsely accused man, are principally to be regarded. In this particular he must heighten his thoughts, by reflecting, that he is not drawing only an innocent man traduced, but a man zealously affected to his person and safety, full of resentment for being thought false. How shall we contrive to express the highest admiration mingled with disdain? How shall we in strokes of a pencil say what Philippus did to his Prince on this occasion? "Sir, my life never depended on yours more than it does now. Without knowing this secret, I prepared the potion, which you have taken as what concerned Philippus no less than Alexander; and there is nothing new in this adventure, but that it makes me still more admire the generosity and confidence of my master." Alexander took him by the hand, and said, "Philippus, I am confident you had rather I had any other way to have manifested the faith I have in you, than a case which so nearly concerns me: and in gratitude I now assure you, I am anxious for the effect of your medicine, more for your sake than my own."³⁸

My painter is employed by a man of sense and wealth to furnish him a gallery, and I shall join with my friend in the designing part. It is the great use of pictures to raise in our minds either agreeable ideas of our absent friends, or high images of eminent personages. But the latter design is, methinks, carried on in a very improper way; for to fill a room full of battle-pieces, pompous histories of sieges, and a tall hero alone in a crowd of insignificant figures about him, is of no consequence to private men. But to place before our eyes great and illustrious men in those parts and circumstances of life wherein their behaviour may have an effect upon our minds, as being such as we partake with them merely as they were men: such as these, I say, may be just and useful ornaments of an elegant apartment. In this collection therefore that we are making, we will not have the battles, but the sentiments of Alexander. The affair we were just now talking of, has circumstances of the highest nature, and yet their grandeur has little to do with his fortune. If by observing such a piece as that of his taking a bowl of poison with so much magnanimity, a man, the next time he has a fit of the spleen, is less froward to his friend or his servants; thus far is some improvement.

I have frequently thought, that if we had many draughts which were historical of certain passions, and had the true figure of the great men we see transported by them, it would be of the most solid advantage imaginable. To consider this mighty man on one occasion administer to the wants of a poor soldier, benumbed with cold, with the greatest humanity; at another, barbarously stabbing a faithful officer: at one time, so generously chaste and virtuous as to give his captive Statira her liberty; at another, burning a town at the instigation of Thais – this sort of changes in the same person are what would be more beneficial lessons of morality than the several revolutions in a great man's fortune. There are but one or two in an age to whom the pompous incidents of his life can be exemplary; but I or any man may be as sick, as good-natured, as compassionate, and as angry as Alexander the Great. My purpose in all this chat is, that so excellent a furniture may not for the future have so romantic a turn, but allude to incidents which come within the fortunes of the ordinary race of men. I do not know but it is by the force of this senseless custom that people are drawn in postures they would not for half they are worth be surprised in. The unparalleled fierceness of some rural squires drawn in red, or in armour, who never dreamed to destroy anything above a fox, is a common and ordinary offence of this kind. But I shall give an account of our whole gallery on another occasion.

No. 210. [Steele.
From Thursday, Aug. 10, to Saturday, Aug. 12, 1710

Sheer Lane, Aug. 10

I did myself the honour this day to make a visit to a lady of quality, who is one of those who are ever railing at the vices of the age, but mean only one vice, because it is the only vice they are not guilty of. She went so far as to fall foul on a young woman who has had imputations; but whether they were just or not, no one knows but herself. However that is, she is in her present behaviour modest, humble, pious, and discreet. I thought it became me to bring this censorious lady to reason, and let her see she was a much more vicious woman than the person she spoke of.

"Madam," said I, "you are very severe to this poor young woman, for a trespass which I believe Heaven has forgiven her, and for which you see she is for ever out of countenance." "Nay, Mr. Bickerstaff," she interrupted, "if you at this time of day contradict people of virtue, and stand up for ill women – " "No, no, madam," said I, "not so fast; she is reclaimed, and I fear you never will be. Nay, nay, madam, do not be in a passion, but let me tell you what you are. You are indeed as good as your neighbours, but that is being very bad. You are a woman at the head of a family, and lead a perfect town lady's life. You go on your own way, and consult nothing but your glass. What imperfections indeed you see there, you immediately mend as fast as you can. You may do the same by the faults I tell you of, for they are much more in your power to correct.

"You are to know, then, that you visiting ladies, that carry your virtue from house to house with so much prattle in each other's applause, and triumph over other people's faults, I grant you have but the speculation of vice in your own conversations, but promote the practice of it in all others you have to do with.

"As for you, madam, your time passes away in dressing, eating, sleeping, and praying. When you rise in a morning, I grant you an hour spent very well; but you come out to dress in so froward a humour, that the poor girl who attends you, curses her very being in that she is your servant, for the peevish things you say to her; when this poor creature is put into a way, that good or evil are regarded but as they relieve her from the hours she has and must pass with you. The next you have to do with is your coachman and footmen. They convey your ladyship to church. While you are praying there, they are cursing, swearing, and drinking in an alehouse. During the time also which your ladyship sets apart for heaven, you are to know, that your cook is swearing and fretting in preparation for your dinner. Soon after your meal you make visits, and the whole world that belongs to you speaks all the ill of you which you are repeating of others. You see, madam, whatever way you go, all about you are in a very broad one. The morality of these people it is your proper business to inquire into; and till you reform them, you had best let your equals alone; otherwise, if I allow you you are not vicious, you must allow me you are not virtuous."

I took my leave, and received at my coming home the following letter:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I have lived a pure and undefiled virgin these twenty-seven years; and I assure you, 'tis with great grief and sorrow of heart I tell you, that I become weary and impatient of the derision of the gigglers of our sex, who call me old maid, and tell me I shall lead apes.³⁹ If you are truly a patron of the distressed, and an adept in astrology, you will advise whether I shall or ought to be prevailed upon by the impertinencies of my own sex, to give way to the importunities of yours. I assure you, I am surrounded with both, though at present a forlorn.

"I am, &c."

I must defer my answer to this lady out of a point of chronology. She says, she has been twenty-seven years a maid; but I fear, according to a common error, she dates her virginity from her birth, which is a very erroneous method; for a woman of twenty is no more to be thought chaste so many years, than a man of that age can be said to have been so long valiant. We must not allow people the favour of a virtue till they have been under the temptation to the contrary. A woman is not a maid till her birthday, as we call it, of her fifteenth year. My plaintiff is therefore desired to inform me, whether she is at present in her twenty-eighth or forty-third year, and she shall be despatched accordingly.⁴⁰

St. James's Coffee-house, Aug. 11. ⁴¹

A merchant came hither this morning, and read a letter from a correspondent of his at Milan. It was dated of the 7th instant, N.S. The following is an abstract of it: On the 25th of the last month, five thousand men were on their march in the Lampourdan, under the command of General Wesell, having received orders from his Catholic Majesty to join him in his camp with all possible expedition. The Duke of Anjou soon had intelligence of their motion, and took a resolution to decamp, in order to intercept them, within a day's march of our army. The King of Spain was apprehensive the enemy might make such a movement, and commanded General Stanhope⁴² with a body of horse, consisting of fourteen squadrons, to observe their course, and prevent their passage over the rivers Segre and Noguera between Lerida and Balaguer. It happened to be the first day that officer had appeared abroad after a dangerous and violent fever; but he received the King's commands on this occasion with a joy which surmounted his present weakness, and on the 27th of last month came up with the enemy on the plains of Balaguer. The Duke of Anjou's rear-guard consisting of twenty-six squadrons, that general sent intelligence of their posture to the King, and desired his Majesty's orders to attack them. During the time which he waited for his instructions, he made his disposition for the charge, which was to divide themselves into three bodies; one to be commanded by himself in the centre, a body on the right by Count Maurice of Nassau, and the third on the left by the Earl of Rochford.⁴³ Upon the receipt of his Majesty's direction to attack the enemy, the general himself charged with the utmost vigour and resolution, while the Earl of Rochford and Count Maurice extended themselves on his right and left, to prevent the advantage the enemy might make of the superiority of their numbers. What appears to have misled the enemy's general in this affair was, that it was not supposed practicable that the confederates would attack him till they had received a reinforcement. For this reason he pursued his march without facing about, till we were actually coming on to engagement. General Stanhope's disposition made it impracticable to do it at that time, Count Maurice and the Earl of Rochford attacking them in the instant in which they were forming themselves. The charge was made with the greatest gallantry, and the enemy very soon put into so great disorder, that their whole cavalry were commanded to support their rear-guard. Upon the advance of this reinforcement, all the horse of the King of Spain were come up to sustain General Stanhope, insomuch that the battle improved to a general engagement of the cavalry of both armies. After a warm dispute for some time, it ended in the utter defeat of all the Duke of Anjou's horse. Upon the despatch of these advices, that Prince was retiring towards Lerida. We have no account of any considerable loss on our side, except that both those heroic youths, the Earl of Rochford and Count Nassau, fell in this action. They were, you know, both sons of persons who had a great place in the confidence of your late King William; and I doubt not but their deaths will endear their families, which were ennobled by him, in your nation. General Stanhope has been reported by the enemy dead of his wounds; but he received only a slight contusion on the shoulder.

"P.S.– We acknowledge you here a mighty brave people; but you are said to love quarrelling so well, that you cannot be quiet at home. The favourers of the House of Bourbon among us affirm, that this Stanhope, who could as it were get out of his sick-bed to fight against their King of Spain, must be of the anti-monarchical party."

No. 211. [Steele.
From Saturday, Aug. 12, to Tuesday, Aug. 15, 1710

-Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.

Juv., Sat. vii. 56.

Sunday, Aug. 13

If there were no other consequence of it, but barely that human creatures on this day assemble themselves before their Creator, without regard to their usual employments, their minds at leisure from the cares of this life, and their bodies adorned with the best attire they can bestow on them; I say, were this mere outward celebration of a Sabbath all that is expected from men, even that were a laudable distinction, and a purpose worthy the human nature. But when there is added to it the sublime pleasure of devotion, our being is exalted above itself; and he who spends a seventh day in the contemplation of the next life, will not easily fall into the corruptions of this in the other six. They who never admit thoughts of this kind into their imagination, lose higher and sweeter satisfactions than can be raised by any other entertainment. The most illiterate man who is touched with devotion, and uses frequent exercises of it, contracts a certain greatness of mind, mingled with a noble simplicity, that raises him above those of the same condition; and there is an indelible mark of goodness in those who sincerely possess it. It is hardly possible it should be otherwise; for the fervours of a pious mind will naturally contract such an earnestness and attention towards a better being, as will make the ordinary passages of life go off with a becoming indifference. By this, a man in the lowest condition will not appear mean, or in the most splendid fortune, insolent.

As to all the intricacies and vicissitudes under which men are ordinarily entangled with the utmost sorrow and passion, one who is devoted to Heaven when he falls into such difficulties is led by a clue through a labyrinth. As to this world, he does not pretend to skill in the mazes of it, but fixes his thoughts upon one certainty, that he shall soon be out of it. And we may ask very boldly, What can be a more sure consolation than to have a hope in death? When men are arrived at thinking of their very dissolution with pleasure, how few things are there that can be terrible to them? Certainly nothing can be dreadful to such spirits, but what would make death terrible to them, falsehood towards man, or impiety towards Heaven. To such as these, as there are certainly many such, the gratifications of innocent pleasures are doubled, even with reflections upon their imperfection. The disappointments which naturally attend the great promises we make ourselves in expected enjoyments, strike no damp upon such men, but only quicken their hopes of soon knowing joys, which are too pure to admit of allay or satiety.

It is thought among the politer part of mankind an imperfection to want a relish of any of those things which refine our lives. This is the foundation of the acceptance which eloquence, music, and poetry make in the world; and I know not why devotion, considered merely as an exaltation of our happiness, should not at least be so far regarded as to be considered. It is possible the very inquiry would lead men into such thoughts and gratifications as they did not expect to meet with in this place. Many a good acquaintance has been lost from a general prepossession in his disfavour, and a severe aspect has often hid under it a very agreeable companion.

There are no distinguishing qualities among men to which there are not false pretenders; but though none is more pretended to than that of devotion, there are, perhaps, fewer successful impostors in this kind than any other. There is something so natively great and good in a person that is truly devout, that an awkward man may as well pretend to be genteel, as a hypocrite to be pious. The constraint in words and actions are equally visible in both cases, and anything set up in their room does but remove the endeavourers the further off their pretensions. But however the sense of true piety is abated, there is no other motive of action that can carry us through all the vicissitudes of life with alacrity and resolution. But piety, like philosophy, when it is superficial, does but make men appear the worse for it; and a principle that is but half received, does but distract, instead of guiding our behaviour. When I reflect upon the unequal conduct of Lotius, I see many things that run directly counter to his interest; therefore I cannot attribute his labours for the public good to ambition. When I consider his disregard to his fortune, I cannot esteem him covetous. How then can I reconcile his neglect of himself, and his zeal for others? I have long suspected him to be a little pious: but no man ever hid his vice with greater caution than he does his virtue. It was the praise of a great Roman, that he had rather be, than appear good. But such is the weakness of Lotius, that I dare say, he had rather be esteemed irreligious than devout. By I know not what impatience of raillery he is wonderfully fearful of being thought too great a believer. A hundred little devices are made use of to hide a time of private devotion; and he will allow you any suspicion of his being ill employed, so you do not tax him with being well. But alas! how mean is such a behaviour? To boast of virtue is a most ridiculous way of disappointing the merit of it, but not so pitiful as that of being ashamed of it. How unhappy is the wretch who makes the most absolute and independent motive of action the cause of perplexity and inconstancy? How much another figure does Cælicola⁴⁴ make with all who know him? His great and superior mind, frequently exalted by the raptures of heavenly meditation, is to all his friends of the same use as if an angel were to appear at the decision of their disputes. They very well understand he is as much disinterested and unbiassed as such a being. He considers all applications made to him, as those addresses will effect his own application to heaven. All his determinations are delivered with a beautiful humility; and he pronounces his decisions with the air of one who is more frequently a supplicant than a judge.

Thus humble, and thus great, is the man who is moved by piety, and exalted by devotion. But behold this recommended by the masterly hand of a great divine⁴⁵ I have heretofore made bold with:

"It is such a pleasure as can never cloy or overwork the mind; a delight that grows and improves under thought and reflection; and while it exercises, does also endear itself to the mind. All pleasures that affect the body must needs weary, because they transport; and all transportation is a violence; and no violence can be lasting, but determines upon the falling of the spirits, which are not able to keep up that height of motion that the pleasure of the senses raises them to. And therefore how inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in a sigh, which is only nature's recovering itself after a force done to it; but the religious pleasure of a well-disposed mind moves gently, and therefore constantly. It does not effect by rapture and ecstasy, but is like the pleasure of health, greater and stronger than those that call up the senses with grosser and more affecting impressions. No man's body is as strong as his appetites; but Heaven has corrected the boundlessness of his voluptuous desires by stinting his strengths, and contracting his capacities… The pleasure of the religious man is an easy and a portable pleasure, such a one as he carries about in his bosom, without alarming either the eye or envy of the world. A man putting all his pleasure into this one, is like a traveller putting all his goods into one jewel; the value is the same, and the convenience greater."

No. 212. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Aug. 15, to Thursday, Aug. 17, 1710

From my own Apartment, Aug. 16

I have had much importunity to answer the following letter:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Reading over a volume of yours, I find the words simplex munditiis mentioned as a description of a very well-dressed woman.⁴⁶ I beg of you, for the sake of the sex, to explain these terms. I cannot comprehend what my brother means, when he tells me they signify my own name, which is,

"Sir,

"Your humble Servant,

"Plain English."

I think the lady's brother has given us a very good idea of that elegant expression, it being the greatest beauty of speech to be close and intelligible. To this end nothing is to be more carefully consulted than plainness. In a lady's attire this is the single excellence; for to be what some call fine, is the same vice in that case as to be florid is in writing or speaking. I have studied and written on this important subject till I almost despair of making a reformation in the females of this island, where we have more beauty than in any spot in the universe, if we did not disguise it by false garniture, and detract from it by impertinent improvements. I have by me a treatise concerning pinners, which I have some hopes will contribute to the amendment of the present head-dresses, to which I have solid and unanswerable objections. But most of the errors in that and other particulars of adorning the head, are crept into the world from the ignorance of modern tirewomen; for it is come to that pass, that an awkward creature in the first year of her apprenticeship, that can hardly stick a pin, shall take upon her to dress a woman of the first quality. However, it is certain that there requires in a good tirewoman a perfect skill in optics; for all the force of ornament is to contribute to the intention of the eyes. Thus she who has a mind to look killing, must arm her face accordingly, and not leave her eyes and cheeks undressed. There is Araminta so sensible of this, that she never will see even her own husband without a hood⁴⁷ on. Can any one living bear to see Miss Gruel, lean as she is, with her hair tied back after the modern way? But such is the folly of our ladies, that because one who is a beauty, out of ostentation of her being such, takes care to wear something that she knows cannot be of any consequence to her complexion; I say, our women run on so heedlessly in the fashion, that though it is the interest of some to hide as much of their faces as possible, yet because a leading toast appeared with a backward head-dress, the rest shall follow the mode, without observing that the author of the fashion assumed it because it could become no one but herself.

Flavia⁴⁸ is ever well dressed, and always the genteelest woman you meet: but the make of her mind very much contributes to the ornament of her body. She has the greatest simplicity of manners of any of her sex. This makes everything look native about her, and her clothes are so exactly fitted, that they appear as it were part of her person. Every one that sees her, knows her to be of quality; but her distinction is owing to her manner, and not to her habit. Her beauty is full of attraction, but not of allurement. There is such a composure in her looks, and propriety in her dress, that you would think it impossible she should change the garb you one day see her in for anything so becoming, till you next day see her in another. There is no other mystery in this, but that however she is apparelled, she is herself the same: for there is so immediate a relation between our thoughts and gestures, that a woman must think well to look well.

But this weighty subject I must put off for some other matters in which my correspondents are urgent for answers, which I shall do where I can, and appeal to the judgment of others where I cannot.

Aug. 15, 1710.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Taking the air the other day on horseback in the Green Lane that leads to Southgate, I discovered coming towards me a person well mounted in a mask; and I accordingly expected, as any one would, to have been robbed. But when we came up with each other, the spark, to my greater surprise, very peaceably gave me the way; which made me take courage enough to ask him, if he masqueraded, or how? He made me no answer, but still continued incognito. This was certainly an ass in a lion's skin; a harmless bull-beggar,⁴⁹ who delights to fright innocent people, and set them a-galloping. I bethought myself of putting as good a jest upon him, and had turned my horse, with a design to pursue him to London, and get him apprehended, on suspicion of being a highwayman: but when I reflected, that it was the proper office of the magistrate to punish only knaves, and that we had a censor of Great Britain for people of another denomination, I immediately determined to prosecute him in your court only. This unjustifiable frolic I take to be neither wit nor humour: therefore hope you will do me, and as many others as were that day frighted, justice. I am,

"Sir,

"Your Friend and Servant,

"J. L."

"Sir,

"The gentleman begs your pardon, and frighted you out of fear of frightening you; for he is just come out of the smallpox."

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Your distinction concerning the time of commencing virgins⁵⁰ is allowed to be just. I write you my thanks for it, in the twenty-eighth year of my life, and twelfth of my virginity. But I am to ask you another question, May a woman be said to live any more years a maid than she continues to be courted?

"I am, &c."

Aug. 15, 1710.

"Sir,

"I observe that the Post-Man of Saturday last, giving an account of the action in Spain, has this elegant turn of expression: 'General Stanhope,⁵¹ who in the whole action expressed as much bravery as conduct, received a contusion in his right shoulder.' I should be glad to know, whether this cautious politician means to commend or to rally him, by saying, 'He expressed as much bravery as conduct'? If you can explain this dubious phrase, it will inform the public, and oblige,

"Sir,

"Your humble Servant, &c."

No. 213. [Steele.
From Thursday, Aug. 17, to Saturday, Aug. 19, 1710

Sheer Lane, Aug. 16

There has of late crept in among the downright English a mighty spirit of dissimulation. But before we discourse of this vice, it will be necessary to observe, that the learned make a difference between simulation and dissimulation.⁵² Simulation is a pretence of what is not, and dissimulation a concealment of what is. The latter is our present affair. When you look round you in public places in this island, you see the generality of mankind carry in their countenance an air of challenge or defiance: and there is no such man to be found among us who naturally strives to do greater honours and civilities than he receives. This innate sullenness or stubbornness of complexion is hardly to be conquered by any of our islanders. For which reason, however they may pretend to choose one another, they make but very awkward rogues; and their dislike to each other is seldom so well dissembled, but it is suspected. When once it is so, it had as good be professed. A man who dissembles well must have none of what we call stomach, otherwise he will be cold in his professions of good-will where he hates; an imperfection of the last ill consequence in business. This fierceness in our natures is apparent from the conduct of our young fellows, who are not got into the schemes and arts of life which the children of this world walk by. One would think that, of course, when a man of any consequence for his figure, his mien, or his gravity, passes by a youth, he should certainly have the first advances of salutation; but he is, you may observe, treated in a quite different manner, it being the very characteristic of an English temper to defy. As I am an Englishman, I find it a very hard matter to bring myself to pull off the hat first; but it is the only way to be upon any good terms with those we meet with: therefore the first advance is of high moment. Men judge of others by themselves; and he that will command with us must condescend. It moves one's spleen very agreeably to see fellows pretend to be dissemblers without this lesson. They are so reservedly complaisant till they have learned to resign their natural passions, that all the steps they make towards gaining those whom they would be well with, are but so many marks of what they really are, and not of what they would appear.

The rough Britons, when they pretend to be artful towards one another, are ridiculous enough; but when they set up for vices they have not, and dissemble their good with an affectation of ill, they are insupportable. I know two men in this town who make as good figures as any in it, that manage their credit so well as to be thought atheists, and yet say their prayers morning and evening. Tom Springly the other day pretended to go to an assignation with a married woman at Rosamond's Pond,⁵³ and was seen soon after reading the responses with great gravity at six-of-clock prayers.

Sheer Lane, Aug. 17

Though the following epistle bears a just accusation of myself, yet in regard it is a more advantageous piece of justice to another, I insert it at large:

Garraway's Coffee-house,Aug. 10.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I have lately read your paper⁵⁴ wherein you represent a conversation between a young lady, your three nephews, and yourself; and am not a little offended at the figure you give your young merchant in the presence of a beauty. The topic of love is a subject on which a man is more beholden to nature for his eloquence, than to the instruction of the schools, or my lady's woman. From the two latter, your scholar and page must have reaped all their advantage above him. I know by this time you have pronounced me a trader. I acknowledge it, but cannot bear the exclusion from any pretence of speaking agreeably to a fine woman, or from any degree of generosity that way. You have among us citizens many well-wishers, but it is for the justice of your representations, which we, perhaps, are better judges of than you (by the account you give of your nephew) seem to allow.

"To give you an opportunity of making us some reparation, I desire you would tell your own way the following instance of heroic love in the city. You are to remember, that somewhere in your writings, for enlarging the territories of virtue and honour, you have multiplied the opportunities of attaining to heroic virtue, and have hinted, that in whatever state of life a man is, if he does things above what is ordinarily performed by men of his rank, he is in those instances a hero.⁵⁵

"Tom Trueman, a young gentleman of eighteen years of age, fell passionately in love with the beauteous Almira, daughter to his master. Her regard for him was no less tender. Trueman was better acquainted with his master's affairs than his daughter, and secretly lamented that each day brought him by many miscarriages nearer bankruptcy than the former. This unhappy posture of their affairs the youth suspected was owing to the ill management of a factor, in whom his master had an entire confidence. Trueman took a proper occasion, when his master was ruminating on his decaying fortune, to address him for leave to spend the remainder of his time with his foreign correspondent. During three years' stay in that employment he became acquainted with all that concerned his master; and by his great address in the management of that knowledge, saved him ten thousand pounds. Soon after this accident, Trueman's uncle left him a considerable estate. Upon receiving that advice, he returned to England, and demanded Almira of her father. The father, overjoyed at the match, offered him the £10,000 he had saved him, with the further proposal of resigning to him all his business. Trueman refused both, and retired into the country with his bride, contented with his own fortune, though perfectly skilled in all the methods of improving it.

"It is to be noted, that Trueman refused twenty thousand pounds with another young lady; so that reckoning both his self-denials, he is to have in your court the merit of having given £30,000 for the woman he loved. This gentleman I claim your justice to; and hope you will be convinced, that some of us have larger views than only cash debtor, per contra creditor.

"Yours,

"Richard Traffic."

"N.B.– Mr. Thomas Trueman of Lime Street is entered among the heroes of domestic life.

"Charles Lillie."

No. 214. [Steele. ⁵⁶
From Saturday, Aug. 19, to Tuesday, Aug. 22, 1710

 
– Soles et aperta serena
Prospicere, et certis poteris cognoscere signis.
 

Virg., Georg. i. 393.

From my own Apartment, Aug. 21

In every party there are two sorts of men, the rigid and the supple. The rigid are an intractable race of mortals, who act upon principle, and will not, forsooth, fall into any measures that are not consistent with their received notions of honour. These are persons of a stubborn, unpliant morality, that sullenly adhere to their friends when they are disgraced, and to their principles, though they are exploded. I shall therefore give up this stiff-necked generation to their own obstinacy, and turn my thoughts to the advantage of the supple, who pay their homage to places, and not persons; and without enslaving themselves to any particular scheme of opinions, are as ready to change their conduct in point of sentiment as of fashion. The well-disciplined part of a court are generally so perfect at their exercise, that you may see a whole assembly, from front to rear, face about at once to a new man of power, though at the same time they turn their backs upon him that brought them thither. The great hardship these complaisant members of society are under, seems to be the want of warning upon any approaching change or revolution; so that they are obliged in a hurry to tack about with every wind, and stop short in the midst of a full career, to the great surprise and derision of their beholders.

When a man foresees a decaying ministry, he has leisure to grow a malcontent, reflect upon the present conduct, and by gradual murmurs fall off from his friends into a new party, by just steps and measures. For want of such notices, I have formerly known a very well-bred person refuse to return a bow of a man whom he thought in disgrace, that was next day made Secretary of State; and another, who after a long neglect of a minister, came to his levee, and made professions of zeal for his service the very day before he was turned out.

This produces also unavoidable confusions and mistakes in the descriptions of great men's parts and merits. That ancient lyric, Mr. D'Urfey,⁵⁷ some years ago wrote a dedication to a certain lord, in which he celebrated him for the greatest poet and critic of that age, upon a misinformation in Dyer's Letter⁵⁸, that his noble patron was made Lord Chamberlain. In short, innumerable votes, speeches, and sermons have been thrown away, and turned to no account, merely for want of due and timely intelligence. Nay, it has been known, that a panegyric has been half printed off, when the poet, upon the removal of the minister, has been forced to alter it into a satire.

For the conduct therefore of such useful persons as are ready to do their country service upon all occasions, I have an engine in my study, which is a sort of a Political Barometer, or, to speak more intelligibly, a State Weather-Glass, that, by the rising and falling of a certain magical liquor, presages all changes and revolutions in government, as the common glass does those of the weather. This weather-glass is said to have been invented by Cardan,⁵⁹ and given by him as a present to his great countryman and contemporary Machiavel, which (by the way) may serve to rectify a received error in chronology, that places one of these some years after the other. How or when it came into my hands, I shall desire to be excused if I keep to myself; but so it is, that I have walked by it for the better part of a century, to my safety at least, if not to my advantage; and have among my papers, a register of all the changes that happened in it from the middle of Queen Elizabeth's reign.

In the time of that princess, it stood long at Settled Fair. At the latter end of King James the First, it fell to Cloudy. It held several years after at Stormy; insomuch that at last despairing of seeing any clear weather at home, I followed the royal exile, and some time after finding my glass rise, returned to my native country with the rest of the loyalists. I was then in hopes to pass the remainder of my days in Settled Fair: but alas! during the greatest part of that reign, the English nation lay in a Dead Calm, which, as it is usual, was followed by high winds and tempests till of late years: in which, with unspeakable joy and satisfaction, I have seen our political weather returned to Settled Fair. I must only observe, that for all this last summer my glass has pointed at Changeable. Upon the whole, I often apply to Fortune Æneas's speech to the sybil:

– Non ulla laborum,

O virgo, nova mi fades inopinave surgit:

Omnia præcepi, atque animo me cum ante peregi. ⁶⁰

The advantages which have accrued to those whom I have advised in their affairs, by virtue of this sort of prescience, have been very considerable. A nephew of mine, who has never put his money into the stocks, or taken it out, without my advice, has in a few years raised five hundred pounds to almost so many thousands. As for myself, who look upon riches to consist rather in content than possessions, and measure the greatness of the mind rather by its tranquillity than its ambition, I have seldom used my glass to make my way in the world, but often to retire from it. This is a by-path to happiness, which was first discovered to me by a most pleasing apothegm of Pythagoras: "When the winds," says he, "rise, worship the echo." That great philosopher (whether to make his doctrines the more venerable, or to gild his precepts with the beauty of imagination, or to awaken the curiosity of his disciples; for I will not suppose what is usually said, that he did it to conceal his wisdom from the vulgar) has couched several admirable precepts in remote allusions and mysterious sentences. By the winds in this apothegm, are meant State hurricanes and popular tumults. "When these arise," says he, "worship the echo;" that is, withdraw yourself from the multitude into deserts, woods, solitudes, or the like retirements, which are the usual habitations of the echo.

No. 215. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Aug. 22, to Thursday, Aug. 24, 1710

From my own Apartment, Aug. 23

Lysander has written to me out of the country, and tells me, after many other circumstances, that he had passed a great deal of time with much pleasure and tranquillity, till his happiness was interrupted by an indiscreet flatterer, who came down into those parts to visit a relation. With the circumstances in which he represents the matter, he had no small provocation to be offended, for he attacked him in so wrong a season, that he could not have any relish of pleasure in it; though, perhaps, at another time, it might have passed upon him without giving him much uneasiness. Lysander had, after a long satiety of the town, been so happy as to get to a solitude he extremely liked, and recovered a pleasure he had long discontinued, that of reading. He was got to the bank of a rivulet, covered by a pleasing shade, and fanned by a soft breeze, which threw his mind into that sort of composure and attention in which a man, though with indolence, enjoys the utmost liveliness of his spirits, and the greatest strength of his mind at the same time. In this state, Lysander represents that he was reading Virgil's "Georgics"; when on a sudden the gentleman above-mentioned surprised him, and, without any manner of preparation, falls upon him at once. "What! I have found you out at last, after searching all over the wood. We wanted you at cards after dinner, but you are much better employed. I have heard indeed that you are an excellent scholar: but at the same time, is it not a little unkind to rob the ladies, who like you so well, of the pleasure of your company? But that is indeed the misfortune of you great scholars, you are seldom so fit for the world as those who never trouble themselves with books. Well, I see you are taken up with your learning there, and I'll leave you." Lysander says, he made him no answer, but took a resolution to complain to me.

It is a substantial affliction, when men govern themselves by the rules of good-breeding, that by the very force of them they are subjected to the insolence of those who either never will, or never can, understand them. The superficial part of mankind form to themselves little measures of behaviour from the outside of things. By the force of these narrow conceptions, they act amongst themselves with applause, and do not apprehend they are contemptible to those of higher understanding, who are restrained by decencies above their knowledge from showing a dislike. Hence it is, that because complaisance is a good quality in conversation, one impertinent takes upon him on all occasions to commend; and because mirth is agreeable, another thinks fit eternally to jest. I have of late received many packets of letters complaining of these spreading evils. A lady who is lately arrived at the Bath acquaints me, there was in the stage-coach wherein she went down, a common flatterer, and a common jester. These gentlemen were (she tells me) rivals in her favour; and adds, if there ever happened a case wherein of two persons one was not liked more than another, it was in that journey. They differed only in proportion to the degree of dislike between the nauseous and the insipid. Both these characters of men are born out of a barrenness of imagination. They are never fools by nature, but become such out of an impotent ambition of being what she never intended them, men of wit and conversation. I therefore think fit to declare, that according to the known laws of this land, a man may be a very honest gentleman, and enjoy himself and his friend, without being a wit; and I absolve all men from taking pains to be such for the future. As the present case stands, is it not very unhappy that Lysander must be attacked and applauded in a wood, and Corinna jolted and commended in a stage-coach; and this for no manner of reason, but because other people have a mind to show their parts? I grant indeed, if these people (as they have understanding enough for it) would confine their accomplishments to those of their own degree of talents, it were to be tolerated; but when they are so insolent as to interrupt the meditations of the wife, the conversations of the agreeable, and the whole behaviour of the modest, it becomes a grievance naturally in my jurisdiction. Among themselves, I cannot only overlook, but approve it. I was present the other day at a conversation, where a man of this height of breeding and sense told a young woman of the same form, "To be sure, madam, everything must please that comes from a lady." She answered, "I know, sir, you are so much a gentleman that you think so." Why, this is very well on both sides; and it is impossible that such a gentleman and lady should do other than think well of one another. These are but loose hints of the disturbances in human society, of which there is yet no remedy; but I shall in a little time publish tables of respect and civility, by which persons may be instructed in the proper times and seasons, as well as at what degree of intimacy a man may be allowed to commend or rally his companions; the promiscuous licence of which is at present far from being among the small errors in conversation.

P.S.– The following letter was left, with a request to be immediately answered, lest the artifices used against a lady in distress may come into common practice:

"Sir,

"My elder sister buried her husband about six months ago; and at his funeral, a gentleman of more art than honesty, on the night of his interment, while she was not herself, but in the utmost agony of her grief, spoke to her of the subject of love. In that weakness and distraction which my sister was in (as one ready to fall is apt to lean on anybody), he obtained her promise of marriage, which was accordingly consummated eleven weeks after. There is no affliction comes alone, but one brings another. My sister is now ready to lie-in. She humbly asks of you, as you are a friend to the sex, to let her know who is the lawful father of this child, or whether she may not be relieved from this second marriage, considering it was promised under such circumstances as one may very well suppose she did not what she did voluntarily, but because she was helpless otherwise. She is advised something about engagements made in gaol, which she thinks the same as to the reason of the thing. But, dear sir, she relies upon your advice, and gives you her service; as does

"Your humble Servant,

"Rebecca Midriffe."

The case is very hard; and I fear, the plea she is advised to make, from the similitude of a man who is in duress, will not prevail. But though I despair of remedy as to the mother, the law gives the child his choice of his father where the birth is thus legally ambiguous.

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq

"The humble Petition of the Company of Linendrapers residing within the Liberty of Westminster;

"Showeth – That there has of late prevailed among the ladies so great an affectation of nakedness, that they have not only left the bosom wholly bare, but lowered their stays some inches below the former mode.⁶¹

"That in particular, Mrs. Arabella Overdo has not the least appearance of linen, and our best customers show but little above the small of their backs.

"That by this means, your petitioners are in danger of losing the advantage of covering a ninth part of every woman of quality in Great Britain.

"Your petitioners humbly offer the premises to your indulgence's consideration, and shall ever, &c."

Before I answer this petition, I am inclined to examine the offenders myself.

No. 216. [Addison.
From Thursday, Aug. 24, to Saturday, Aug. 26, 1710

– Nugis addere pondus. – Hor., 1 Ep. xix. 42.

From my own Apartment, Aug. 25

Nature is full of wonders; every atom is a standing miracle, and endowed with such qualities as could not be impressed on it by a power and wisdom less than infinite. For this reason, I would not discourage any searches that are made into the most minute and trivial parts of the creation. However, since the world abounds in the noblest fields of speculation, it is, methinks, the mark of a little genius to be wholly conversant among insects, reptiles, animalcules, and those trifling rarities that furnish out the apartment of a virtuoso.

There are some men whose heads are so oddly turned this way, that though they are utter strangers to the common occurrences of life, they are able to discover the sex of a cockle, or describe the generation of a mite, in all its circumstances. They are so little versed in the world, that they scarce know a horse from an ox; but at the same time will tell you, with a great deal of gravity, that a flea is a rhinoceros, and a snail an hermaphrodite. I have known one of these whimsical philosophers who has set a greater value upon a collection of spiders than he would upon a flock of sheep, and has sold his coat off his back to purchase a tarantula.

I would not have a scholar wholly unacquainted with these secrets and curiosities of nature; but certainly the mind of man, that is capable of so much higher contemplations, should not be altogether fixed upon such mean and disproportioned objects. Observations of this kind are apt to alienate us too much from the knowledge of the world, and to make us serious upon trifles, by which means they expose philosophy to the ridicule of the witty, and contempt of the ignorant. In short, studies of this nature should be the diversions, relaxations, and amusements; not the care, business, and concern of life.

It is indeed wonderful to consider, that there should be a sort of learned men who are wholly employed in gathering together the refuse of nature, if I may call it so, and hoarding up in their chests and cabinets such creatures as others industriously avoid the sight of. One does not know how to mention some of the most precious parts of their treasure without a kind of an apology for it. I have been shown a beetle valued at twenty crowns, and a toad at a hundred: but we must take this for a general rule, that whatever appears trivial or obscene in the common notions of the world, looks grave and philosophical in the eye of a virtuoso.

To show this humour in its perfection, I shall present my reader with the legacy of a certain virtuoso, who laid out a considerable estate in natural rarities and curiosities, which upon his death-bed he bequeathed to his relations and friends, in the following words:

The Will of a Virtuoso

I Nicholas Gimcrack being in sound health of mind, but in great weakness of body, do by this my last will and testament bestow my worldly goods and chattels in manner following:

Imprimis, to my dear wife,

One box of butterflies,

One drawer of shells,

A female skeleton,

A dried cockatrice.

Item, to my daughter Elizabeth,

My receipt for preserving dead caterpillars.

As also my preparations of winter May-dew, and embryo pickle.

Item, to my little daughter Fanny,

Three crocodile's eggs.

And upon the birth of her first child, if she marries with her mother's consent,

The nest of a humming-bird.

Item, to my eldest brother, as an acknowledgment for the lands he has vested in my son Charles, I bequeath

My last year's collection of grasshoppers.

Item, to his daughter Susanna, being his only child, I bequeath my

English weeds pasted on royal paper.

With my large folio of Indian cabbage.

Item, to my learned and worthy friend Dr. Johannes Elscrikius, Professor in Anatomy, and my associate in the studies of nature, as an eternal monument of my affection and friendship for him, I bequeath

My rat's testicles, and

Whale's pizzle,

to him and his issue male; and in default of such issue in the said Dr. Elscrikius, then to return to my executor and his heirs for ever.

Having fully provided for my nephew Isaac, by making over to him some years since

A horned scarabæus,

The skin of a rattlesnake, and

The mummy of an Egyptian king,

I make no further provision for him in this my will.

My eldest son John having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister, whom I keep by me in spirits of wine, and in many other instances behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and wholly cut off from any part of this my personal estate, by giving him a single cockle-shell.

To my second son Charles, I give and bequeath all my flowers, plants, minerals, mosses, shells, pebbles, fossils, beetles, butterflies, caterpillars, grasshoppers, and vermin, not above specified: as also all my monsters, both wet and dry, making the said Charles whole and sole executor of this my last will and testament; he paying, or causing to be paid, the aforesaid legacies within the space of six months after my decease. And I do hereby revoke all other wills whatsoever by me formerly made.⁶²

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Whereas an ignorant upstart in astrology has publicly endeavoured to persuade the world, that he is the late John Partridge, who died the 28th of March 1708; these are to certify all whom it may concern, that the true John Partridge was not only dead at that time, but continues so to this present day.

Beware of counterfeits, for such are abroad.

No. 217. [Steele.
From Saturday, Aug. 26, to Tuesday, Aug. 29, 1710

Atque deos atque astra vocat crudelia mater.

Virg., Eclog. v. 23.

From my own Apartment, Aug. 28

As I was passing by a neighbour's house this morning, I overheard the wife of the family speak things to her husband which gave me much disturbance, and put me in mind of a character which I wonder I have so long omitted, and that is, an outrageous species of the fair sex which is distinguished by the term Scolds. The generality of women are by nature loquacious: therefore mere volubility of speech is not to be imputed to them, but should be considered with pleasure when it is used to express such passions as tend to sweeten or adorn conversation: but when, through rage, females are vehement in their eloquence, nothing in the world has so ill an effect upon the features; for by the force of it, I have seen the most amiable become the most deformed, and she that appeared one of the Graces, immediately turned into one of the Furies. I humbly conceive, the great cause of this evil may proceed from a false notion the ladies have of what we call a modest woman. They have too narrow a conception of this lovely character, and believe they have not at all forfeited their pretensions to it, provided they have no imputations on their chastity. But alas! the young fellows know they pick out better women in the side-boxes⁶³ than many of those who pass upon the world and themselves for modest.

Modesty never rages, never murmurs, never pouts: when it is ill-treated, it pines, it beseeches, it languishes. The neighbour I mention is one of your common modest women, that is to say, those as are ordinarily reckoned such. Her husband knows every pain in life with her but jealousy. Now because she is clear in this particular, the man can't say his soul is his own, but she cries, "No modest woman is respected nowadays." What adds to the comedy in this case is, that it is very ordinary with this sort of women to talk in the language of distress: they will complain of the forlorn wretchedness of their condition, and then the poor helpless creatures shall throw the next thing they can lay their hands on at the person who offends them. Our neighbour was only saying to his wife, she went a little too fine, when she immediately pulled his periwig off, and stamping it under her feet, wrung her hands, and said, "Never modest woman was so used." These ladies of irresistible modesty are those who make virtue unamiable; not that they can be said to be virtuous, but as they live without scandal; and being under the common denomination of being such, men fear to meet their faults in those who are as agreeable as they are innocent.

I take the bully among men, and the scold among women, to draw the foundation of their actions from the same defect in the mind. A bully thinks honour consists wholly in being brave, and therefore has regard to no one rule of life, if he preserves himself from the accusation of cowardice. The froward woman knows chastity to be the first merit in a woman; and therefore, since no one can call her one ugly name, she calls all mankind all the rest.

These ladies, where their companions are so imprudent as to take their speeches for any other than exercises of their own lungs, and their husband's patience, gain by the force of being resisted, and flame with open fury, which is no way to be opposed but by being neglected: though at the same time human frailty makes it very hard to relish the philosophy of contemning even frivolous reproach. There is a very pretty instance of this infirmity in the man of the best sense that ever was, no less a person than Adam himself. According to Milton's description of the first couple, as soon as they had fallen, and the turbulent passions of anger, hatred, and jealousy first entered their breasts, Adam grew moody, and talked to his wife, as you may find it in the 359th page, and ninth book, of "Paradise Lost," in the octavo edition, which out of heroics, and put into domestic style, would run thus:

"Madam, if my advice had been of any authority with you when that strange desire of gadding possessed you this morning, we had still been happy: but your cursed vanity and opinion of your own conduct, which is certainly very wavering when it seeks occasions of being proved, has ruined both yourself, and me who trusted you."

Eve had no fan in her hand to ruffle, or tucker to pull down,⁶⁴ but with a reproachful air she answered:

"Sir, do you impute that to my desire of gadding, which might have happened to yourself with all your wisdom and gravity? The serpent spoke so excellently, and with so good a grace, that – Besides, what harm had I ever done him, that he should design me any? Was I to have been always at your side, I might as well have continued there, and been but your rib still: but if I was so weak a creature as you thought me, why did you not interpose your sage authority more absolutely? You denied me going as faintly, as you say I resisted the serpent. Had not you been too easy, neither you or I had now transgressed."

Adam replied, "Why, Eve, hast thou the impudence to upbraid me as the cause of thy transgression for my indulgence to thee? Thus it will ever be with him who trusts too much to woman: at the same time that she refuses to be governed, if she suffers by her obstinacy, she will accuse the man that shall leave her to herself."

 
Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning:
And of their vain contest appeared no end. ⁶⁵
 

This to the modern will appear but a very faint piece of conjugal enmity; but you are to consider, that they were but just begun to be angry, and they wanted new words for expressing their new passions. But her accusing him of letting her go, and telling him how good a speaker and how fine a gentleman the devil was, we must reckon, allowing for the improvements of time, that she gave him the same provocation as if she had called him cuckold. The passionate and familiar terms with which the same case, repeated daily for so many thousand years, has furnished the present generation, were not then in use; but the foundation of debate has ever been the same, a contention about their merit and wisdom. Our general mother was a beauty, and hearing there was another now in the world, could not forbear (as Adam tells her) showing herself, though to the devil, by whom the same vanity made her liable to be betrayed.

I cannot, with all the help of science and astrology, find any other remedy for this evil, but what was the medicine in this first quarrel; which was, as appeared in the next book, that they were convinced of their being both weak, but one weaker than the other.

If it were possible that the beauteous could but rage a little before a glass, and see their pretty countenances grow wild, it is not to be doubted but it would have a very good effect; but that would require temper: for Lady Firebrand, upon observing her features swell when her maid vexed her the other day, stamped her dressing-glass under her feet. In this case, when one of this temper is moved, she is like a witch in an operation, and makes all things turn round with her. The very fabric is in a vertigo when she begins to charm. In an instant, whatever was the occasion that moved her blood, she has such intolerable servants, Betty is so awkward, Tom can't carry a message, and her husband has so little respect for her, that she, poor woman, is weary of this life, and was born to be unhappy.

Desunt multa

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The season now coming on in which the town will begin to fill, Mr. Bickerstaff gives notice, that from the 1st of October next, he will be much wittier than he has hitherto been.⁶⁶

No. 218. [Addison.
From Tuesday, Aug. 29, to Thursday, Aug. 31, 1710

Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus et fugit urbes.

Hor., 2 Ep. ii. 77.

From my own Apartment, Aug. 30

I chanced to rise very early one particular morning this summer, and took a walk into the country to divert myself among the fields and meadows, while the green was new, and the flowers in their bloom. As at this season of the year every lane is a beautiful walk, and every hedge full of nosegays, I lost myself with a great deal of pleasure among several thickets and bushes that were filled with a great variety of birds, and an agreeable confusion of notes, which formed the pleasantest scene in the world to one who had passed a whole winter in noise and smoke. The freshness of the dews that lay upon everything about me, with the cool breath of the morning, which inspired the birds with so many delightful instincts, created in me the same kind of animal pleasure, and made my heart overflow with such secret emotions of joy and satisfaction as are not to be described or accounted for. On this occasion I could not but reflect upon a beautiful simile in Milton:

 
As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight:
The smell of grain, or tedded ⁶⁷ grass, or kine,
Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound. ⁶⁸
 

Those who are conversant in the writings of polite authors, receive an additional entertainment from the country, as it revives in their memories those charming descriptions with which such authors do frequently abound.

I was thinking of the foregoing beautiful simile in Milton, and applying it to myself, when I observed to the windward of me a black cloud falling to the earth in long trails of rain, which made me betake myself for shelter to a house which I saw at a little distance from the place where I was walking. As I sat in the porch, I heard the voices of two or three persons, who seemed very earnest in discourse. My curiosity was raised when I heard the names of Alexander the Great and Artaxerxes; and as their talk seemed to run on ancient heroes, I concluded there could not be any secret in it; for which reason I thought I might very fairly listen to what they said.

After several parallels between great men, which appeared to me altogether groundless and chimerical, I was surprised to hear one say, that he valued the Black Prince more than the Duke of Vendôme. How the Duke of Vendôme should become a rival of the Black Prince's, I could not conceive; and was more startled when I heard a second affirm with great vehemence, that if the Emperor of Germany was not going off, he should like him better than either of them. He added, that though the season was so changeable, the Duke of Marlborough was in blooming beauty. I was wondering to myself from whence they had received this odd intelligence, especially when I heard them mention the names of several other great generals, as the Prince of Hesse, and the King of Sweden, who, they said, were both running away: to which they added, what I entirely agreed with them in, that the Crown of France was very weak, but that the Mareschal Villars still kept his colours. At last one of them told the company, if they would go along with him, he would show them a chimney-sweeper and a painted lady in the same bed, which he was sure would very much please them. The shower which had driven them, as well as myself, into the house, was now over: and as they were passing by me into the garden, I asked them to let me be one of their company.

The gentleman of the house told me, if I delighted in flowers, it would be worth my while, for that he believed he could show me such a blow of tulips as was not to be matched in the whole country.

I accepted the offer, and immediately found that they had been talking in terms of gardening, and that the kings and generals they had mentioned were only so many tulips, to which the gardeners, according to their usual custom, had given such high titles and appellations of honour.

I was very much pleased and astonished at the glorious show of these gay vegetables, that arose in great profusion on all the banks about us. Sometimes I considered them with the eye of an ordinary spectator as so many beautiful objects, varnished over with a natural gloss, and stained with such a variety of colours as are not to be equalled in any artificial dyes or tinctures. Sometimes I considered every leaf as an elaborate piece of tissue, in which the threads and fibres were woven together into different configurations, which gave a different colouring to the light as it glanced on the several parts of the surface. Sometimes I considered the whole bed of tulips, according to the notion of the greatest mathematician and philosopher that ever lived,⁶⁹ as a multitude of optic instruments, designed for the separating light into all those various colours of which it is composed.

I was awakened out of these my philosophical speculations, by observing the company often seemed to laugh at me. I accidentally praised a tulip as one of the finest that I ever saw; upon which they told me, it was a common fool's-coat. Upon that I praised a second, which it seems was but another kind of fool's-coat. I had the same fate with two or three more; for which reason I desired the owner of the garden to let me know which were the finest of the flowers, for that I was so unskilful in the art, that I thought the most beautiful were the most valuable, and that those which had the gayest colours were the most beautiful. The gentleman smiled at my ignorance: he seemed a very plain honest man, and a person of good sense, had not his head been touched with that distemper which Hippocrates calls the Τυλιππομανια (Tulippomania); insomuch that he would talk very rationally on any subject in the world but a tulip.

He told me, that he valued the bed of flowers which lay before us, and was not above twenty yards in length, and two in breadth, more than he would the best hundred acres of land in England; and added, that it would have been worth twice the money it is, if a foolish cook-maid of his had not almost ruined him the last winter, by mistaking a handful of tulip-roots for a heap of onions, "and by that means," says he, "made me a dish of porridge, that cost me above £1000 sterling." He then showed me what he thought the finest of his tulips, which I found received all their value from their rarity and oddness, and put me in mind of your great fortunes, which are not always the greatest beauties.

I have often looked upon it as a piece of happiness, that I have never fallen into any of these fantastical tastes, nor esteemed anything the more for its being uncommon and hard to be met with. For this reason, I look upon the whole country in spring-time as a spacious garden, and make as many visits to a spot of daisies, or a bank of violets, as a florist does to his borders and parterres. There is not a bush in blossom within a mile of me which I am not acquainted with, nor scarce a daffodil or cowslip that withers away in my neighbourhood without my missing it. I walked home in this temper of mind through several fields and meadows with an unspeakable pleasure, not without reflecting on the bounty of Providence, which has made the most pleasing and most beautiful objects the most ordinary and most common.

No. 219. [? Steele. ⁷⁰
From Thursday, Aug. 31, to Saturday, Sept. 2, 1710

 
– Solutos
Qui captat risus hominum famamque dicacis…
Affectat, niger est, hunc tu, Romane, caveto.
 

Hor., 1 Sat. iv. 82.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 1

Never were men so perplexed as a select company of us were this evening with a couple of possessed wits, who through our ill fortune, and their own confidence, had thought fit to pin themselves upon a gentleman who had owned to them that he was going to meet such and such persons, and named us one by one. These pert puppies immediately resolved to come with him, and from the beginning to the end of the night entertained each other with impertinences, to which we were perfect strangers. I am come home very much tired; for the affliction was so irksome to me, that it surpasses all other I ever knew, insomuch that I cannot reflect upon this sorrow with pleasure, though it is past.

An easy manner of conversation is the most desirable quality a man can have; and for that reason coxcombs will take upon them to be familiar with people whom they never saw before. What adds to the vexation of it is, that they will act upon the foot of knowing you by fame, and rally with you, as they call it, by repeating what your enemies say of you; and court you, as they think, by uttering to your face at a wrong time all the kind things your friends speak of you in your absence.

These people are the more dreadful, the more they have of what is usually called wit: for a lively imagination, when it is not governed by a good understanding, makes such miserable havoc both in conversation and business, that it lays you defenceless, and fearful to throw the least word in its way that may give it new matter for its further errors.

Tom Mercett has as quick a fancy as any one living; but there is no reasonable man can bear him half-an-hour. His purpose is to entertain, and it is of no consequence to him what is said, so it be what is called well said; as if a man must bear a wound with patience, because he that pushed at you came up with a good air and mien. That part of life which we spend in company, is the most pleasing of all our moments; and therefore I think our behaviour in it should have its laws as well as the part of our being which is generally esteemed the more important. From hence it is, that from long experience I have made it a maxim, that however we may pretend to take satisfaction in sprightly mirth and high jollity, there is no great pleasure in any company where the basis of the society is not mutual good-will. When this is in the room, every trifling circumstance, the most minute accident, the absurdity of a servant, the repetition of an old story, the look of a man when he is telling it, the most indifferent and the most ordinary occurrences, are matters which produce mirth and good-humour. I went to spend an hour after this manner with some friends who enjoy it in perfection whenever they meet, when those destroyers above-mentioned came in upon us. There is not a man among them has any notion of distinction of superiority to one another, either in their fortunes or their talents, when they are in company. Or if any reflection to the contrary occurs in their thoughts, it only strikes a delight upon their minds, that so much wisdom and power is in possession of one whom they love and esteem.

In these my Lucubrations, I have frequently dwelt upon this one topic. It would make short work for us reformers, for it is only want of making this a position that renders some characters bad which would otherwise be good. Tom Mercett means no man ill, but does ill to everybody. His ambition is to be witty; and to carry on that design, he breaks through all things that other people hold sacred. If he thought wit was no way to be used but to the advantage of society, that sprightliness would have a new turn, and we should expect what he is going to say with satisfaction instead of fear. It is no excuse for being mischievous, that a man is mischievous without malice: nor will it be thought an atonement that the ill was done not to injure the party concerned, but to divert the indifferent.

It is, methinks, a very great error that we should not profess honesty in conversation as much as in commerce. If we consider that there is no greater misfortune than to be ill received where we love the turning a man to ridicule among his friends, we rob him of greater enjoyments than he could have purchased by his wealth; yet he that laughs at him, would perhaps be the last man who would hurt him in this case of less consequence. It has been said, the history of Don Quixote utterly destroyed the spirit of gallantry in the Spanish nation; and I believe we may say much more truly, that the humour of ridicule has done as much injury to the true relish of company in England.

Such satisfactions as arise from the secret comparison of ourselves to others, with relation to their inferior fortunes or merit, are mean and unworthy. The true and high state of conversation is when men communicate their thoughts to each other upon such subjects, and in such a manner, as would be pleasant if there were no such thing as folly in the world; for it is but a low condition of wit in one man which depends upon folly in another.

P.S.– I was here interrupted by the receipt of my letters, among which is one from a lady, who is not a little offended at my translation of the discourse between Adam and Eve.⁷¹ She pretends to tell me my own, as she calls it, and quotes several passages in my works which tend to the utter disunion of man and wife. Her epistle will best express her. I have made an extract of it, and shall insert the most material passages:

"I suppose you know we women are not too apt to forgive: for which reason, before you concern yourself any further with our sex, I would advise you to answer what is said against you by those of your own. I enclose to you business enough till you are ready for your promise of being witty. You must not expect to say what you please without admitting others to take the same liberty. Marry come up! You a censor? Pray read over all these pamphlets, and these notes⁷² upon your Lucubrations; by that time you shall hear further. It is, I suppose, from such as you that people learn to be censorious, for which I and all our sex have an utter aversion, when once people come to take the liberty to wound reputations – "

This is the main body of the letter; but she bids me turn over, and there I find:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"If you will draw Mrs. Sissy Trippit according to the enclosed description, I will forgive you all."

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. "The humble Petition of Joshua Fairlove of Stepney:

"Showeth – That your petitioner is a general lover, who for some months last past has made it his whole business to frequent the bypaths and roads near his dwelling, for no other purpose but to hand such of the fair sex as are obliged to pass through them.

"That he has been at great expense for clean gloves to offer his hand with.

"That towards the evening he approaches near London, and employs himself as a convoy towards home.

"Your petitioner, therefore, most humbly prays, that for such his humble services, he may be allowed the title of an esquire."

Mr. Morphew has orders to carry the proper instruments, and the petitioner is to be hereafter written to upon gilt paper, by the title of Joshua Fairlove, Esq.

No. 220. [Addison.
From Saturday, Sept. 2, to Tuesday, Sept. 5, 1710

 
Insani sapiens nomen ferat, æquus iniqui,
Ultra quam satis est, virtutem si petat ipsam.
 

Hor., I Ep. vi. 15.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 4

Having received many letters filled with compliments and acknowledgments for my late useful discovery of the Political Barometer,⁷³ I shall here communicate to the public an account of my Ecclesiastical Thermometer, the latter giving as manifest prognostications of the changes and revolutions in Church as the former does of those in State, and both of them being absolutely necessary for every prudent subject who is resolved to keep what he has, and get what he can.

The Church thermometer, which I am now to treat of, is supposed to have been invented in the reign of Henry the Eighth, about the time when that religious prince put some to death for owning the Pope's supremacy, and others for denying transubstantiation. I do not find, however, any great use made of this instrument till it fell into the hands of a learned and vigilant priest or minister (for he frequently wrote himself both one and the other), who was some time Vicar of Bray. This gentleman lived in his vicarage to a good old age; and after having seen several successions of his neighbouring clergy either burnt or banished, departed this life with the satisfaction of having never deserted his flock, and died Vicar of Bray. As this glass was first designed to calculate the different degrees of heat in religion, as it raged in Popery, or as it cooled and grew temperate in the Reformation, it was marked at several distances, after the manner our ordinary thermometer is to this day, viz., Extreme Hot, Sultry Hot, Very Hot, Hot, Warm, Temperate, Cold, Just Freezing, Frost, Hard Frost, Great Frost, Extreme Cold.

It is well known, that Toricellius, the inventor of the common weather-glass, made the experiment in a long tube which held thirty-two feet of water; and that a more modern virtuoso finding such a machine altogether unwieldy and useless, and considering that thirty-two inches of quicksilver weighed as much as so many feet of water in a tube of the same circumference, invented that sizable instrument which is now in use. After this manner, that I might adapt the thermometer I am now speaking of to the present constitution of our Church, as divided into High and Low, I have made some necessary variations both in the tube and the fluid it contains. In the first place, I ordered a tube to be cast in a planetary hour, and took care to seal it hermetically, when the sun was in conjunction with Saturn. I then took the proper precautions about the fluid, which is a compound of two very different liquors: one of them a spirit drawn out of a strong heady wine; the other a particular sort of rock water, colder than ice, and clearer than crystal. The spirit is of a red fiery colour, and so very apt to ferment, that unless it be mingled with a proportion of the water, or pent up very close, it will burst the vessel that holds it, and fly up in fume and smoke. The water, on the contrary, is of such a subtle piercing cold, that unless it be mingled with a proportion of the spirits, it will sink through almost everything that it is put into, and seems to be of the same nature as the water mentioned by Quintus Curtius, which, says the historian, could be contained in nothing but in the hoof or (as the Oxford manuscript has it) in the skull of an ass. The thermometer is marked according to the following figure, which I set down at length, not only to give my reader a clear idea of it, but also to fill up my paper.

Ignorance.

Persecution.

Wrath.

Zeal.

Church.

Moderation.

Lukewarmness.

Infidelity.

Ignorance.

The reader will observe, that the Church is placed in the middle point of the glass, between Zeal and Moderation, the situation in which she always flourishes, and in which every good Englishman wishes her who is a friend to the constitution of his country. However, when it mounts to Zeal, it is not amiss; and when it sinks to Moderation, is still in a most admirable temper. The worst of it is, that when once it begins to rise, it has still an inclination to ascend, insomuch that it is apt to climb from Zeal to Wrath, and from Wrath to Persecution, which always ends in Ignorance, and very often proceeds from it. In the same manner it frequently takes its progress through the lower half of the glass; and when it has a tendency to fall, will gradually descend from Moderation to Lukewarmness, and from Lukewarmness to Infidelity, which very often terminates in Ignorance, and always proceeds from it.

It is a common observation, that the ordinary thermometer will be affected by the breathing of people who are in the room where it stands; and indeed, it is almost incredible to conceive how the glass I am now describing will fall by the breath of a multitude crying "Popery"; or on the contrary, how it will rise when the same multitude (as it sometimes happens) cry out in the same breath, "The Church is in danger."

As soon as I had finished this my glass, and adjusted it to the above-mentioned scale of religion, that I might make proper experiments with it, I carried it under my cloak to several coffee-houses, and other places of resort about this great city. At St. James's Coffee-house, the liquor stood at Moderation; but at Will's, to my extreme surprise, it subsided to the very lowest mark on the glass. At the Grecian, it mounted but just one point higher; at the Rainbow,⁷⁴ it still ascended two degrees: Child's fetched it up to Zeal, and other adjacent coffee-houses to Wrath.

It fell into the lower half of the glass as I went farther into the city, till at length it settled at Moderation, where it continued all the time I stayed about the 'Change, as also whilst I passed by the Bank. And here I cannot but take notice, that through the whole course of my remarks, I never observed my glass to rise at the same time that the stocks did.

To complete the experiment, I prevailed upon a friend of mine, who works under me in the occult sciences, to make a progress with my glass through the whole island of Great Britain; and after his return, to present me with a register of his observations. I guessed beforehand at the temper of several places he passed through, by the characters they have had time out of mind. Thus that facetious divine, Dr. Fuller, speaking of the town of Banbury near a hundred years ago, tells us, it was a place famous for cakes and zeal, which I find by my glass is true to this day as to the latter part of this description; though I must confess, it is not in the same reputation for cakes that it was in the time of that learned author; and thus of other places. In short, I have now by me, digested in an alphabetical order, all the counties, corporations, and boroughs in Great Britain, with their respective tempers, as they stand related to my thermometer: but this I shall keep to myself, because I would by no means do anything that may seem to influence any ensuing elections.

The point of doctrine which I would propagate by this my invention, is the same which was long ago advanced by that able teacher Horace, out of whom I have taken my text for this discourse: we should be careful not to overshoot ourselves in the pursuits even of virtue. Whether zeal or moderation be the point we aim at, let us keep fire out of the one, and frost out of the other. But alas! the world is too wise to want such a precaution. The terms High Church and Low Church, as commonly used, do not so much denote a principle, as they distinguish a party. They are like words of battle, that have nothing to do with their original signification, but are only given out to keep a body of men together, and to let them know friends from enemies.

I must confess, I have considered with some little attention the influence which the opinions of these great national sects have upon their practice; and do look upon it as one of the unaccountable things of our times, that multitudes of honest gentlemen, who entirely agree in their lives, should take it in their heads to differ in their religion.

No. 221. [? Addison. ⁷⁵
From Tuesday, Sept. 5, to Thursday, Sept. 7, 1710

 
– Sicut meus est mos,
Nescio quid meditans nugarum; totus in illis.
 

Hor., 1 Sat. ix. 1.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 6

As I was this morning going out of my house, a little boy in a black coat delivered to me the following letter. Upon asking who he was, he told me, that he belonged to my Lady Gimcrack. I did not at first recollect the name; but upon inquiry, found it to be the widow of Sir Nicholas, whose legacy I lately gave some account of to the world.⁷⁶ The letter ran thus:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I hope you will not be surprised to receive a letter from the Widow Gimcrack. You know, sir, that I have lately lost a very whimsical husband, who I find, by one of your last week's papers, was not altogether a stranger to you. When I married this gentleman, he had a very handsome estate; but upon buying a set of microscopes, he was chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society; from which time I do not remember ever to have heard him speak as other people did, or talk in a manner that any of his family could understand him. He used, however, to pass away his time very innocently in conversation with several members of that learned body; for which reason I never advised him against their company for several years, till at last I found his brain was quite turned with their discourses. The first symptom which he discovered of his being a virtuoso, as you call him, poor man! was about fifteen years ago, when he gave me positive orders to turn off an old weeding-woman that had been employed in the family for several years. He told me at the same time, that there was no such thing in nature as a weed, and that it was his design to let his garden produce what it pleased; so that you may be sure it makes a very pleasant show as it now lies. About the same time he took a humour to ramble up and down the country, and would often bring home with him his pockets full of moss and pebbles. This you may be sure gave me a heavy heart; though at the same time I must needs say, he had the character of a very honest man, notwithstanding he was reckoned a little weak, till he began to sell his estate, and buy those strange baubles that you have taken notice of. Upon Midsummer-day last, as he was walking with me in the fields, he saw a very odd-coloured butterfly just before us. I observed, that he immediately changed colour, like a man that is surprised with a piece of good luck, and telling me that it was what he had looked for above these twelve years, he threw off his coat, and followed it. I lost sight of them both in less than a quarter of an hour; but my husband continued the chase over hedge and ditch till about sunset; at which time, as I was afterwards told, he caught the butterfly, as she rested herself upon a cabbage, near five miles from the place where he first put her up. He was here lifted from the ground by some passengers in a very fainting condition, and brought home to me about midnight. His violent exercise threw him into a fever, which grew upon him by degrees, and at last carried him off. In one of the intervals of his distemper, he called to me, and after having excused himself for running out of his estate, he told me, that he had always been more industrious to improve his mind than his fortune; and that his family must rather value themselves upon his memory as he was a wise man, than a rich one. He then told me, that it was a custom among the Romans, for a man to give his slaves their liberty when he lay upon his death-bed. I could not imagine what this meant, till after having a little composed himself, he ordered me to bring him a flea which he had kept for several months in a chain, with a design, as he said, to give it its manumission. This was done accordingly. He then made the will, which I have since seen printed in your works word for word. Only I must take notice, that you have omitted the codicil, in which he left a large Concha Veneris, as it is there called, to a member of the Royal Society, who was often with him in his sickness, and assisted him in his will. And now, sir, I come to the chief business of my letter, which is, to desire your friendship and assistance in the disposal of those many rarities and curiosities which lie upon my hands. If you know any one that has an occasion for a parcel of dried spiders, I will sell them a pennyworth.⁷⁷ I could likewise let any one have a bargain of cockle-shells. I would also desire your advice, whether I had best sell my beetles in a lump, or by retail. The gentleman above mentioned, who was my husband's friend, would have me make an auction of all his goods, and is now drawing up a catalogue of every particular for that purpose, with the two following words in great letters over the head of them, Auctio Gimcrackiana. But upon talking with him, I begin to suspect he is as mad as poor Sir Nicholas was. Your advice in all these particulars will be a great piece of charity to,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"Elizabeth Gimcrack."

I shall answer the foregoing letter, and give the widow my best advice, as soon as I can find out chapmen for the wares which she has to put off. In the meantime, I shall give my reader the sight of a letter which I have received from another female correspondent by the same post.

"Good Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I am convinced by a late paper of yours,⁷⁸ that a passionate woman (which among the common people goes under the name of a scold) is one of the most insupportable creatures in the world. But alas! sir, what can we do? I have made a thousand vows and resolutions every morning to guard myself against this frailty, but have generally broken them before dinner, and could never in my life hold out till the second course was set upon the table. What most troubles me is, that my husband is as patient and good-natured as your own Worship, or any man living can be. Pray give me some directions, for I would observe the strictest and severest rules you can think of to cure myself of this distemper, which is apt to fall into my tongue every moment. I am,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant, &c."

In answer to this most unfortunate lady, I must acquaint her, that there is now in town an ingenious physician of my acquaintance, who undertakes to cure all the vices and defects of the mind by inward medicines, or outward applications. I shall give the world an account of his patients and his cures in other papers, when I shall be more at leisure to treat upon this subject. I shall only here inform my correspondent, that for the benefit of such ladies that are troubled with virulent tongues, he has prepared a cold bath, over which there is fastened, at the end of a long pole, a very convenient chair, curiously gilt and carved. When the patient is seated in this chair, the doctor lifts up the pole, and gives her two or three total immersions in the cold bath, till such time as she has quite lost the use of speech. This operation so effectually chills the tongue, and refrigerates the blood, that a woman, who at her entrance into the chair is extremely passionate and sonorous, will come out as silent and gentle as a lamb. The doctor told me, he would not practise this experiment upon women of fashion, had not he seen it made upon those of meaner condition with very good effect.

No. 222. [? Addison. ⁷⁹
From Thursday, Sept. 7, to Saturday, Sept. 9, 1710

 
– Chrysidis udas
Ebrius ante fores extincta cum face cantat.
 

Persius, Sat. v. 165.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 8

Whereas by letters from Nottingham we have advice, that the young ladies of that place complain for want of sleep, by reason of certain riotous lovers, who for this last summer have very much infested the streets of that eminent city with violins and bass-viols, between the hours of twelve and four in the morning, to the great disturbance of many of her Majesty's peaceable subjects. And whereas I have been importuned to publish some edict against these midnight alarms, which, under the name of serenades, do greatly annoy many well-disposed persons, not only in the place above mentioned, but also in most of the polite towns of this island.

I have taken that matter into my serious consideration, and do find, that this custom is by no means to be indulged in this country and climate.

It is indeed very unaccountable, that most of our British youth should take such great delight in these nocturnal expeditions. Your robust true-born Briton, that has not yet felt the force of flames and darts, has a natural inclination to break windows; while those whose natural ruggedness has been soothed and softened by gentle passion, have as strong a propensity to languish under them, especially if they have a fiddler behind them to utter their complaints: for as the custom prevails at present, there is scarce a young man of any fashion in a corporation who does not make love with the town music. The waits often help him through his courtship; and my friend Mr. Banister⁸⁰ has told me, he was proffered five hundred pounds by a young fellow to play but for one winter under the window of a lady that was a great fortune, but more cruel than ordinary. One would think they hoped to conquer their mistresses' hearts as people tame hawks and eagles, by keeping them awake, or breaking their sleep when they are fallen into it.

I have endeavoured to search into the original of this impertinent way of making love, which, according to some authors, is of great antiquity. If we may believe Monsieur Dacier and other critics, Horace's tenth ode of the third book was originally a serenade. And if I was disposed to show my learning, I could produce a line of him in another place, which seems to have been the burthen of an old heathen serenade.

 
-Audis minus et minus jam:
"Me tuo longas pereunte noctes,
Lydia, dormis?"⁸¹
 

But notwithstanding the opinions of many learned men upon this subject, I rather agree with them who look upon this custom, as now practised, to have been introduced by castrated musicians, who found out this way of applying themselves to their mistresses at these hours, when men of hoarser voices express their passions in a more vulgar method. It must be confessed, that your Italian eunuchs do practise this manner of courtship to this day.

But whoever were the persons that first thought of the serenade, the authors of all countries are unanimous in ascribing the invention to Italy.

There are two circumstances which qualified that country above all other for this midnight music.

The first I shall mention, was the softness of their climate.

This gave the lover opportunities of being abroad in the air, or of lying upon the earth whole hours together, without fear of damps or dews; but as for our tramontane lovers, when they begin their midnight complaint with,

 
My lodging it is on the cold ground, ⁸²
 

we are not to understand them in the rigour of the letter, since it would be impossible for a British swain to condole himself long in that situation without really dying for his mistress. A man might as well serenade in Greenland as in our region. Milton seems to have had in his thoughts the absurdity of these Northern serenades in the censure which he passes upon them:

 
– Or midnight ball,
Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. ⁸³
 

The truth of it is, I have often pitied, in a winter night, a vocal musician, and have attributed many of his trills and quavers to the coldness of the weather.

The second circumstance which inclined the Italians to this custom, was that musical genius which is so universal among them. Nothing is more frequent in that country than to hear a cobbler working to an opera tune. You can scarce see a porter that has not one nail much longer than the rest, which you will find, upon inquiry, is cherished for some instrument. In short, there is not a labourer, or handicraft-man, that in the cool of the evening does not relieve himself with solos and sonatas.

The Italian soothes his mistress with a plaintive voice, and bewails himself in such melting music that the whole neighbourhood sympathises with him in his sorrow:

 
Qualis populea mœrens Philomela sub umbra …
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen
Integrat, et mœstis late loca questibus implet. ⁸⁴
 

On the contrary, our honest countrymen have so little an inclination to music, that they seldom begin to sing till they are drunk, which also is usually the time when they are most disposed to serenade.

No. 223. [? Steele. ⁸⁵
From Saturday, Sept. 9, to Tuesday, Sept. 12, 1710

 
For when upon their ungot heirs,
Th' entail themselves and all that's theirs,
What blinder bargain e'er was driven,
Or wager laid at six and seven,
To pass themselves away, and turn
Their children's tenants ere they're born?
 

– Hudibras.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 11

I have been very much solicited by Clarinda, Flavia, and Lysetta, to reassume my discourse concerning the methods of disposing honourably the unmarried part of the world,⁸⁶ and taking off those bars to it, jointures and settlements, which are not only the greatest impediments towards entering into that state, but also the frequent causes of distrust and animosity in it after it is consummated. I have with very much attention considered the case; and among all the observations that I have made through a long course of years, I have thought the coldness of wives to their husbands, as well as disrespect from children to parents, to arise from this one source. This trade for minds and bodies in the lump, without regard to either, but as they are accompanied with such sums of money, and such parcels of land, cannot but produce a commerce between the parties concerned suitable to the mean motives upon which they at first came together. I have heretofore given an account that this method of making settlements was first invented by a griping lawyer, who made use of the covetous tempers of the parents of each side to force two young people into these vile measures of diffidence, for no other end but to increase the skins of parchment, by which they were put into each other's possession out of each other's power. The law of our country has given an ample and generous provision for the wife, even the third of the husband's estate, and left to her good-humour and his gratitude the expectation of further provision; but the fantastical method of going further, with relation to their heirs, has a foundation in nothing but pride and folly: for as all men wish their children as like themselves, and as much better as they can possibly, it seems monstrous that we should give out of ourselves the opportunities of rewarding and discouraging them according to their deserts. This wise institution has no more sense in it than if a man should begin a deed with, "Whereas no man living knows how long he shall continue to be a reasonable creature, or an honest man: and whereas I B. am going to enter in the state of matrimony with Mrs. D., therefore I shall from henceforth make it indifferent to me whether from this time forward I shall be a fool or a knave: and therefore in full and perfect health of body, and as sound mind, not knowing which of my children will prove better or worse, I give to my first-born, be he perverse, ungrateful, impious, or cruel, the lump and bulk of my estate, and leave one year's purchase only to each of my younger children, whether they shall be brave or beautiful, modest or honourable, from the time of the date hereof wherein I resign my senses, and hereby promise to employ my judgment no further in the distribution of my worldly goods from the day of the date hereof, hereby further confessing and covenanting, that I am from henceforth married and dead in law."

There is no man that is conversant in modern settlements, but knows this is an exact translation of what is inserted in these instruments. Men's passions could only make them submit to such terms; and therefore all unreasonable bargains in marriage ought to be set aside, as well as deeds extorted from men under force or in prison, who are altogether as much masters of their actions as he that is possessed with a violent passion.

How strangely men are sometimes partial to themselves appears by the rapine of him that has a daughter's beauty under his direction. He will make no scruple of using it to force from her lover as much of his estate as is worth £10,000, and at the same time, as a Justice on the Bench, will spare no pains to get a man hanged that has taken but a horse from him.

It is to be hoped the Legislature will in due time take this kind of robbery into consideration, and not suffer men to prey upon each other when they are about making the most solemn league, and entering into the strictest bonds. The only sure remedy is to fix a certain rate on every woman's fortune; one price for that of a maid, and another for a widow: for it is of infinite advantage, that there should be no frauds or uncertainties in the sale of our women.

If any man should exceed the settled rate, he ought to be at liberty after seven years are over (by which time his love may be supposed to abate a little, if it is not founded upon reason) to renounce the bargain, and be freed from the settlement upon restoring the portion; as a youth married under fourteen years old may be off if he pleases when he comes to that age, and as a man is discharged from all bargains but that of marriage made when he is under twenty-one.

It grieves me when I consider, that these restraints upon matrimony take away the advantage we should otherwise have over other countries, which are sunk much by those great checks upon propagation, the convents. It is thought chiefly owing to these that Italy and Spain want above half their complement of people. Were the price of wives always fixed and settled, it would contribute to filling the nation more than all the encouragements that can possibly be given to foreigners to transplant themselves hither.

I therefore, as censor of Britain, till a law is made, will lay down rules which shall be observed with penalty of degrading all that break them into Pretty Fellows, Smarts, Squibs, Hunting-Horns, Drums, and Bagpipes.

The females that are guilty of breaking my orders I shall respectively pronounce to be Kits, Hornpipes, Dulcimers, and Kettle-drums. Such widows as wear the spoils of one husband I will bury if they attempt to rob another.

I ordain, that no woman ever demand one shilling to be paid after her husband's death, more than the very sum she brings him, or an equivalent for it in land.

That no settlement be made, in which the man settles on his children more than the reversion of the jointure, or the value of it in money; so that at his death he may in the whole be bound to pay his family but double to what he has received. I would have the eldest, as well as the rest, have his provision out of this.

When men are not able to come up to those settlements I have proposed, I would have them receive so much of the portion only as they can come up to, and the rest to go to the woman by way of pin-money, or separate maintenance. In this, I think, I determined equally between the two sexes.

If any lawyer varies from these rules, or is above two days in drawing a marriage settlement, or uses more words in it than one skin of parchment will contain, or takes above five pounds for drawing it, I would have him thrown over the bar.

Were these rules observed, a woman with a small fortune, and a great deal of worth, would be sure to marry according to her deserts, if the man's estate were to be less encumbered in proportion as her fortune is less than he might have with others.

A man of a great deal of merit, and not much estate, might be chosen for his worth; because it would not be difficult for him to make a settlement.

The man that loves a woman best, would not lose her for not being able to bid so much as another, or for not complying with an extravagant demand.

A fine woman would no more be set up to auction as she is now. When a man puts in for her, her friends or herself take care to publish it; and the man that was the first bidder is made no other use of but to raise the price. He that loves her, will continue in waiting as long as she pleases (if her fortune be thought equal to his), and under pretence of some failure in the rent-roll, or difficulties in drawing the settlement, he is put off till a better bargain is made with another.

All the rest of the sex that are not rich or beautiful to the highest degree are plainly gainers, and would be married so fast, that the least charming of them would soon grow beauties to the bachelors.

Widows might be easily married, if they would not, as they do now, set up for discreet, only by being mercenary.

The making matrimony cheap and easy, would be the greatest discouragement to vice: the limiting the expense of children would not make men ill inclined, or afraid of having them in a regular way; and the men of merit would not live unmarried, as they often do now, because the goodness of a wife cannot be insured to them; but the loss of an estate is certain, and a man would never have the affliction of a worthless heir added to that of a bad wife.

I am the more serious, large, and particular on this subject, because my Lucubrations designed for the encouragement of virtue cannot have the desired success as long as this encumbrance of settlements continues upon matrimony.

No. 224. [Addison.
From Tuesday, Sept. 12, to Thursday, Sept. 14, 1710

Materiam superabat opus. – Ovid, Met. ii. 5.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 13

It is my custom, in a dearth of news, to entertain myself with those collections of advertisements that appear at the end of all our public prints.⁸⁷ These I consider as accounts of news from the little world, in the same manner that the foregoing parts of the paper are from the great. If in one we hear that a sovereign prince is fled from his capital city, in the other we hear of a tradesman who hath shut up his shop, and run away. If in one we find the victory of a general, in the other we see the desertion of a private soldier. I must confess, I have a certain weakness in my temper that is often very much affected by these little domestic occurrences, and have frequently been caught with tears in my eyes over a melancholy advertisement.

But to consider this subject in its most ridiculous lights, advertisements are of great use to the vulgar: first of all, as they are instruments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a plenipotentiary, or a running-footman with an ambassador. An advertisement from Piccadilly⁸⁸ goes down to posterity with an article from Madrid; and John Bartlet⁸⁹ of Goodman's Fields is celebrated in the same paper with the Emperor of Germany. Thus the fable tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon his back.

A second use which this sort of writings have been turned to of late years, has been the management of controversy, insomuch that above half the advertisements one meets with nowadays are purely polemical. The inventors of Strops for Razors⁹⁰ have written against one another this way for several years, and that with great bitterness; as the whole argument pro and con in the case of the Morning-gowns⁹¹ is still carried on after the same manner. I need not mention the several proprietors of Dr. Anderson's pills;⁹² nor take notice of the many satirical works of this nature so frequently published by Dr. Clark,⁹³ who has had the confidence to advertise upon that learned knight, my very worthy friend, Sir William Read.⁹⁴ But I shall not interpose in their quarrel; Sir William can give him his own in advertisements, that, in the judgment of the impartial, are as well penned as the doctor's.

The third and last use of these writings is, to inform the world where they may be furnished with almost everything that is necessary for life. If a man has pains in his head, colics in his bowels, or spots in his clothes, he may here meet with proper cures and remedies. If a man would recover a wife or a horse that is stolen or strayed; if he wants new sermons, electuaries,⁹⁵ ass's milk,⁹⁶ or anything else, either for his body or his mind, this is the place to look for them in.

The great art in writing advertisements, is the finding out a proper method to catch the reader's eye; without which, a good thing may pass over unobserved, or be lost among commissions of bankrupt. Asterisks and hands were formerly of great use for this purpose. Of late years, the N.B. has been much in fashion; as also little cuts and figures, the invention of which we must ascribe to the author of Spring Trusses. I must not here omit the blind Italian character, which being scarce legible, always fixes and detains the eye, and gives the curious reader something like the satisfaction of prying into a secret.

But the great skill in an advertiser is chiefly seen in the style which he makes use of. He is to mention the universal esteem, or general reputation, of things that were never heard of. If he is a physician or astrologer, he must change his lodgings frequently, and (though he never saw anybody in them besides his own family) give public notice of it, for the information of the nobility and gentry. Since I am thus usefully employed in writing criticisms on the works of these diminutive authors, I must not pass over in silence an advertisement which has lately made its appearance, and is written altogether in a Ciceronian manner. It was sent to me, with five shillings, to be inserted among my advertisements; but as it is a pattern of good writing in this way, I shall give it a place in the body of my paper:

"The highest compounded spirit of lavender, the most glorious (if the expression may be used) enlivening scent and flavour that can possibly be, which so raptures the spirits, delights the gust, and gives such airs to the countenance, as are not to be imagined but by those that have tried it. The meanest sort of the thing is admired by most gentlemen and ladies; but this far more, as by far it exceeds it, to the gaining among all a more than common esteem. It is sold (in neat flint bottles fit for the pocket) only at the Golden Key, in Warton's Court, near Holborn Bars, for 3s. 6d. with directions."

At the same time that I recommend the several flowers in which this spirit of lavender is wrapped up (if the expression may be used), I cannot excuse my fellow-labourers for admitting into their papers several uncleanly advertisements, not at all proper to appear in the works of polite writers. Among these I must reckon the Carminative Wind-expelling Pills.⁹⁷ If the doctor had called them only his carminative pills, he had been as cleanly as one could have wished; but the second word entirely destroys the decency of the first. There are other absurdities of this nature so very gross, that I dare not mention them; and shall therefore dismiss this subject, with a public admonition to Michael Parrot,⁹⁸ that he do not presume any more to mention a certain worm he knows of, which, by the way, has grown seven foot in my memory; for, if I am not much mistaken, it is the same that was but nine foot long about six months ago.

By the remarks I have here made, it plainly appears, that a collection of advertisements is a kind of miscellany; the writers of which, contrary to all authors, except men of quality, give money to the booksellers who publish their copies. The genius of the bookseller is chiefly shown in his method of ranging and digesting these little tracts. The last paper I took up in my hands, places them in the following order:

The True Spanish Blacking for Shoes, &c.⁹⁹

The Beautifying Cream for the Face, &c.¹⁰⁰

Pease and Plaisters, &c. Nectar and Ambrosia, &c.¹⁰¹

Four Freehold Tenements of £15 per Annum, &c.¹⁰²

⁂ "The Present State of England," &c.¹⁰³

†‡† "Annotations upon the Tatler," &c.¹⁰⁴

A Commission of Bankrupt being awarded against B. L., Bookseller, &c.¹⁰⁵

No. 225. [Steele.
From Thursday, Sept. 14, to Saturday, Sept. 16, 1710

 
– Si quid novisti rectius istis,
Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.
 

Hor., 1 Ep. vi. 67.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 15

The hours which we spend in conversation are the most pleasing of any which we enjoy; yet, methinks, there is very little care taken to improve ourselves for the frequent repetition of them. The common fault in this case, is that of growing too intimate, and falling into displeasing familiarities: for it is a very ordinary thing for men to make no other use of a close acquaintance with each other's affairs, but to tease one another with unacceptable allusions. One would pass over patiently such as converse like animals, and salute each other with bangs on the shoulder, sly raps with canes, or other robust pleasantries practised by the rural gentry of this nation: but even among those who should have more polite ideas of things, you see a set of people who invert the design of conversation, and make frequent mention of ungrateful subjects; nay, mention them because they are ungrateful; as if the perfection of society were in knowing how to offend on the one part, and how to bear an offence on the other. In all parts of this populous town you find the merry world made up of an active and a passive companion; one who has good-nature enough to suffer all his friend shall think fit to say, and one who is resolved to make the most of his good-humour to show his parts. In the trading part of mankind, I have ever observed the jest went by the weight of purses, and the ridicule is made up by the gains which arise from it. Thus the packer allows the clothier to say what he pleases, and the broker has his countenance ready to laugh with the merchant, though the abuse is to fall on himself, because he knows that, as a go-between, he shall find his account in being in the good graces of a man of wealth. Among these just and punctual people, the richest man is ever the better jester; and they know no such thing as a person who shall pretend to a superior laugh at a man, who does not make him amends by opportunities of advantage in another kind: but among people of a different way, where the pretended distinction in company is only what is raised from sense and understanding, it is very absurd to carry on a rough raillery so far, as that the whole discourse should turn upon each other's infirmities, follies, or misfortunes.

I was this evening with a set of wags of this class. They appear generally by two and two; and what is most extraordinary, is, that those very persons who are most together, appear least of a mind when joined by other company. This evil proceeds from an indiscreet familiarity, whereby a man is allowed to say the most grating thing imaginable to another, and it shall be accounted weakness to show an impatience for the unkindness. But this and all other deviations from the design of pleasing each other when we meet, are derived from interlopers in society, who want capacity to put in a stock among regular companions, and therefore supply their wants by stale histories, sly observations, and rude hints, which relate to the conduct of others. All cohabitants in general run into this unhappy fault; men and their wives break into reflections which are like so much Arabic to the rest of the company; sisters and brothers often make the like figure from the same unjust sense of the art of being intimate and familiar. It is often said, such a one cannot stand the mention of such a circumstance: if he cannot, I am sure it is for want of discourse, or a worse reason, that any companion of his touches upon it.

Familiarity, among the truly well-bred, never gives authority to trespass upon one another in the most minute circumstance, but it allows to be kinder than we ought otherwise presume to be. Eusebius has wit, humour, and spirit; but there never was a man in his company who wished he had less, for he understands familiarity so well, that he knows how to make use of it in a way that neither makes himself or his friend contemptible; but if any one is lessened by his freedom, it is he himself, who always likes the place, the diet, and the reception, when he is in the company of his friends. Equality is the life of conversation; and he is as much out who assumes to himself any part above another, as he who considers himself below the rest of the society. Familiarity in inferiors is sauciness; in superiors, condescension; neither of which are to have being among companions, the very word implying that they are to be equal. When therefore we have abstracted the company from all considerations of their quality or fortune, it will immediately appear, that to make it happy and polite, there must nothing be started which shall discover that our thoughts run upon any such distinctions. Hence it will arise, that benevolence must become the rule of society, and he that is most obliging must be most diverting.

This way of talking I am fallen into from the reflection that I am wherever I go entertained with some absurdity, mistake, weakness, or ill luck of some man or other, whom not only I, but the person who makes me those relations has a value for. It would therefore be a great benefit to the world, if it could be brought to pass that no story should be a taking one, but what was to the advantage of the person of whom it is related. By this means, he that is now a wit in conversation, would be considered as a spreader of false news is in business.

But above all, to make a familiar fit for a bosom friend, it is absolutely necessary that we should always be inclined rather to hide than rally each other's infirmities. To suffer for a fault is a sort of atonement; and nobody is concerned for the offence for which he has made reparation.

P.S.– I have received the following letter, which rallies me for being witty sooner than I designed; but I have now altered my resolution, and intend to be facetious till the day in October heretofore mentioned, instead of beginning for that day.¹⁰⁶

Sept. 6, 1710.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"By your own reckoning, you came yesterday about a month before the time you looked yourself, much to the satisfaction of

"Your most obliged

"Humble Servant,

"Plain English."

St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 15

Advices from Madrid of the 8th say, the Duke of Anjou, with his Court, and all the Councils, were preparing to leave that place in a day or two, in order to remove to Valladolid. They add, that the palace was already unfurnished, and a declaration had been published, importing, that it was absolutely necessary, in the present conjuncture of affairs, that the Court were absent for some time from Madrid, but would return thither in six weeks. This sudden departure is attributed to the advice that the Portuguese army was in motion to enter Spain by Braganza, and that his Catholic Majesty was on the march with a strong detachment towards Castille. Two thousand horse were arrived at Agreda, and it is reported they were to join the rest of the body, with the King, and advance to Calatayud, on their way to Madrid, whilst General Staremberg observed the enemy on the frontier of Navarre. They write from Bayonne, that the Duke of Vendôme set forwards to Spain on the 14th.

No. 226. [Addison.
From Saturday, Sept. 16, to Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1710

 
-Juvenis quondam, nunc femina, Cænis,
Rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram.
 

Virg., Æn. vi. 448.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 18

It is one of the designs of this paper to transmit to posterity an account of everything that is monstrous in my own times. For this reason I shall here publish to the world the life of a person who was neither man nor woman, as written by one of my ingenious correspondents, who seems to have imitated Plutarch in that multifarious erudition, and those occasional dissertations, which he has wrought into the body of his history. The Life I am putting out, is that of Margery, alias John Young, commonly known by the name of Dr. Young, who (as the town very well knows) was a woman that practised physic in man's clothes, and after having had two wives and several children, died about a month since.

"Sir,

"I here make bold to trouble you with a short account of the famous Dr. Young's life, which you may call (if you please) a second part of the farce of the 'Sham Doctor.' This perhaps will not seem so strange to you, who (if I am not mistaken) have somewhere mentioned with honour your sister Kirleus¹⁰⁷ as a practitioner both in physic and astrology: but in the common opinion of mankind, a she-quack is altogether as strange and astonishing a creature as the centaur that practised physic in the days of Achilles, or as King Phys in 'The Rehearsal.'¹⁰⁸ Æsculapius, the great founder of your art, was particularly famous for his beard, as we may conclude from the behaviour of a tyrant who is branded by heathen historians as guilty both of sacrilege and blasphemy, having robbed the statue of Æsculapius of a thick bushy golden beard, and then alleged for his excuse, that it was a shame the son should have a beard when his father Apollo had none. This latter instance indeed seems something to favour a female professor, since (as I have been told) the ancient statues of Apollo are generally made with the head and face of a woman: nay, I have been credibly informed by those who have seen them both, that the famous Apollo in the Belvedere did very much resemble Dr. Young. Let that be as it will, the doctor was a kind of Amazon in physic, that made as great devastations and slaughters as any of our chief heroes in the art, and was as fatal to the English in these our days, as the famous Joan d'Arc was in those of our forefathers.

"I do not find anything remarkable in the Life I am about to write till the year 1695, at which time the doctor, being about twenty-three years old, was brought to bed of a bastard child. The scandal of such a misfortune gave so great uneasiness to pretty Mrs. Peggy (for that was the name by which the doctor was then called), that she left her family, and followed her lover to London, with a fixed resolution some way or other to recover her lost reputation: but instead of changing her life, which one would have expected from so good a disposition of mind, she took it in her head to change her sex. This was soon done by the help of a sword and a pair of breeches. I have reason to believe, that her first design was to turn man-midwife, having herself had some experience in those affairs: but thinking this too narrow a foundation for her future fortune, she at length bought her a gold button coat, and set up for a physician. Thus we see the same fatal miscarriage in her youth made Mrs. Young a doctor, that formerly made one of the same sex a Pope.

"The doctor succeeded very well in his business at first, but very often met with accidents that disquieted him. As he wanted that deep magisterial voice which gives authority to a prescription, and is absolutely necessary for the right pronouncing of those words, 'Take these pills,' he unfortunately got the nickname of the Squeaking Doctor. If this circumstance alarmed the doctor, there was another that gave him no small disquiet, and very much diminished his gains. In short, he found himself run down as a superficial prating quack in all families that had at the head of them a cautious father or a jealous husband. These would often complain among one another, that they did not like such a smock-faced physician; though in truth had they known how justly he deserved that name, they would rather have favoured his practice than have apprehended anything from it.

"Such were the motives that determined Mrs. Young to change her condition, and take in marriage a virtuous young woman, who lived with her in good reputation, and made her the father of a very pretty girl. But this part of her happiness was soon after destroyed by a distemper which was too hard for our physician, and carried off his first wife. The doctor had not been a widow long before he married his second lady, with whom also he lived in very good understanding. It so happened that the doctor was with child at the same time that his lady was; but the little ones coming both together, they passed for twins. The doctor having entirely established the reputation of his manhood, especially by the birth of the boy of whom he had been lately delivered, and who very much resembles him, grew into good business, and was particularly famous for the cure of venereal distempers; but would have had much more practice among his own sex, had not some of them been so unreasonable as to demand certain proofs of their cure, which the doctor was not able to give them. The florid blooming look, which gave the doctor some uneasiness at first, instead of betraying his person, only recommended his physic. Upon this occasion I cannot forbear mentioning what I thought a very agreeable surprise in one of Molière's plays, where a young woman applies herself to a sick person in the habit of a quack, and speaks to her patient, who was something scandalised at the youth of his physician, to the following purpose: 'I began to practise in the reign of Francis I., and am now in the hundred-and-fiftieth year of my age; but, by the virtue of my medicaments, have maintained myself in the same beauty and freshness I had at fifteen.' For this reason Hippocrates lays it down as a rule, that a student in physic should have a sound constitution and a healthy look, which indeed seem as necessary qualifications for a physician as a good life and virtuous behaviour for a divine. But to return to our subject. About two years ago the doctor was very much afflicted with the vapours, which grew upon him to such a degree, that about six weeks since they made an end of him. His death discovered the disguise he had acted under, and brought him back again to his former sex. 'Tis said, that at his burial the pall was held up by six women of some fashion. The doctor left behind him a widow and two fatherless children, if they may be called so, besides the little boy before mentioned; in relation to whom we may say of the doctor, as the good old ballad about the 'Children in the Wood' says of the unnatural uncle, that he was father and mother both in one. These are all the circumstances that I could learn of Dr. Young's life, which might have given occasion to many obscene fictions: but as I know those would never have gained a place in your paper, I have not troubled you with any impertinence of that nature; having stuck to the truth very scrupulously, as I always do when I subscribe myself,

"Sir,

"Your, &c.

"I shall add, as a postscript to this letter, that I am informed, the famous Saltero,¹⁰⁹ who sells coffee in his museum at Chelsea, has by him a curiosity which helped the doctor to carry on his imposture, and will give great satisfaction to the curious inquirer."

No. 227. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Sept. 19, to Thursday, Sept. 21, 1710

Omnibus invideas, Zoile,¹¹⁰ nemo tibi. – Martial, Epig. i. 40.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 20

It is the business of reason and philosophy to soothe and allay the passions of the mind, or turn them to a vigorous prosecution of what is dictated by the understanding. In order to this good end, I would keep a watchful eye upon the growing inclinations of youth, and be particularly careful to prevent their indulging themselves in such sentiments as may embitter their more advanced age. I have now under cure a young gentleman, who lately communicated to me, that he was of all men living the most miserably envious. I desired the circumstances of his distemper; upon which, with a sigh that would have moved the most inhuman breast: "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I am nephew to a gentleman of a very great estate, to whose favour I have a cousin that has equal pretensions with myself. This kinsman of mine is a young man of the highest merit imaginable, and has a mind so tender and so generous, that I can observe he returns my envy with pity. He makes me upon all occasions the most obliging condescensions: and I cannot but take notice of the concern he is in to see my life blasted with this racking passion, though it is against himself. In the presence of my uncle, when I am in the room, he never speaks so well as he is capable of, but always lowers his talents and accomplishments out of regard to me. What I beg of you, dear sir, is to instruct me how to love him, as I know he does me; and I beseech you, if possible, to set my heart right, that it may no longer be tormented where it should be pleased, or hate a man whom I cannot but approve."

The patient gave me this account with such candour and openness, that I conceived immediate hopes of his cure; because in diseases of the mind the person affected is half recovered when he is sensible of his distemper. "Sir," said I, "the acknowledgment of your kinsman's merit is a very hopeful symptom; for it is the nature of persons afflicted with this evil, when they are incurable, to pretend a contempt of the person envied, if they are taxed with that weakness. A man who is really envious will not allow he is so; but upon such an accusation is tormented with the reflection, that to envy a man is to allow him your superior. But in your case, when you examine the bottom of your heart, I am apt to think it is avarice which you mistake for envy. Were it not that you have both expectations from the same man, you would look upon your cousin's accomplishments with pleasure. You that now consider him as an obstacle to your interest, would then behold him as an ornament to your family." I observed my patient upon this occasion recover himself in some measure; and he owned to me, that he hoped it was as I imagined; for that in all places but where he was his rival, he had pleasure in his company. This was the first discourse we had upon this malady; and I do not doubt but, after two or three more, I shall by just degrees soften his envy into emulation.

Such an envy as I have here described may possibly creep into an ingenuous mind; but the envy which makes a man uneasy to himself and others, is a certain distortion and perverseness of temper, that renders him unwilling to be pleased with anything without him that has either beauty or perfection in it. I look upon it as a distemper in the mind (which I know no moralist that has described in this light), when a man cannot discern anything which another is master of that is agreeable. For which reason I look upon the good-natured man to be endowed with a certain discerning faculty which the envious are altogether deprived of. Shallow wits, superficial critics, and conceited fops are with me so many blind men in respect of excellences. They can behold nothing but faults and blemishes, and indeed see nothing that is worth seeing. Show them a poem, it is stuff; a picture, it is daubing. They find nothing in architecture that is not irregular, or in music that is not out of tune. These men should consider, that it is their envy which deforms everything, and that the ugliness is not in the object, but in the eye. And as for nobler minds, whose merits are either not discovered, or are misrepresented by the envious part of mankind, they should rather consider their defamers with pity than indignation. A man cannot have an idea of perfection in another which he was never sensible of in himself. Mr. Locke tells us, that upon asking a blind man, what he thought scarlet was, he answered, that he believed it was like the sound of a trumpet. He was forced to form his conceptions of ideas which he had not by those which he had. In the same manner, ask an envious man, what he thinks of virtue? he will call it design: what of good-nature? and he will term it dulness. The difference is, that as the person before mentioned was born blind, your envious men have contracted the distemper themselves, and are troubled with a sort of an acquired blindness. Thus the devil in Milton, though made an angel of light, could see nothing to please him even in Paradise, and hated our first parents, though in their state of innocence.¹¹¹

No. 228. [Steele.
From Thursday, Sept. 21, to Saturday, Sept. 23, 1710

 
-Veniet manus, auxilio quæ
Sit mihi —
 

Hor., 1 Sat. iv. 141.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 22

A man of business who makes a public entertainment, may sometimes leave his guests, and beg them to divert themselves as well as they can till his return. I shall here make use of the same privilege (being engaged in matters of some importance relating to the family of the Bickerstaffs), and must desire my readers to entertain one another till I can have leisure to attend them. I have therefore furnished out this paper, as I have done some few others, with letters of my ingenious correspondents, which I have reason to believe will please the public as much as my own more elaborate lucubrations.

Lincoln, Sept. 9.

"Sir,

"I have long been of the number of your admirers, and take this opportunity of telling you so. I know not why a man so famed for astrological observations may not be also a good casuist, upon which presumption 'tis I ask your advice in an affair that at present puzzles quite that slender stock of divinity I am master of. I have now been some time in holy orders, and fellow of a certain college in one of the universities; but weary of that inactive life, I resolve to be doing good in my generation. A worthy gentleman has lately offered me a fat rectory, but means, I perceive, his kinswoman should have the benefit of the clergy. I am a novice in the world, and confess, it startles me how the body of Mrs. Abigail can be annexed to cure of souls. Sir, would you give us in one of your Tatlers the original and progress of smock-simony, and show us, that where the laws are silent, men's consciences ought to be so too; you could not more oblige our fraternity of young divines, and among the rest,

"Your humble Servant,

"High Church."

I am very proud of having a gentleman of this name for my admirer, and may some time or other write such a treatise as he mentions. In the meantime I do not see why our clergy, who are very frequently men of good families, should be reproached if any of them chance to espouse a handmaid with a rectory in commendam, since the best of our peers have often joined themselves to the daughters of very ordinary tradesmen upon the same valuable considerations.

"Globe in Moorfields,Sept. 16.

"Honoured Son,

"I have now finished my almanac for the next year, in all the parts of it except that which concerns the weather; and you having shown yourself, by some of your late works,¹¹² more weather-wise than any of our modern astrologers, I most humbly presume to trouble you upon this head. You know very well, that in our ordinary almanacs, the wind and rain, snow and hail, clouds and sunshine, have their proper seasons, and come up as regularly in their several months as the fruits and plants of the earth.¹¹³ As for my own part, I freely own to you that I generally steal my weather out of some antiquated almanac that foretold it several years ago. Now, sir, what I humbly beg of you is, that you would lend me your State weather-glass, in order to fill up this vacant column in my works. This, I know, would sell my almanac beyond any other, and make me a richer man than Poor Robin.¹¹⁴ If you will not grant me this favour, I must have recourse to my old method, and will copy after an almanac which I have by me, and which I think was made for the year when the great storm was. I am,

"Sir,

"The most humble of

"Your Admirers,

"T. Philomath."

This gentleman does not consider, what a strange appearance his almanac would make to the ignorant, should he transpose his weather, as he must do, did he follow the dictates of my glass. What would the world say to see summers filled with clouds and storms, and winters with calms and sunshine, according to the variations of the weather, as they might accidentally appear in a State barometer? But let that be as it will, I shall apply my own invention to my own use; and if I do not make my fortune by it, it will be my own fault.

The next letter comes to me from another self-interested solicitor.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I am going to set up for a scrivener, and have thought of a project which may turn both to your account and mine. It came into my head upon reading that learned and useful paper of yours concerning advertisements.¹¹⁵ You must understand, I have made myself master in the whole art of advertising, both as to the style and the letter. Now if you and I could so manage it, that nobody should write advertisements besides myself, or print them anywhere but in your paper, we might both of us get estates in a little time. For this end I would likewise propose, that you should enlarge the design of advertisements, and have sent you two or three samples of my work in this kind, which I have made for particular friends, and intend to open shop with. The first is for a gentleman, who would willingly marry, if he could find a wife to his liking; the second is for a poor Whig, who is lately turned out of his post; and the third for a person of a contrary party, who is willing to get into one.

"'Whereas A. B., next door to the "Pestle and Mortar," being about thirty years old, of a spare make, with dark-coloured hair, bright eyes, and a long nose, has occasion for a good-humoured, tall, fair, young woman, of about £3000 fortune: these are to give notice, that if any such young woman has a mind to dispose of herself in marriage to such a person as the above-mentioned, she may be provided with a husband, a coach and horses, and a proportionable settlement.'

"'C. D., designing to quit his place, has great quantities of paper, parchment, ink, wax, and wafers to dispose of, which will be sold at very reasonable rates.'

"'E. F., a person of good behaviour, six foot high, of a black complexion and sound principles, wants an employ. He is an excellent penman and accountant, and speaks French.'"

No. 229. [Addison.
From Saturday, Sept. 23, to Tuesday, Sept. 26, 1710

 
– Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis —
 

Hor., 3 Od. xxx. 14.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 25

The whole creation preys upon itself: every living creature is inhabited. A flea has a thousand invisible insects that tease him as he jumps from place to place, and revenge our quarrels upon him. A very ordinary microscope shows us that a louse is itself a very lousy creature. A whale, besides those seas and oceans in the several vessels of his body, which are filled with innumerable shoals of little animals, carries about it a whole world of inhabitants; insomuch that, if we believe the calculations some have made, there are more living creatures which are too small for the naked eye to behold about the leviathan, than there are of visible creatures upon the face of the whole earth. Thus every nobler creature is as it were the basis and support of multitudes that are his inferiors.

This consideration very much comforts me, when I think on those numberless vermin that feed upon this paper, and find their sustenance out of it: I mean, the small wits and scribblers that every day turn a penny by nibbling at my Lucubrations. This has been so advantageous to this little species of writers, that, if they do me justice, I may expect to have my statue erected in Grub Street, as being a common benefactor to that quarter.

They say, when a fox is very much troubled with fleas, he goes into the next pool with a little lock of wool in his mouth, and keeps his body under water till the vermin get into it, after which he quits the wool, and diving, leaves his tormentors to shift for themselves, and get their livelihood where they can. I would have these gentlemen take care that I do not serve them after the same manner; for though I have hitherto kept my temper pretty well, it is not impossible but I may some time or other disappear; and what will then become of them? Should I lay down my paper, what a famine would there be among the hawkers, printers, booksellers, and authors? It would be like Dr. B – 's¹¹⁶ dropping his cloak, with the whole congregation hanging upon the skirts of it. To enumerate some of these my doughty antagonists, I was threatened to be answered weekly Tit for Tat: I was undermined by the Whisperer, haunted by Tom Brown's Ghost, scolded at by a Female Tatler, and slandered by another of the same character, under the title of Atalantis. I have been annotated, re-tattled, examined, and condoled;¹¹⁷ but it being my standing maxim never to speak ill of the dead, I shall let these authors rest in peace, and take great pleasure in thinking that I have sometimes been the means of their getting a bellyful. When I see myself thus surrounded by such formidable enemies, I often think of the Knight of the Red Cross in Spenser's "Den of Error," who after he has cut off the dragon's head, and left it wallowing in a flood of ink, sees a thousand monstrous reptiles making their attempts upon him, one with many heads, another with none, and all of them without eyes.

 
The same so sore annoyèd has the knight,
That well-nigh chokèd with the deadly stink,
His forces fail, he can no longer fight;
Whose courage when the fiend perceived to shrink,
She pourèd forth out of her hellish sink
Her fruitful cursèd spawn of serpents small,
Deformèd monsters, foul, and black as ink;
Which swarming all about his legs did crawl,
And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all.
 
 
As gentle shepherd in sweet eventide,
When ruddy Phœbus 'gins to welk in West,
High on an hill, his flock to viewen wide,
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest,
All striving to infix their feeble stings,
That from their 'noyance he nowhere can rest;
But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. ¹¹⁸
 

If ever I should want such a fry of little authors to attend me, I shall think my paper in a very decaying condition. They are like ivy about an oak, which adorns the tree at the same time that it eats into it; or like a great man's equipage, that do honour to the person on whom they feed. For my part, when I see myself thus attacked, I do not consider my antagonists as malicious, but hungry, and therefore am resolved never to take any notice of them.

As for those who detract from my labours without being prompted to it by an empty stomach, in return to their censures I shall take pains to excel, and never fail to persuade myself, that their enmity is nothing but their envy or ignorance.

Give me leave to conclude, like an old man and a moralist, with a fable:

The owls, bats, and several other birds of night, were one day got together in a thick shade, where they abused their neighbours in a very sociable manner. Their satire at last fell upon the sun, whom they all agreed to be very troublesome, impertinent, and inquisitive. Upon which the sun, who overheard them, spoke to them after this manner: "Gentlemen, I wonder how you dare abuse one that you know could in an instant scorch you up, and burn every mother's son of you: but the only answer I shall give you, or the revenge I shall take of you, is, to shine on."¹¹⁹

No. 230. [Steele and Swift.
From Tuesday, Sept. 26, to Thursday, Sept. 28, 1710

From my own Apartment, Sept. 27

The following letter has laid before me many great and manifest evils in the world of letters which I had overlooked; but they open to me a very busy scene, and it will require no small care and application to amend errors which are become so universal. The affectation of politeness is exposed in this epistle with a great deal of wit and discernment; so that whatever discourses I may fall into hereafter upon the subjects the writer treats of, I shall at present lay the matter before the world without the least alteration from the words of my correspondent.¹²⁰

To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq

"Sir,

"There are some abuses among us of great consequence, the reformation of which is properly your province; though as far as I have been conversant in your papers, you have not yet considered them. These are the deplorable ignorance that for some years hath reigned among our English writers, the great depravity of our taste, and the continual corruption of our style. I say nothing here of those who handle particular sciences, divinity, law, physic, and the like; I mean the traders in history and politics, and the belles lettres; together with those by whom books are not translated, but (as the common expressions are) done out of French, Latin, or other language, and made English. I cannot but observe to you, that till of late years a Grub Street book was always bound in sheepskin, with suitable print and paper, the price never above a shilling, and taken off wholly by common tradesmen or country pedlars; but now they appear in all sizes and shapes, and in all places. They are handed about from lapfuls in every coffee-house to persons of quality; are shown in Westminster Hall and the Court of Requests. You may see them gilt and in royal paper of five or six hundred pages, and rated accordingly. I would engage to furnish you with a catalogue of English books published within the compass of seven years past, which at the first hand would cost you a hundred pounds, wherein you shall not be able to find ten lines together of common grammar or common sense.

"These two evils, ignorance and want of taste, have produced a third; I mean the continual corruption of our English tongue, which, without some timely remedy, will suffer more by the false refinements of twenty years past than it hath been improved in the foregoing hundred. And this is what I design chiefly to enlarge upon, leaving the former evils to your animadversion.

"But instead of giving you a list of the late refinements crept into our language, I here send you the copy of a letter I received some time ago from a most accomplished person in this way of writing; upon which I shall make some remarks. It is in these terms:

"'Sir,

"'I cou'dn't get the things you sent for all about town. I thôt to ha' come down myself, and then I'd h' bôt 'um; but I ha'n't don't, and I believe I can't d't, that's pozz. Tom¹²¹ begins to gi'mself airs, because he's going with the plenipo's. 'Tis said the French King will bamboozl' us agen, which causes many speculations. The Jacks and others of that kidney are very uppish, and alert upon't, as you may see by their phizz's. Will Hazzard has got the hipps, having lost to the tune of five hundr'd pound, thô he understands play very well, nobody better. He has promis't me upon rep, to leave off play; but you know 'tis a weakness he's too apt to give into, thô he has as much wit as any man, nobody more. He has lain incog. ever since. The mobb's very quiet with us now. I believe you thôt I bantr'd you in my last like a country put. I shan't leave town this month,' &c.

"This letter is in every point an admirable pattern of the present polite way of writing, nor is it of less authority for being an epistle: you may gather every flower in it, with a thousand more of equal sweetness, from the books, pamphlets, and single papers, offered us every day in the coffee-houses: and these are the beauties introduced to supply the want of wit, sense, humour, and learning, which formerly were looked upon as qualifications for a writer. If a man of wit, who died forty years ago, were to rise from the grave on purpose, how would he be able to read this letter? And after he had got through that difficulty, how would he be able to understand it? The first thing that strikes your eye is the breaks at the end of almost every sentence, of which I know not the use, only that it is a refinement, and very frequently practised. Then you will observe the abbreviations and elisions, by which consonants of most obdurate sound are joined together, without one softening vowel to intervene; and all this only to make one syllable of two, directly contrary to the example of the Greeks and Romans, altogether of the Gothic strain, and a natural tendency towards relapsing into barbarity, which delights in monosyllables, and uniting of mute consonants, as it is observable in all the Northern languages. And this is still more visible in the next refinement, which consists in pronouncing the first syllable in a word that has many, and dismissing the rest; such as phizz, hipps, mobb, pozz, rep, and many more, when we are already overloaded with monosyllables, which are the disgrace of our language. Thus we cram one syllable, and cut off the rest, as the owl fattened her mice after she had bit off their legs, to prevent them from running away; and if ours be the same reason for maiming our words, it will certainly answer the end, for I am sure no other nation will desire to borrow them. Some words are hitherto but fairly split, and therefore only in their way to perfection, as incog. and plenipo; but in a short time, 'tis to be hoped, they will be further docked to inc. and plen. This reflection has made me of late years very impatient for a peace, which I believe would save the lives of many brave words, as well as men. The war has introduced abundance of polysyllables, which will never be able to live many more campaigns. Speculations, operations, preliminaries, ambassadors, palisadoes, communication, circumvallation, battalions, as numerous as they are, if they attack us too frequently in our coffee-houses, we shall certainly put them to flight, and cut off the rear.

"The third refinement observable in the letter I send you, consists in the choice of certain words invented by some pretty fellows, such as banter, bamboozle, country put, and kidney, as it is there applied, some of which are now struggling for the vogue, and others are in possession of it. I have done my utmost for some years past to stop the progress of mobb and banter, but have been plainly borne down by numbers, and betrayed by those who promised to assist me.

"In the last place, you are to take notice of certain choice phrases scattered through the letter, some of them tolerable enough, till they were worn to rags by servile imitators. You might easily find them, though they were not in a different print, and therefore I need not disturb them.

"These are the false refinements in our style which you ought to correct: first, by argument and fair means; but if those fail, I think you are to make use of your authority as censor, and by an annual 'Index Expurgatorius' expunge all words and phrases that are offensive to good sense, and condemn those barbarous mutilations of vowels and syllables. In this last point the usual pretence is, that they spell as they speak: a noble standard for language! To depend upon the caprice of every coxcomb, who, because words are the clothing of our thoughts, cuts them out and shapes them as he pleases, and changes them oftener than his dress. I believe all reasonable people would be content that such refiners were more sparing in their words and liberal in their syllables: and upon this head I should be glad you would bestow some advice upon several young readers in our churches, who coming up from the university full fraught with admiration of our town politeness, will needs correct the style of their prayer-books. In reading the Absolution, they are very careful to say 'pardons' and 'absolves'; and in the prayer for the royal family it must be 'endue 'um, enrich 'um, prosper 'um, and bring 'um.' Then in their sermons they use all the modern terms of art: sham, banter, mob, bubble, bully, cutting, shuffling, and palming; all which, and many more of the like stamp, as I have heard them often in the pulpit from such young sophisters, so I have read them in some of those sermons that have made most noise of late. The design, it seems, is to avoid the dreadful imputation of pedantry; to show us that they know the town, understand men and manners, and have not been poring upon old unfashionable books in the university.

"I should be glad to see you the instrument of introducing into our style that simplicity which is the best and truest ornament of most things in life, which the politer ages always aimed at in their building and dress (simplex munditiis), as well as their productions of wit. It is manifest, that all new affected modes of speech, whether borrowed from the court, the town, or the theatre, are the first perishing parts in any language; and, as I could prove by many hundred instances, have been so in ours. The writings of Hooker, who was a country clergyman, and of Parsons the Jesuit, both in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, are in a style that, with very few allowances, would not offend any present reader; much more clear and intelligible than those of Sir H. Wootton, Sir Rob. Naunton, Osborn, Daniel the historian, and several others who wrote later; but being men of the court, and affecting the phrases then in fashion, they are often either not to be understood, or appear perfectly ridiculous.

"What remedies are to be applied to these evils, I have not room to consider, having, I fear, already taken up most of your paper. Besides, I think it is our office only to represent abuses, and yours to redress them. I am with great respect,

"Sir,

"Your, &c."

No. 231. [Steele

 
Principiis obsta —
 

Ovid, Rem. Amor. 91.

From Thursday, Sept. 28, to Saturday, Sept. 30, 1710

From my own Apartment, Sept. 29

There are very many ill habits that might with much ease have been prevented, which, after we have indulged ourselves in them, become incorrigible. We have a sort of proverbial expression, of taking a woman down in her wedding shoes, if you would bring her to reason. An early behaviour of this sort had a very remarkable good effect in a family wherein I was several years an intimate acquaintance.

A gentleman in Lincolnshire¹²² had four daughters, three of which were early married very happily; but the fourth, though no way inferior to any of her sisters, either in person or accomplishments, had from her infancy discovered so imperious a temper (usually called a high spirit), that it continually made great uneasiness in the family, became her known character in the neighbourhood, and deterred all her lovers from declaring themselves. However, in process of time, a gentleman of a plentiful fortune and long acquaintance, having observed that quickness of spirit to be her only fault, made his addresses, and obtained her consent in due form. The lawyers finished the writings (in which, by the way, there was no pin-money), and they were married. After a decent time spent in the father's house, the bridegroom went to prepare his seat for her reception. During the whole course of his courtship, though a man of the most equal temper, he had artificially lamented to her, that he was the most passionate creature breathing. By this one intimation, he at once made her understand warmth of temper to be what he ought to pardon in her, as well as that he alarmed her against that constitution in himself. She at the same time thought herself highly obliged by the composed behaviour which he maintained in her presence. Thus far he with great success soothed her from being guilty of violences, and still resolved to give her such a terrible apprehension of his fiery spirit, that she should never dream of giving way to her own. He returned on the day appointed for carrying her home; but instead of a coach and six horses, together with the gay equipage suitable to the occasion, he appeared without a servant, mounted on the skeleton of a horse which his huntsman had the day before brought in to feast his dogs on the arrival of their new mistress, with a pillion fixed behind, and a case of pistols before him, attended only by a favourite hound. Thus equipped, he in a very obliging (but somewhat positive) manner desired his lady to seat herself on the cushion; which done, away they crawled. The road being obstructed by a gate, the dog was commanded to open it: the poor cur looked up and wagged his tail; but the master, to show the impatience of his temper, drew a pistol and shot him dead. He had no sooner done it, but he fell into a thousand apologies for his unhappy rashness, and begged as many pardons for his excesses before one for whom he had so profound a respect. Soon after their steed stumbled, but with some difficulty recovered: however, the bridegroom took occasion to swear, if he frightened his wife so again, he would run him through: and alas! the poor animal being now almost tired, made a second trip; immediately on which the careful husband alights, and with great ceremony first takes off his lady, then the accoutrements, draws his sword, and saves the huntsman the trouble of killing him: then says to his wife, "Child, prithee take up the saddle;" which she readily did, and tugged it home, where they found all things in the greatest order, suitable to their fortune and the present occasion. Some time after the father of the lady gave an entertainment to all his daughters and their husbands, where, when the wives were retired, and the gentlemen passing a toast about, our last married man took occasion to observe to the rest of his brethren, how much, to his great satisfaction, he found the world mistaken as to the temper of his lady, for that she was the most meek and humble woman breathing. The applause was received with a loud laugh: but as a trial which of them would appear the most master at home, he proposed they should all by turns send for their wives down to them. A servant was despatched, and answer was made by one, "Tell him I will come by-and-by;" another, that she would come when the cards were out of her hand; and so on. But no sooner was her husband's desire whispered in the ear of our last married lady, but the cards were clapped on the table, and down she comes with, "My dear, would you speak with me?" He receives her in his arms, and after repeated caresses, tells her the experiment, confesses his good-nature, and assures her, that since she could now command her temper, he would no longer disguise his own.

I received the following letter, with a dozen of wine, and cannot but do justice to the liquor, and give my testimony, that I have tried it upon several of my acquaintances, who were given to impertinent abbreviations,¹²³ with great success:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I send you by this bearer, and not per bearer, a dozen of that claret which is to be sold at Garraway's Coffee-house on Thursday the fifth of October next. I can assure you, I have found by experience the efficacy of it in amending a fault you complain of in your last. The very first draught of it has some effect upon the speech of the drinker, and restores all the letters taken away by the elisions so justly complained of. Will Hazzard was cured of his hypochondria by three glasses; and the gentleman who gave you an account of his late indisposition, has in public company, after the first quart, spoke every syllable of the word plenipotentiary.

"Your, &c."

No. 232. [Steele.
From Saturday Sept. 30, to Tuesday, Oct. 3, 1710

From my own Apartment, Oct. 2

I have received the following letter from my unfortunate old acquaintance the upholsterer,¹²⁴ who, I observed, had long absented himself from the bench at the upper end of the Mall. Having not seen him for some time, I was in fear I should soon hear of his death, especially since he never appeared, though the noons have been of late pretty warm, and the councils at that place very full from the hour of twelve to three, which the sages of that board employ in conference, while the unthinking part of mankind are eating and drinking for the support of their own private persons, without any regard to the public.

"Sir,

"I should have waited on you very frequently to have discoursed you upon some matters of moment, but that I love to be well informed in the subject upon which I consult my friends before I enter into debate with them. I have therefore with the utmost care and pains applied myself to the reading all the writings and pamphlets which have come out since the trial,¹²⁵ and have studied night and day in order to be master of the whole controversy; but the authors are so numerous, and the state of affairs alters so very fast, that I am now a fortnight behindhand in my reading, and know only how things stood twelve days ago. I wish you would enter into those useful subjects; for, if I may be allowed to say so, these are not times to jest in. As for my own part, you know very well, that I am of a public spirit, and never regarded my own interest, but looked further; and let me tell you, that while some people are minding only themselves and families, and others are thinking only of their own country, things go on strangely in the North. I foresee very great evils arising from the neglect of transactions at a distance; for which reason I am now writing a letter to a friend in the country, which I design as an answer to the Czar of Muscovy's letter to the Grand Signior concerning his Majesty of Sweden. I have endeavoured to prove that it is not reasonable to expect that his Swedish Majesty should leave Bender without forty thousand men; and I have added to this an apology for the Cossacks. But the matter multiplies upon me, and I grow dim with much writing; therefore desire, if you have an old green pair of spectacles, such as you used about your fiftieth year, that you send them to me; as also, that you would please to desire Mr. Morphew to send me in a bushel of coals on the credit of my answer to his Czarian Majesty; for I design it shall be printed for Morphew, and the weather grows sharp. I shall take it kindly if you would order him also to send me the papers as they come out. If there are no fresh pamphlets published, I compute that I shall know before the end of next month what has been done in town to this day. If it were not for an ill custom lately introduced by a certain author, of talking Latin at the beginning of papers, matters would be in a much clearer light than they are; but to our comfort, there are solid writers who are not guilty of this pedantry. The Post-Man writes like an angel: the Moderator¹²⁶ is fine reading! It would do you no harm to read the Post-Boy with attention; he is very deep of late. He is instructive; but I confess a little satirical: a sharp pen! He cares not what he says. The Examiner is admirable, and is become a grave and substantial author. But above all, I am at a loss how to govern myself in my judgment of those whose whole writings consist in interrogatories: and then the way of answering, by proposing questions as hard to them, is quite as extraordinary. As for my part, I tremble at these novelties; we expose, in my opinion, our affairs too much by it. You may be sure the French King will spare no cost to come at the reading of them. I dread to think if the fable of the Blackbirds should fall into his hands. But I shall not venture to say more till I see you. In the meantime,

"I am, &c.

"P.S.– I take the Bender letter in the Examiner to be spurious."¹²⁷

This unhappy correspondent, whose fantastical loyalty to the King of Sweden has reduced him to this low condition of reason and fortune, would appear much more monstrous in his madness, did we not see crowds very little above his circumstances from the same cause, a passion to politics.

It is no unpleasant entertainment to consider the commerce even of the sexes interrupted by difference in State affairs. A wench and her gallant parted last week upon the words "unlimited" and "passive": and there is such a jargon of terms got into the mouths of the very silliest of the women, that you cannot come into a room even among them, but you find them divided into Whig and Tory. What heightens the humour is, that all the hard words they know they certainly suppose to be terms useful in the disputes of the parties. I came in this day where two were in very hot debate, and one of them proposed to me to explain to them what was the difference between circumcision and predestination. You may be sure I was at a loss; but they were too angry at each other to wait for my explanation, but proceeded to lay open the whole state of affairs, instead of the usual topics of dress, gallantry, and scandal.

I have often wondered how it should be possible that this turn to politics should so universally prevail, to the exclusion of every other subject out of conversation; and upon mature consideration, find it is for want of discourse. Look round you among all the young fellows you meet, and you see those who have least relish for books, company, or pleasure, though they have no manner of qualities to make them succeed in those pursuits, shall make very passable politicians. Thus the most barren invention shall find enough to say to make one appear an able man in the top coffee-houses. It is but adding a certain vehemence in uttering yourself, let the thing you say be never so flat, and you shall be thought a very sensible man, if you were not too hot. As love and honour are the noblest motives of life; so the pretenders to them, without being animated by them, are the most contemptible of all sorts of pretenders. The unjust affectation of anything that is laudable, is ignominious in proportion to the worth of the thing we affect: thus, as love of one's country is the most glorious of all passions, to see the most ordinary tools in a nation give themselves airs that way, without any one good quality in their own life, has something in it romantic, yet not so ridiculous as odious.

Advertisement

Mr. Bickerstaff has received Silvia's letter from the Bath, and his sister is set out thither. Tom Frontley, who is one of the guides for the town, is desired to bring her into company, and oblige her with a mention in his next lampoon.

No. 233. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Oct. 3, to Thursday, Oct. 5, 1710

 
-Sunt certa piacula, quæ te
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.
 

Hor., 1 Ep. i. 36.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 4

When the mind has been perplexed with anxious cares and passions, the best method of bringing it to its usual state of tranquillity, is, as much as we possibly can, to turn our thoughts to the adversities of persons of higher consideration in virtue and merit than ourselves. By this means all the little incidents of our own lives, if they are unfortunate, seem to be the effect of justice upon our faults and indiscretions. When those whom we know to be excellent and deserving of a better fate are wretched, we cannot but resign ourselves, whom most of us know to merit a much worse state than that we are placed in. For such and many other occasions, there is one admirable relation which one might recommend for certain periods of one's life, to touch, comfort, and improve the heart of man. Tully says, somewhere, the pleasures of a husbandman are next to those of a philosopher. In like manner one may say (for methinks they bear the same proportion one to another), the pleasures of humanity are next to those of devotion. In both these latter satisfactions, there is a certain humiliation which exalts the soul above its ordinary state. At the same time that it lessens our value of ourselves, it enlarges our estimation of others. The history I am going to speak of, is that of Joseph in Holy Writ, which is related with such majestic simplicity, that all the parts of it strike us with strong touches of nature and compassion, and he must be a stranger to both who can read it with attention, and not be overwhelmed with the vicissitudes of joy and sorrow. I hope it will not be a profanation to tell it one's own way here, that they who may be unthinking enough to be more frequently readers of such papers as this than of Sacred Writ, may be advertised, that the greatest pleasures the imagination can be entertained with are to be found there, and that even the style of the Scriptures is more than human.

Joseph, a beloved child of Israel, became invidious to his elder brethren, for no other reason but his superior beauty and excellence of body and mind, insomuch that they could not bear his growing virtue, and let him live. They therefore conspire his death; but nature pleaded so strongly for him in the heart of one of them, that by his persuasion they determined rather to bury him in a pit, than be his immediate executioners with their own hands. When thus much was obtained for him, their minds still softened towards him, and they took the opportunity of some passengers to sell him into Egypt. Israel was persuaded by the artifice of his sons, that the youth was torn to pieces by wild beasts: but Joseph was sold to slavery, and still exposed to new misfortunes, from the same cause as before, his beauty and his virtue. By a false accusation he was committed to prison, but in process of time delivered from it, in consideration of his wisdom and knowledge, and made the governor of Pharaoh's house. In this elevation of his fortune, his brothers were sent into Egypt to buy necessaries of life in a famine. As soon as they are brought into his presence, he beholds, but he beholds with compassion, the men who had sold him to slavery approaching him with awe and reverence. While he was looking over his brethren, he takes a resolution to indulge himself in the pleasure of stirring their and his own affections, by keeping himself concealed, and examining into the circumstances of their family. For this end, with an air of severity, as a watchful minister to Pharaoh, he accuses them as spies, who are come into Egypt with designs against the State. This led them into the account which he wanted of them, the condition of their ancient father and little brother, whom they had left behind them. When he had learned that his brother was living, he demands the bringing him to Egypt, as a proof of their veracity.

But it would be a vain and empty endeavour to attempt laying this excellent representation of the passions of man in the same colours as they appear in the Sacred Writ in any other manner, or almost any other words, than those made use of in the page itself. I am obliged therefore to turn my designed narration rather into a comment upon the several parts of that beautiful and passionate scene. When Joseph expects to see Benjamin, how natural and how forcible is the reflection, "This affliction is come upon us in that we saw the anguish of our brother's soul without pity!" How moving must it be to Joseph to hear Reuben accuse the rest, that they would not hear what he pleaded in behalf of his innocence and distress! He turns from them and weeps, but commands his passion so far as to give orders for binding one of them in the presence of the rest, while he at leisure observed their different sentiments and concern in their gesture and countenance. When Benjamin is demanded in bondage for stealing the cup, with what force and what resignation does Judah address his brother!

"In what words shall I speak to my lord; with what confidence can I say anything? Our guilt is but too apparent; we submit to our fate. We are my lord's servants, both we and he also with whom the cup is found." When that is not accepted, how pathetically does he recapitulate the whole story! And approaching nearer to Joseph, delivers himself as follows; which, if we fix our thoughts upon the relation between the pleader and the judge, it is impossible to read without tears:

"Sir, let me intrude so far upon you, even in the high condition in which you are, and the miserable one in which you see me and my brethren, to inform you of the circumstances of us unhappy men that prostrate ourselves before you. When we were first examined by you, you inquired (for what reason my lord inquired we know not), but you inquired whether we had not a father or a brother? We then acquainted you, that we had a father, an old man, who had a child of his old age, and had buried another son whom he had by the same woman. You were pleased to command us to bring the child he had remaining down to us: we did so, and he has forfeited his liberty. But my father said to us, 'You know that my wife bore me two sons: one of them was torn in pieces: if mischief befall this also, it will bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Accept, therefore, oh my lord! me for your bondman, and let the lad return with his brethren, that I may not see the evil that shall come on my father.' Here Joseph's passion grew too great for further disguise, and he reveals himself with exclamations of transport and tenderness.

"After their recovery from their first astonishment, his brethren were seized with fear for the injuries they had done him; but how generously does he keep them in countenance, and make an apology for them: 'Be not angry with yourselves for selling me hither; call it not so, but think Providence sent me before you to preserve life.'"

It would be endless to go through all the beauties of this sacred narrative; but any who shall read it, at an hour when he is disengaged from all other regard or interests than what arise from it, will feel the alternate passion of a father, a brother, and a son, so warm in him, that they will incline him to exert himself (in such of those characters as happen to be his) much above the ordinary course of his life.

No. 234. [Steele.
From Thursday, Oct. 5, to Saturday, Oct. 7, 1710

From my own Apartment, Oct. 6

I have reason to believe that certain of my contemporaries have made use of an art I some time ago professed, of being often designedly dull;¹²⁸ and for that reason shall not exert myself when I see them lazy. He that has so much to struggle with as the man who pretends to censure others, must keep up his fire for an onset, and may be allowed to carry his arms a little carelessly upon an ordinary march. This paper therefore shall be taken up by my correspondents, two of which have sent me the two following plain, but sensible and honest letters, upon subjects no less important than those of education and devotion:

"Sir,¹²⁹

"I am an old man, retired from all acquaintance with the town, but what I have from your papers (not the worst entertainment of my solitude); yet being still a well-wisher to my country and the commonwealth of learning (a qua, confiteor, nullam ætatis meæ partem abhorruisse), and hoping the plain phrase in writing that was current in my younger days would have lasted for my time, I was startled at the picture of modern politeness transmitted by your ingenious correspondent, and grieved to see our sterling English language fallen into the hands of clippers and coiners. That mutilated epistle, consisting of hipps, reps, and such-like enormous curtailings, was a mortifying spectacle, but with the reserve of comfort to find this, and other abuses of our mother-tongue, so pathetically complained of, and to the proper person for redressing them, the Censor of Great Britain.

"He had before represented the deplorable ignorance that for several years past has reigned amongst our English writers, the great depravity of our taste, and continual corruption of our style: but, sir, before you give yourself the trouble of prescribing remedies for these distempers (which you own will require the greatest care and application), give me leave (having long had my eye upon these mischiefs, and thoughts exercised about them) to mention what I humbly conceive to be the cause of them, and in your friend Horace's words, "Quo fonte derivata clades In patriam populumque fluxit."¹³⁰

"I take our corrupt ways of writing to proceed from the mistakes and wrong measures in our common methods of education, which I always looked upon as one of our national grievances, and a singularity that renders us no less than our situation,

 
– Penitus toto divisos orbe Britannos. ¹³¹
 

This puts me upon consulting the most celebrated critics on that subject, to compare our practice with their precepts, and find where it was that we came short or went wide.

"But after all, I found our case required something more than these doctors had directed, and the principal defect of our English discipline to lie in the initiatory part, which, although it needs the greatest care and skill, is usually left to the conduct of those blind guides, viz., Chance and Ignorance.

"I shall trouble you with but a single instance, pursuant to what your sagacious friend has said, that he could furnish you with a catalogue of English books, that would cost you a hundred pounds at first hand, wherein you could not find ten lines together of common grammar; which is a necessary consequence of our mismanagement in that province.

"For can anything be more absurd than our way of proceeding in this part of literature? To push tender wits into the intricate mazes of grammar, and a Latin grammar? To learn an unknown art by an unknown tongue? To carry them a dark roundabout way to let them in at a back-door? Whereas by teaching them first the grammar of their mother-tongue (so easy to be learned), their advance to the grammars of Latin and Greek would be gradual and easy; but our precipitate way of hurrying them over such a gulf, before we have built them a bridge to it, is a shock to their weak understandings, which they seldom, or very late, recover. In the meantime we wrong nature, and slander infants, who want neither capacity nor will to learn, till we put them upon service beyond their strength, and then indeed we baulk them.

"The liberal arts and sciences are all beautiful as the Graces, nor has Grammar (the severe mother of all) so frightful a face of her own; it is the vizard put upon it that scares children. She is made to speak hard words that to them sound like conjuring. Let her talk intelligibly, and they will listen to her.

"In this, I think, as on other accounts, we show ourselves true Britons, always overlooking our natural advantages. It has been the practice of wisest nations to learn their own language by stated rules, to avoid the confusion that would follow from leaving it to vulgar use. Our English tongue, says a learned man, is the most determinate in its construction, and reducible to the fewest rules: whatever language has less grammar in it, is not intelligible; and whatever has more, all that it has more is superfluous; for which reasons he would have it made the foundation of learning Latin, and all other languages.

"To speak and write without absurdity the language of one's country, is commendable in persons of all stations, and to some indispensably necessary; and to this purpose, I would recommend above all things the having a grammar of our mother-tongue first taught in our schools, which would facilitate our youths learning their Latin and Greek grammars, with spare time for arithmetic, astronomy, cosmography, history, &c., that would make them pass the spring of their life with profit and pleasure, that is now miserably spent in grammatical perplexities.

"But here, methinks, I see the reader smile, and ready to ask me (as the lawyer did sexton Diego on his bequeathing rich legacies to the poor of the parish,¹³² Where are these mighty sums to be raised?), Where is there such a grammar to be had? I will not answer, as he did, Even where your Worship pleases. No, it is our good fortune to have such a grammar, with notes, now in the press, and to be published next term.

"I hear it is a chargeable work, and wish the publisher to have customers of all that have need of such a book; yet fancy that he cannot be much a sufferer, if it is only bought by all that have more need for it than they think they have.

"A certain author brought a poem to Mr. Cowley, for his perusal and judgment of the performance, which he demanded at the next visit with a poetaster's assurance; and Mr. Cowley, with his usual modesty, desired that he would be pleased to look a little to the grammar of it. 'To the grammar of it! What do you mean, sir? Would you send me to school again?' 'Why, Mr. H – , would it do you any harm?'

"This put me on considering how this voyage of literature may be made with more safety and profit, expedition and delight; and at last, for completing so good a service, to request your directions in so deplorable a case; hoping that, as you have had compassion on our overgrown coxcombs in concerns of less consequence, you will exert your charity towards innocents, and vouchsafe to be guardian to the children and youth of Great Britain in this important affair of education, wherein mistakes and wrong measures have so often occasioned their aversion to books, that had otherwise proved the chief ornament and pleasure of their life. I am with sincerest respect,

"Sir,

"Your, &c."

St. Cl[eme]nts, Oct. 5.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I observe, as the season begins to grow cold, so does people's devotion; insomuch that, instead of filling the churches, that united zeal might keep one warm there, one is left to freeze in almost bare walls, by those who in hot weather are troublesome the contrary way. This, sir, needs a regulation that none but you can give to it, by causing those who absent themselves on account of weather only this winter time, to pay the apothecary's bills occasioned by coughs, catarrhs, and other distempers contracted by sitting in empty seats. Therefore to you I apply myself for redress, having gotten such a cold on Sunday was sevennight, that has brought me almost to your worship's age from sixty within less than a fortnight. I am,

"Your Worship's in all obedience,

"W. E."

No. 235. [Steele. ¹³³
From Saturday, Oct. 7, to Tuesday, Oct. 10, 1710

 
Scit Genius, natale comes qui temperat astrum.
 

Hor., 2 Ep. ii. 187.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 9

Among those inclinations which are common to all men, there is none more unaccountable than that unequal love by which parents distinguish their children from each other. Sometimes vanity and self-love appear to have a share towards this effect; and in other instances I have been apt to attribute it to mere instinct: but however that is, we frequently see the child that has been beholden to neither of these impulses in their parents, in spite of being neglected, snubbed, and thwarted at home, acquire a behaviour which makes it as agreeable to all the rest of the world, as that of every one else of their family is to each other. I fell into this way of thinking from an intimacy which I have with a very good house in our neighbourhood, where there are three daughters of a very different character and genius. The eldest has a great deal of wit and cunning; the second has good sense, but no artifice; the third has much vivacity, but little understanding. The first is a fine, but scornful woman; the second is not charming, but very winning; the third no way commendable, but very desirable. The father of these young creatures was ever a great pretender to wit, the mother a woman of as much coquetry. This turn in the parents has biassed their affections towards their children. The old man supposes the eldest of his own genius, and the mother looks upon the youngest as herself renewed. By this means, all the lovers that approach the house are discarded by the father for not observing Mrs. Mary's wit and beauty, and by the mother for being blind to the mien and air of Mrs. Biddy. Come never so many pretenders, they are not suspected to have the least thoughts of Mrs. Betty, the middle daughter. Betty therefore is mortified into a woman of a great deal of merit, and knows she must depend on that only for her advancement. The middlemost is thus the favourite of all her acquaintance as well as mine, while the other two carry a certain insolence about them in all conversations, and expect the partiality which they meet with at home to attend them wherever they appear. So little do parents understand that they are of all people the least judges of their children's merit, that what they reckon such, is seldom anything else but a repetition of their own faults and infirmities.

There is, methinks, some excuse for being particular when one of the offspring has any defect in nature. In this case, the child, if we may so speak, is so much the longer the child of its parents, and calls for the continuance of their care and indulgence from the slowness of its capacity, or the weakness of its body. But there is no enduring to see men enamoured only at the sight of their own impertinences repeated, and to observe, as we may sometimes, that they have a secret dislike of their children for a degeneracy from their very crimes. Commend me to Lady Goodly; she is equal to all her own children, but prefers them to those of all the world beside. My lady is a perfect hen in the care of her brood; she fights and squabbles with all that appear where they come, but is wholly unbiassed in dispensing her favours among them. It is no small pains she is at to defame all the young women in her neighbourhood by visits, whispers, intimations, and hearsays; all which she ends with thanking Heaven, that no one living is so blessed with such obedient and well-inclined children as herself. Perhaps, says she, Betty cannot dance like Mrs. Frontinett, and it is no great matter whether she does or not; but she comes into a room with a good grace; though she says it that should not, she looks like a gentlewoman. Then if Mrs. Rebecca is not so talkative as the mighty wit Mrs. Clapper, yet she is discreet, she knows better what she says when she does speak. If her wit be slow, her tongue never runs before it. This kind parent lifts up her eyes and hands in congratulation of her own good fortune, and is maliciously thankful that none of her girls are like any of her neighbours: but this preference of her own to all others, is grounded upon an impulse of nature; while those who like one before another of their own, are so unpardonably unjust, that it could hardly be equalled in the children, though they preferred all the rest of the world to such parents. It is no unpleasant entertainment to see a ball at a dancing-school, and observe the joy of relations when the young ones, for whom they are concerned, are in motion. You need not be told whom the dancers belong to: at their first appearance the passion of their parents are in their faces, and there is always a nod of approbation stolen at a good step, or a graceful turn.

I remember among all my acquaintance but one man whom I have thought to live with his children with equanimity and a good grace. He had three sons and one daughter, whom he bred with all the care imaginable in a liberal and ingenuous way.¹³⁴ I have often heard him say, he had the weakness to love one much better than the other, but that he took as much pains to correct that as any other criminal passion that could arise in his mind. His method was, to make it the only pretension in his children to his favour to be kind to each other; and he would tell them, that he who was the best brother, he would reckon the best son. This turned their thoughts into an emulation for the superiority in kind and tender affection towards each other. The boys behaved themselves very early with a manly friendship; and their sister, instead of the gross familiarities and impertinent freedoms in behaviour, usual in other houses, was always treated by them with as much complaisance as any other young lady of their acquaintance. It was an unspeakable pleasure to visit or sit at meal in that family. I have often seen the old man's heart flow at his eyes with joy upon occasions which would appear indifferent to such as were strangers to the turn of his mind; but a very slight accident, wherein he saw his children's good-will to one another, created in him the God-like pleasure of loving them, because they loved each other.¹³⁵ This great command of himself, in hiding his first impulse to partiality, at last improved to a steady justice towards them; and that which at first was but an expedient to correct his weakness, was afterwards the measure of his virtue.

The truth of it is, those parents who are interested in the care of one child more than that of another, no longer deserve the name of parents, but are in effect as childish as their children, in having such unreasonable and ungovernable inclinations. A father of this sort has degraded himself into one of his own offspring; for none but a child would take part in the passions of children.

No. 236. [Steele. ¹³⁶
From Tuesday, Oct. 10, to Thursday, Oct. 12, 1710

 
Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine mentem
Tangit, et immemorem non sinit esse sui.
 

Ovid, Ep. ex Pont. 1. iii.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 11

I find in the registers of my family, that the branch of the Bickerstaffs from which I am descended, came originally out of Ireland.¹³⁷ This has given me a kind of natural affection for that country. It is therefore with pleasure that I see not only some of the greatest warriors, but also of the greatest wits, to be natives of that kingdom. The gentleman who writes the following letter is one of these last. The matter of fact contained in it is literally true, though the diverting manner in which it is told may give it the colour of a fable.

To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., at his House in Great Britain

Dublin.

"Sir,

"Finding by several passages of your Tatlers, that you are a person curious in natural knowledge, I thought it would not be unacceptable to you to give you the following history of the migration of frogs into this country. There is an ancient tradition among the wild philosophers of the kingdom, that this whole island was once as much infested by frogs, as that wherein Whittington made his fortune was by mice; insomuch that it is said, Macdonald the First could no more sleep by reason of these Dutch nightingales (as they are called at Paris), than Pharaoh could when they croaked in his bed-chamber. It was in the reign of this great monarch that St. Patrick arrived in Ireland, being as famous for destroying vermin as any rat-catcher of our times. If we may believe the tradition, he killed more in one day than a flock of storks could have done in a twelvemonth. From that time for about five hundred years, there was not a frog to be heard in Ireland, notwithstanding the bogs still remained, which in former ages had been so plentifully stocked with those inhabitants.

"When the arts began to flourish in the reign of King Charles the Second, and that great monarch had placed himself at the head of the Royal Society, to lead them forward into the discoveries of nature, it is said, that several proposals were laid before his Majesty for the importing of frogs into Ireland. In order to it, a virtuoso of known abilities was unanimously elected by the Society, and entrusted with the whole management of that affair. For this end he took along with him a sound, able-bodied frog, of a strong, hale constitution, that had given proof of his vigour by several leaps which he made before that learned body. They took ship, and sailed together till they came within sight of the Hill of Howth, before the frog discovered any symptoms of being indisposed by his voyage: but as the wind chopped about, and began to blow from the Irish coast, he grew sea-sick, or rather land-sick; for his learned companion ascribed it to the particles of the soil with which the wind was impregnated. He was confirmed in his conjecture, when, upon the wind's turning about, his fellow-traveller sensibly recovered, and continued in good health till his arrival upon the shore, where he suddenly relapsed, and expired upon a Ring's End car¹³⁸ on his way to Dublin. The same experiment was repeated several times in that reign, but to no purpose. A frog was never known to take three leaps upon Irish turf, before he stretched himself out and died.

"Whether it were that the philosophers on this side the water despaired of stocking the island with this useful animal, or whether in the following reign it was not thought proper to undo the miracle of a Popish saint, I do not hear of any further progress made in this affair till about two years after the battle of the Boyne.

"It was then that an ingenious physician,¹³⁹ to the honour as well as improvement of his native country, performed what the English had been so long attempting in vain. This learned man, with the hazard of his life, made a voyage to Liverpool, where he filled several barrels with the choicest spawn of frogs that could be found in those parts. This cargo he brought over very carefully, and afterwards disposed of it in several warm beds that he thought most capable of bringing it to life. The doctor was a very ingenious physician, and a very good Protestant; for which reason, to show his zeal against Popery, he placed some of the most promising spawn in the very fountain that is dedicated to the Saint, and known by the name of St. Patrick's Well, where these animals had the impudence to make their first appearance. They have since that time very much increased and multiplied in all the neighbourhood of this city. We have here some curious inquirers into natural history who observe their motions, with a design to compute in how many years they will be able to hop from Dublin to Wexford; though, as I am informed, not one of them has yet passed the mountains of Wicklow.

"I am further informed, that several graziers of the county of Cork have entered into a project of planting a colony in those parts, at the instance of the French Protestants: and I know not but the same design may be on foot in other parts of the kingdom, if the wisdom of the British nation do not think fit to prohibit the further importation of English frogs. I am,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"T. B."

There is no study more becoming a rational creature than that of natural philosophy; but as several of our modern virtuosos manage it, their speculations do not so much tend to open and enlarge the mind, as to contract and fix it upon trifles.

This in England is in a great measure owing to the worthy elections that are so frequently made in our Royal Society.¹⁴⁰ They seem to be in a confederacy against men of polite genius, noble thought, and diffusive learning; and choose into their assemblies such as have no pretence to wisdom, but want of wit; or to natural knowledge, but ignorance of everything else. I have made observations in this matter so long, that when I meet with a young fellow that is a humble admirer of the sciences, but more dull than the rest of the company, I conclude him to be a Fellow of the Royal Society.

No. 237. [? Steele. ¹⁴¹
From Thursday, Oct. 12, to Saturday, Oct. 14, 1710

 
In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas
Corpora. —
 

Ovid, Met. i. 1.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 13

Coming home last night before my usual hour, I took a book into my hand, in order to divert myself with it till bed-time. Milton chanced to be my author, whose admirable poem of "Paradise Lost" serves, at once, to fill the mind with pleasing ideas, and with good thoughts, and was therefore the most proper book for my purpose. I was amusing myself with that beautiful passage in which the poet represents Eve sleeping by Adam's side, with the devil sitting at her ear, and inspiring evil thoughts under the shape of a toad. Ithuriel, one of the guardian angels of the place, walking his nightly rounds, saw the great enemy of mankind hid in this loathsome animal, which he touched with his spear. This spear being of a celestial temper, had such a secret virtue in it, that whatever it was applied to, immediately flung off all disguise, and appeared in its natural figure. I am afraid the reader will not pardon me if I content myself with explaining the passage in prose, without giving it in the author's own inimitable words:

 
– On he led his radiant files,
Dazzling the morn: these to the bower direct,
In search of whom they sought. Him there they found,
Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve;
Essaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint
The animal spirits (that from pure blood arise
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure), thence raise
At least distempered, discontented thoughts,
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,
Blown up with high conceits, engendering pride.
Him thus intent, Ithuriel with his spear
Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to his own likeness. Up he starts,
Discovered and surprised. As when a spark
Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid
Fit for the tun, some magazine to store
Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain,
With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air;
So started up in his own shape the fiend. ¹⁴²
 

I could not forbear thinking how happy a man would be in the possession of this spear; or what an advantage it would be to a Minister of State, were he master of such a white staff. It would let him discover his friends from his enemies, men of abilities from pretenders: it would hinder him from being imposed upon by appearances and professions, and might be made use of as a kind of State test, which no artifice could elude.

These thoughts made very lively impressions on my imagination, which were improved, instead of being defaced by sleep, and produced in me the following dream: I was no sooner fallen asleep, but, methought, the angel Ithuriel appeared to me, and with a smile that still added to his celestial beauty, made me a present of the spear which he held in his hand, and disappeared. To make trials of it, I went into a place of public resort.

The first person that passed by me, was a lady that had a particular shyness in the cast of her eye, and a more than ordinary reservedness in all the parts of her behaviour. She seemed to look upon man as an obscene creature, with a certain scorn and fear of him. In the height of her airs I touched her gently with my wand, when, to my unspeakable surprise, she fell upon her back, and kicked up her heels in such a manner as made me blush in my sleep. As I was hasting away from this undisguised prude, I saw a lady in earnest discourse with another, and overheard her say with some vehemence, "Never tell me of him, for I am resolved to die a virgin!" I had a curiosity to try her; but as soon as I laid my wand upon her head, she immediately fell in labour. My eyes were diverted from her by a man and his wife, who walked near me hand-in-hand after a very loving manner. I gave each of them a gentle tap, and the next instant saw the woman in breeches, and the man with a fan in his hand. It would be tedious to describe the long series of metamorphoses that I entertained myself with in my night's adventure, of Whigs disguised in Tories, and Tories in Whigs; men in red coats that denounced terror in their countenances, trembling at the touch of my spear; others in black with peace in their mouths, but swords in their hands. I could tell stories of noblemen changed into usurers, and magistrates into beadles; of free-thinkers into penitents, and reformers into whoremasters. I must not, however, omit the mention of a grave citizen that passed by me with a huge clasped Bible under his arm, and a band of most immoderate breadth; but upon a touch on the shoulder, he let drop his book, and fell a-picking my pocket.

In the general I observed, that those who appeared good, often disappointed my expectation; but that, on the contrary, those who appeared very bad, still grew worse upon the experiment; as the toad in Milton, which one would have thought the most deformed part of the creation, at Ithuriel's stroke, became more deformed, and started up into a devil.

Among all the persons that I touched, there was but one who stood the test of my wand; and after many repetitions of the stroke, stuck to his form, and remained steady and fixed in his first appearance. This was a young man who boasted of foul distempers, wild debauches, insults upon holy men, and affronts to religion.

My heart was extremely troubled at this vision: the contemplation of the whole species, so entirely sunk in corruption, filled my mind with a melancholy that is inexpressible, and my discoveries still added to my affliction.

In the midst of these sorrows which I had in my heart, methought there passed by me a couple of coaches with purple liveries. There sat in each of them a person with a very venerable aspect. At the appearance of them, the people who were gathered round me in great multitudes divided into parties, as they were disposed to favour either of those reverend persons. The enemies of one of them begged me to touch him with my wand, and assured me, I should see his lawn converted into a cloak. The opposite party told me with as much assurance, that if I laid my wand upon the other, I should see his garments embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, and his head covered with a cardinal's cap. I made the experiment, and, to my great joy, saw them both, without any change, distributing their blessings to the people, and praying for those who had reviled them. Is it possible, thought I, that good men, who are so few in number, should be divided among themselves, and give better quarter to the vicious that are in their party, than the most strictly virtuous who are out of it? Are the ties of faction above those of religion? – I was going on in my soliloquies, but some sudden accident awakened me, when I found my hand grasped, but my spear gone. The reflection on so very odd a dream made me figure to myself, what a strange face the world would bear, should all mankind appear in their proper shapes and characters, without hypocrisy and disguise? I am afraid the earth we live upon would appear to other intellectual beings no better than a planet peopled with monsters. This should, methinks, inspire us with an honest ambition of recommending ourselves to those invisible spies, and of being what we would appear. There was one circumstance in my foregoing dream which I at first intended to conceal; but upon second thoughts, I cannot look upon myself as a candid and impartial historian, if I do not acquaint my reader, that upon taking Ithuriel's spear into my hand, though I was before an old decrepid fellow, I appeared a very handsome, jolly, black man. But I know my enemies will say, this is praising my own beauty, for which reason I will speak no more of it.

No. 238. [Steele and Swift. ¹⁴³
From Saturday, Oct. 14, to Tuesday, Oct. 17, 1710

 
– Poetica surgit
Tempestas —
 

Juv., Sat. xii. 23.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 16

Storms at sea are so frequently described by the ancient poets, and copied by the moderns, that whenever I find the winds begin to rise in a new heroic poem, I generally skip a leaf or two till I come into fair weather. Virgil's Tempest is a masterpiece in this kind, and is indeed so naturally drawn, that one who has made a voyage can scarce read it without being sea-sick.

Land showers are no less frequent among the poets than the former, but I remember none of them which have not fallen in the country; for which reason they are generally filled with the lowings of oxen and the bleatings of sheep, and very often embellished with a rainbow.

Virgil's Land Shower is likewise the best in its kind: it is indeed a shower of consequence, and contributes to the main design of the poem, by cutting off a tedious ceremonial, and bringing matters to a speedy conclusion between two potentates of different sexes. My ingenious kinsman, Mr. Humphrey Wagstaff, who treats of every subject after a manner that no other author has done, and better than any other can do, has sent me the description of a City Shower. I do not question but the reader remembers my cousin's description of the Morning as it breaks in town, which is printed in the ninth Tatler, and is another exquisite piece of this local poetry:

 
Careful observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find the sink
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine,
You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches throb,¹⁴⁴ your hollow tooth will rage.
Saunt'ring in coffee-house is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.
 
 
Meanwhile the south rising with dabbled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swilled more liquor than it could contain,
And like a drunkard gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope.
Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean.
You fly, invoke the gods; then turning, stop
To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop.
Not yet the dust had shunned th'unequal strife,
But aided by the wind, fought still for life;
And wafted with its foe by violent gust,
'Twas doubtful which was rain and which was dust.
Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,
When dust and rain at once his coat invade;
His only coat, where dust confused with rain
Roughen the nap, and leave a mingled stain.
 
 
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oiled umbrella's sides.
Here various kinds by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits;
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds, he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed.
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, run them through.)
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprisoned hero quaked for fear.
 
 
Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all hues and odours seem to tell
What street they sailed from, by their sight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluent joined at Snow Hill ridge,
Fall from the Conduit, prone to Holborn Bridge.
Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud,
Dead cats and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood.
 

No. 239. [Addison.
From Tuesday, Oct. 17, to Thursday, Oct. 19, 1710

-Mecum certasse feretur. – Ovid, Met. xiii. 20.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 18

It is ridiculous for any man to criticise on the works of another, who has not distinguished himself by his own performances. A judge would make but an indifferent figure who had never been known at the bar. Cicero was reputed the greatest orator of his age and country before he wrote a book "De Oratore"; and Horace the greatest poet before he published his "Art of Poetry." This observation arises naturally in any one who casts his eye upon this last-mentioned author, where he will find the criticisms placed in the latter end of his book, that is, after the finest odes and satires in the Latin tongue.

A modern, whose name I shall not mention,¹⁴⁵ because I would not make a silly paper sell, was born a critic and an Examiner, and, like one of the race of the serpent's teeth, came into the world with a sword in his hand. His works put me in mind of the story that is told of a German monk, who was taking a catalogue of a friend's library, and meeting with a Hebrew book in it, entered it under the title of "A book that has the beginning where the end should be." This author, in the last of his crudities, has amassed together a heap of quotations, to prove that Horace and Virgil were both of them modester men than myself, and if his works were to live as long as mine, they might possibly give posterity a notion, that Isaac Bickerstaff was a very conceited old fellow, and as vain a man as either Tully or Sir Francis Bacon. Had this serious writer fallen upon me only, I could have overlooked it; but to see Cicero abused, is, I must confess, what I cannot bear. The censure he passes upon this great man runs thus: "The itch of being very abusive, is almost inseparable from vainglory. Tully has these two faults in so high a degree, that nothing but his being the best writer in the world can make amends for them." The scurrilous wretch goes on to say I am as bad as Tully. His words are these: "And yet the Tatler, in his paper of September 26, has outdone him in both. He speaks of himself with more arrogance, and with more insolence of others." I am afraid by his discourse, this gentleman has no more read Plutarch than he has Tully. If he had, he would have observed a passage in that historian, wherein he has with great delicacy distinguished between two passions which are usually complicated in human nature, and which an ordinary writer would not have thought of separating. Not having my Greek spectacles by me, I shall quote the passage word for word as I find it translated to my hand. "Nevertheless, though he was intemperately fond of his own praise, yet he was very free from envying others, and most liberally profuse in commending both the ancients and his contemporaries, as is to be understood by his writings; and many of those sayings are still recorded, as that concerning Aristotle, that he was a river of flowing gold: of Plato's 'Dialogue,' that if Jupiter were to speak, he would discourse as he did. Theophrastus he was wont to call his peculiar delight; and being asked, which of Demosthenes his orations he liked best? he answered, the longest.

"And as for the eminent men of his own time, either for eloquence or philosophy, there was not one of them which he did not, by writing or speaking favourably of, render more illustrious."

Thus the critic tells us, that Cicero was excessively vainglorious and abusive; Plutarch, that he was vain, but not abusive. Let the reader believe which of them he pleases.

After this he complains to the world, that I call him names; and that in my passion I said, he was "a flea, a louse, an owl, a bat, a small wit, a scribbler, and a nibbler." When he has thus bespoken his reader's pity, he falls into that admirable vein of mirth, which I shall set down at length, it being an exquisite piece of raillery, and written in great gaiety of heart. "After this list of names (viz., flea, louse, owl, bat, &c.), I was surprised to hear him say, that he has hitherto kept his temper pretty well; I wonder how he will write when he has lost his temper? I suppose, as he now is very angry and unmannerly, he will then be exceeding courteous and good-humoured." If I can outlive this raillery, I shall be able to bear anything.

There is a method of criticism made use of by this author (for I shall take care how I call him a scribbler again), which may turn into ridicule any work that was ever written, wherein there is a variety of thoughts: this the reader will observe in the following words: "He (meaning me) is so intent upon being something extraordinary, that he scarce knows what he would be; and is as fruitful in his similes, as a brother of his¹⁴⁶ whom I lately took notice of. In the compass of a few lines he compares himself to a fox, to Daniel Burgess, to the Knight of the Red Cross, to an oak with ivy about it, and to a great man with an equipage." I think myself as much honoured by being joined in this part of his paper with the gentleman whom he here calls my brother, as I am in the beginning of it, by being mentioned with Horace and Virgil.

It is very hard that a man cannot publish ten papers without stealing from himself; but to show you that this is only a knack of writing, and that the author is got into a certain road of criticism, I shall set down his remarks on the works of the gentleman whom he here glances upon, as they stand in his sixth paper, and desire the reader to compare them with the foregoing passage upon mine:

"In thirty lines his patron is a river, the primum mobile, a pilot, a victim, the sun, anything, and nothing. He bestows increase, conceals his source, makes the machine move, teaches to steer, expiates our offences, raises vapours, and looks larger as he sets."

What poem can be safe from this sort of criticism? I think I was never in my life so much offended as at a wag whom I once met with in a coffee-house: he had in his hand one of the Miscellanies, and was reading the following short copy of verses, which, without flattery to the author,¹⁴⁷ is, I think, as beautiful in its kind as any one in the English tongue:

 
Flavia the least and slightest toy
Can with resistless art employ.
This fan in meaner hands would prove
An engine of small force in love;
But she with such an air and mien,
Not to be told, or safely seen,
Directs its wanton motions so,
That it wounds more than Cupid's bow;
Gives coolness to the matchless dame,
To every other breast a flame.
 

When this coxcomb had done reading them, "Heyday!" says he, "what instrument is this that Flavia employs in such a manner as is not to be told, nor safely seen? In ten lines it is a toy, a Cupid's bow, a fan, and an engine in love. It has wanton motions, it wounds, it cools, and inflames."

Such criticisms make a man of sense sick, and a fool merry.

The next paragraph of the paper we are talking of falls upon somebody whom I am at a loss to guess at:¹⁴⁸ but I find the whole invective turns upon a man who (it seems) has been imprisoned for debt. Whoever he was, I most heartily pity him; but at the same time must put the Examiner in mind, that notwithstanding he is a critic, he still ought to remember he is a Christian. Poverty was never thought a proper subject for ridicule; and I do not remember that I ever met with a satire upon a beggar.

As for those little retortings of my own expressions, of being dull by design, witty in October, shining, excelling, and so forth; they are the common cavils of every witling, who has no other method of showing his parts, but by little variations and repetitions of the man's words whom he attacks.

But the truth of it is, the paper before me, not only in this particular, but in its very essence, is like Ovid's echo:

 
-Quæ nec reticere loquenti,
Nec prior ipsa loqui didicit.¹⁴⁹
 

I should not have deserved the character of a censor, had I not animadverted upon the above-mentioned author by a gentle chastisement: but I know my reader will not pardon me, unless I declare, that nothing of this nature for the future (unless it be written with some wit) shall divert me from my care of the public.

No. 240. [Addison.
From Thursday, Oct. 19, to Saturday, Oct. 21, 1710

Ad populum phaleras. – Pers., Sat. iii. 30.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 20

I do not remember that in any of my Lucubrations I have touched upon that useful science of physic, notwithstanding I have declared myself more than once a professor of it. I have indeed joined the study of astrology with it, because I never knew a physician recommend himself to the public who had not a sister art to embellish his knowledge in medicine. It has been commonly observed in compliment to the ingenious of our profession, that Apollo was god of verse as well as physic; and in all ages the most celebrated practitioners of our country were the particular favourites of the Muses. Poetry to physic is indeed like the gilding to a pill; it makes the art shine, and covers the severity of the doctor with the agreeableness of the companion.

The very foundation of poetry is good sense, if we may allow Horace to be a judge of the art:

Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons. ¹⁵⁰

And if so, we have reason to believe that the same man who writes well can prescribe well, if he has applied himself to the study of both. Besides, when we see a man making profession of two different sciences, it is natural for us to believe he is no pretender in that which we are not judges of when we find him skilful in that which we understand.

Ordinary quacks and charlatans are thoroughly sensible how necessary it is to support themselves by these collateral assistances, and therefore always lay their claim to some supernumerary accomplishments which are wholly foreign to their profession.

About twenty years ago it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who was arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern seed. Nobody ever knew what this meant; but the green and red dragon so amused the people, that the doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the same time there was pasted a very hard word upon every corner of the streets. This, to the best of my remembrance, was which drew great shoals of spectators about it, who read the bill that it introduced with unspeakable curiosity; and when they were sick, would have nobody but this learned man for their physician.

TETRACHYMAGOGON,

I once received an advertisement of one who had studied thirty years by candle-light for the good of his countrymen. He might have studied twice as long by daylight, and never have been taken notice of: but lucubrations cannot be overvalued. There are some who have gained themselves great reputation for physic by their birth, as the seventh son of a seventh son; and others by not being born at all, as the Unborn Doctor,¹⁵¹ who, I hear, is lately gone the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per annum, though he was not born to a halfpenny.

My ingenious friend Dr. Saffold¹⁵² succeeded my old contemporary Dr. Lilly¹⁵³ in the studies both of physic and astrology, to which he added that of poetry, as was to be seen both upon the sign where he lived, and in the bills which he distributed. He was succeeded by Dr. Case,¹⁵⁴ who erased the verses of his predecessor out of the sign-post, and substituted in their stead two of his own, which were as follows:

Within this place

Lives Doctor Case.

He is said to have got more by this distich than Mr. Dryden did by all his works. There would be no end of enumerating the several imaginary perfections and unaccountable artifices by which this tribe of men ensnare the minds of the vulgar, and gain crowds of admirers. I have seen the whole front of a mountebank's stage from one end to the other faced with patents, certificates, medals, and great seals, by which the several princes of Europe have testified their particular respect and esteem for the doctor. Every great man with a sounding title has been his patient. I believe I have seen twenty mountebanks that have given physic to the Czar of Muscovy. The great Duke of Tuscany escapes no better. The Elector of Brandenburg was likewise a very good patient.

This great condescension of the doctor draws upon him much good-will from his audience; and it is ten to one, but if any of them be troubled with an aching tooth, his ambition will prompt him to get it drawn by a person who has had so many princes, kings, and emperors under his hands.

I must not leave this subject without observing, that as physicians are apt to deal in poetry, apothecaries endeavour to recommend themselves by oratory, and are therefore without controversy the most eloquent persons in the whole British nation. I would not willingly discourage any of the arts, especially that of which I am a humble professor; but I must confess, for the good of my native country, I could wish there might be a suspension of physic for some years, that our kingdom, which has been so much exhausted by the wars, might have leave to recruit itself.

As for myself, the only physic which has brought me safe to almost the age of man, and which I prescribe to all my friends, is abstinence. This is certainly the best physic for prevention, and very often the most effectual against a present distemper. In short, my recipe is, Take nothing.

Were the body politic to be physicked like particular persons, I should venture to prescribe to it after the same manner. I remember when our whole island was shaken with an earthquake some years ago, there was an impudent mountebank who sold pills which (as he told the country people) were very good against an earthquake. It may perhaps be thought as absurd to prescribe a diet for the allaying popular commotions, and national ferments. But I am verily persuaded, that if in such a case a whole people were to enter into a course of abstinence, and eat nothing but water-gruel for a fortnight, it would abate the rage and animosity of parties, and not a little contribute to the cure of a distracted nation. Such a fast would have a natural tendency to the procuring of those ends for which a fast is usually proclaimed. If any man has a mind to enter on such a voluntary abstinence, it might not be improper to give him the caution of Pythagoras in particular:¹⁵⁵

Abstine a fabis.

"Abstain from beans."

That is, say the interpreters, meddle not with elections, beans having been made use of by the voters among the Athenians in the choice of magistrates.

No. 241. [Steele.
From Saturday, Oct. 21, to Tuesday, Oct. 24, 1710

From my own Apartment, Oct. 23

A method of spending one's time agreeably is a thing so little studied, that the common amusement of our young gentlemen (especially of such as are at a distance from those of the first breeding) is drinking. This way of entertainment has custom of its side; but as much as it has prevailed, I believe there have been very few companies that have been guilty of excess this way, where there have not happened more accidents which make against than for the continuance of it. It is very common that events arise from a debauch which are fatal, and always such as are disagreeable. With all a man's reason and good sense about him, his tongue is apt to utter things out of mere gaiety of heart which may displease his best friends. Who then would trust himself to the power of wine, without saying more against it, than that it raises the imagination, and depresses the judgment. Were there only this single consideration, that we are less masters of ourselves when we drink in the least proportion above the exigencies of thirst; I say, were this all that could be objected, it were sufficient to make us abhor this vice. But we may go on to say, that as he who drinks but a little is not master of himself, so he who drinks much is a slave to himself. As for my part, I ever esteemed a drunkard of all vicious persons the most vicious: for if our actions are to be weighed and considered according to the intention of them, what can we think of him who puts himself into a circumstance wherein he can have no intention at all, but incapacitates himself for the duties and offices of life, by a suspension of all his faculties. If a man considered, that he cannot under the oppression of drink be a friend, a gentleman, a master, or a subject; that he has so long banished himself from all that is dear, and given up all that is sacred to him, he would even then think of a debauch with horror: but when he looks still further, and acknowledges, that he is not only expelled out of all the relations of life, but also liable to offend against them all, what words can express the terror and detestation he would have of such a condition? And yet he owns all this of himself who says he was drunk last night.

As I have all along persisted in it, that all the vicious in general are in a state of death, so I think I may add to the non-existence of drunkards, that they died by their own hands. He is certainly as guilty of suicide who perishes by a slow, as he that is despatched by an immediate poison. In my last Lucubration I proposed the general use of water-gruel, and hinted that it might not be amiss at this very season: but as there are some whose cases, in regard to their families, will not admit of delay, I have used my interest in several wards of the city, that the wholesome restorative above mentioned may be given in tavern kitchens to all the morning's draught-men within the walls when they call for wine before noon. For a further restraint and mark upon such persons, I have given orders, that in all the offices where policies are drawn upon lives, it shall be added to the article which prohibits that the nominee should cross the sea, the words, "Provided also, that the above-mentioned A. B. shall not drink before dinner during the term mentioned in this indenture."

I am not without hopes but by this method I shall bring some unsizable friends of mine into shape and breath, as well as others who are languid and consumptive into health and vigour. Most of the self-murderers whom I yet hinted at, are such as preserve a certain regularity in taking their poison, and make it mix pretty well with their food: but the most conspicuous of those who destroy themselves, are such as in their youth fall into this sort of debauchery, and contract a certain uneasiness of spirit, which is not to be diverted but by tippling as often as they can fall into company in the day, and conclude with downright drunkenness at night. These gentlemen never know the satisfaction of youth, but skip the years of manhood, and are decrepid soon after they are of age. I was god-father to one of these old fellows. He is now three-and-thirty, which is the grand climacteric of a young drunkard. I went to visit the crazy wretch this morning, with no other purpose but to rally him under the pain and uneasiness of being sober.

But as our faults are double when they affect others besides ourselves, so this vice is still more odious in a married than a single man. He that is the husband of a woman of honour, and comes home overloaded with wine, is still more contemptible in proportion to the regard we have to the unhappy consort of his bestiality. The imagination cannot shape to itself anything more monstrous and unnatural than the familiarities between drunkenness and chastity. The wretched Astrea, who is the perfection of beauty and innocence, has long been thus condemned for life. The romantic tales of virgins devoted to the jaws of monsters, have nothing in them so terrible as the gift of Astrea to that bacchanal.

The reflection of such a match as spotless innocence with abandoned lewdness, is what puts this vice in the worst figure it can bear with regard to others; but when it is looked upon with respect only to the drunkard himself, it has deformities enough to make it disagreeable, which may be summed up in a word, by allowing, that he who resigns his reason, is actually guilty of all that he is liable to from the want of reason.

P.S.– Among many other enormities, there are two in the following letters which I think should be suddenly amended; but since they are sins of omission only, I shall not make remarks upon them till I find the delinquents persist in their errors; and the inserting the letters themselves shall be all their present admonition.

October 16.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Several that frequent divine service at St. Paul's, as well as myself, having with great satisfaction observed the good effect which your animadversion had on an excess in performance there;¹⁵⁶ it is requested, that you will take notice of a contrary fault, which is the unconcerned silence and the motionless postures of others who come thither. If this custom prevails, the congregation will resemble an audience at a play-house, or rather a dumb meeting of Quakers. Your censuring such church-mutes in the manner you think fit, may make these dissenters join with us, out of fear lest you should further animadvert upon their non-conformity. According as this succeeds, you shall hear from,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"B. B."

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I was the other day in company with a gentleman, who, in reciting his own qualifications, concluded every period with these words, 'the best of any man in England.' Thus for example: he kept the best house of any man in England; he understood this, and that, and the other, the best of any man in England. How harsh and ungrateful soever this expression might sound to one of my nation, yet the gentleman was one whom it no ways became me to interrupt; but perhaps a new term put into his by-words (as they call a sentence a man particularly affects) may cure him. I therefore took a resolution to apply to you, who, I dare say, can easily persuade this gentleman (whom I cannot believe an enemy to the Union) to mend his phrase, and be hereafter the wisest of any man in Great Britain. I am,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"Scoto-Britannus."

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Whereas Mr. Humphrey Trelooby, wearing his own hair, a pair of buck-skin breeches, a hunting-whip, with a new pair of spurs, has complained to the Censor, that on Thursday last he was defrauded of half-a-crown, under pretence of a duty to the sexton for seeing the Cathedral of St. Paul, London: it is hereby ordered, that none hereafter require above sixpence of any country gentleman under the age of twenty-five for that liberty; and that all which shall be received above the said sum of any person for beholding the inside of that sacred edifice, be forthwith paid to Mr. John Morphew for the use of Mr. Bickerstaff, under pain of further censure on the above-mentioned extortion.

No. 242. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Oct. 24, to Thursday, Oct. 26, 1710

 
– Quis iniquæ
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?
 

Juv., Sat. i. 30.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 25

It was with very great displeasure I heard this day a man say of a companion of his with an air of approbation, "You know Tom never fails of saying a spiteful thing. He has a great deal of wit, but satire is his particular talent. Did you mind how he put the young fellow out of countenance that pretended to talk to him?" Such impertinent applauses, which one meets with every day, put me upon considering what true raillery and satire were in themselves; and this, methought, occurred to me from reflection upon the great and excellent persons that were admired for talents this way. When I had run over several such in my thoughts, I concluded (however unaccountable the assertion might appear at first sight) that good-nature was an essential quality in a satirist, and that all the sentiments which are beautiful in this way of writing must proceed from that quality in the author. Good-nature produces a disdain of all baseness, vice, and folly, which prompts them to express themselves with smartness against the errors of men, without bitterness towards their persons. This quality keeps the mind in equanimity, and never lets an offence unseasonably throw a man out of his character. When Virgil said, he that did not hate Bavius might love Mævius,¹⁵⁷ he was in perfect good-humour, and was not so much moved at their absurdities as passionately to call them sots or blockheads in a direct invective, but laughed at them with a delicacy of scorn, without any mixture of anger.

The best good man, with the worst-natured muse, was the character among us of a gentleman as famous for his humanity as his wit.¹⁵⁸

The ordinary subjects for satire are such as incite the greatest indignation in the best tempers, and consequently men of such a make are the best qualified for speaking of the offences in human life. These men can behold vice and folly when they injure persons to whom they are wholly unacquainted, with the same severity as others resent the ills they do themselves. A good-natured man cannot see an overbearing fellow put a bashful man of merit out of countenance, or outstrip him in the pursuit of any advantage; but he is on fire to succour the oppressed, to produce the merit of the one, and confront the impudence of the other.

The men of the greatest character in this kind were Horace and Juvenal. There is not, that I remember, one ill-natured expression in all their writings, not one sentence of severity which does not apparently proceed from the contrary disposition. Whoever reads them, will, I believe, be of this mind; and if they were read with this view, it may possibly persuade our young fellows, that they may be very witty men without speaking ill of any but those who deserve it: but in the perusal of these writers it may not be unnecessary to consider, that they lived in very different times. Horace was intimate with a prince of the greatest goodness and humanity imaginable, and his court was formed after his example; therefore the faults that poet falls upon were little inconsistencies in behaviour, false pretences to politeness, or impertinent affectations of what men were not fit for. Vices of a coarser sort could not come under his consideration, or enter the palace of Augustus. Juvenal, on the other hand, lived under Domitian, in whose reign everything that was great and noble was banished the habitations of the men in power. Therefore he attacks vice as it passes by in triumph, not as it breaks into conversation. The fall of empire, contempt of glory, and a general degeneracy of manners, are before his eyes in all his writings. In the days of Augustus, to have talked like Juvenal had been madness, or in those of Domitian like Horace. Morality and virtue are everywhere recommended in Horace, as became a man in a polite court, from the beauty, the propriety, the convenience, of pursuing them. Vice and corruption are attacked by Juvenal in a style which denotes, he fears he shall not be heard without he calls to them in their own language, with a bare-faced mention of the villanies and obscenities of his contemporaries.

This accidental talk of these two great men runs me from my design, which was to tell some coxcombs that run about this town with the name of smart satirical fellows, that they are by no means qualified for the characters they pretend to, of being severe upon other men, for they want good-nature. There is no foundation in them for arriving at what they aim at; and they may as well pretend to flatter, as rail agreeably without being good-natured.

There is a certain impartiality necessary to make what a man says bear any weight with those he speaks to. This quality, with respect to men's errors and vices, is never seen but in good-natured men. They have ever such a frankness of mind, and benevolence to all men, that they cannot receive impressions of unkindness without mature deliberation; and writing or speaking ill of a man upon personal considerations, is so irreparable and mean an injury, that no one possessed of this quality is capable of doing it: but in all ages there have been interpreters to authors when living, of the same genius with the commentators, into whose hands they fall when dead. I dare say, it is impossible for any man of more wit than one of these to take any of the four-and-twenty letters, and form out of them a name to describe the character of a vicious man with greater life, but one of these would immediately cry, Mr. Such-a-one is meant in that place. But the truth of it is, satirists describe the age, and backbiters assign their descriptions to private men.

In all terms of reproof, when the sentence appears to arise from personal hatred or passion, it is not then made the cause of mankind, but a misunderstanding between two persons. For this reason, the representations of a good-natured man bear a pleasantry in them, which shows there is no malignity at heart, and by consequence are attended to by his hearers or readers because they are unprejudiced. This deference is only what is due to him; for no man thoroughly nettled can say a thing general enough to pass off with the air of an opinion declared, and not a passion gratified. I remember a humorous fellow at Oxford, when he heard any one had spoken ill of him, used to say, "I won't take my revenge of him till I have forgiven him." What he meant by this, was, that he would not enter upon this subject till it was grown as indifferent to him as any other; and I have, by this rule, seen him more than once triumph over his adversary with an inimitable spirit and humour; for he came to the assault against a man full of sore places, and he himself invulnerable.

There is no possibility of succeeding in a satirical way of writing or speaking, except a man throws himself quite out of the question. It is great vanity to think any one will attend a thing because it is your quarrel. You must make your satire the concern of society in general, if you would have it regarded. When it is so, the good-nature of a man of wit will prompt him to many brisk and disdainful sentiments and replies, to which all the malice in the world will not be able to repartee.

No. 243. [Addison.
From Thursday, Oct. 26, to Saturday, Oct. 28, 1710

 
Infert se septus nebula, mirabile dictu,
Per medios, miscetque viris; neque cernitur ulli.
 

Virg., Æn. i. 439.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 27

I have somewhere made mention of Gyges's ring,¹⁵⁹ and intimated to my reader, that it was at present in my possession, though I have not since made any use of it. The tradition concerning this ring is very romantic, and taken notice of both by Plato and Tully, who each of them make an admirable use of it for the advancement of morality. This Gyges was the master shepherd to King Candaules. As he was wandering over the plains of Lydia, he saw a great chasm in the earth, and had the curiosity to enter it. After having descended pretty far into it, he found the statue of a horse in brass, with doors in the sides of it. Upon opening of them, he found the body of a dead man bigger than ordinary, with a ring upon his finger, which he took off, and put it upon his own. The virtues of it were much greater than he at first imagined; for upon his going into the assembly of shepherds, he observed, that he was invisible when he turned the stone of the ring within the palm of his hand, and visible when he turned it towards his company. Had Plato and Cicero been as well versed in the occult sciences as I am, they would have found a great deal of mystic learning in this tradition; but it is impossible for an adept to be understood by one who is not an adept.

As for myself, I have with much study and application arrived at this great secret of making myself invisible, and by that means conveying myself where I pleased; or to speak in Rosicrucian lore, I have entered into the clefts of the earth, discovered the brazen horse, and robbed the dead giant of his ring. The tradition says further of Gyges, that by the means of this ring he gained admission into the most retired parts of the court, and made such use of those opportunities, that he at length became King of Lydia. For my own part, I, who have always rather endeavoured to improve my mind than my fortune, have turned this ring to no other advantage than to get a thorough insight into the ways of men, and to make such observations upon the errors of others as may be useful to the public, whatever effect they may have upon myself.

About a week ago, not being able to sleep, I got up and put on my magical ring, and with a thought transported myself into a chamber where I saw a light. I found it inhabited by a celebrated beauty, though she is of that species of women which we call a slattern. Her head-dress and one of her shoes lay upon a chair, her petticoat in one corner of the room, and her girdle, that had a copy of verses made upon it but the day before, with her thread stockings, in the middle of the floor. I was so foolishly officious, that I could not forbear gathering up her clothes together to lay them upon the chair that stood by her bedside, when, to my great surprise, after a little muttering, she cried out, "What do you do? Let my petticoat alone." I was startled at first, but soon found that she was in a dream; being one of those who, to use Shakespeare's expression, are "so loose of thought,"¹⁶⁰ that they utter in their sleep everything that passes in their imagination. I left the apartment of this female rake, and went into her neighbour's, where there lay a male coquet. He had a bottle of salts hanging over his head, and upon the table, by his bedside, Suckling's Poems, with a little heap of black patches on it. His snuff-box was within reach on a chair: but while I was admiring the disposition which he made of the several parts of his dress, his slumber seemed interrupted by a pang, that was accompanied by a sudden oath, as he turned himself over hastily in his bed. I did not care for seeing him in his nocturnal pains, and left the room.

I was no sooner got into another bed-chamber, but I heard very harsh words uttered in a smooth uniform tone. I was amazed to hear so great a volubility in reproach, and thought it too coherent to be spoken by one asleep; but upon looking nearer, I saw the headdress of the person who spoke, which showed her to be a female with a man lying by her side broad awake, and as quiet as a lamb. I could not but admire his exemplary patience, and discovered by his whole behaviour, that he was then lying under the discipline of a curtain lecture.

I was entertained in many other places with this kind of nocturnal eloquence, but observed, that most of those whom I found awake, were kept so either by envy or by love. Some of these were fighting, and others cursing, in soliloquy; some hugged their pillows, and others gnashed their teeth.

The covetous I likewise found to be a very wakeful people. I happened to come into a room where one of them lay sick. His physician and his wife were in close whisper near his bedside. I overheard the doctor say to the poor gentlewoman, "He cannot possibly live till five in the morning." She received it like the mistress of a family prepared for all events. At the same instant came in a servant-maid, who said, "Madam, the undertaker is below according to your order." The words were scarce out of her mouth, when the sick man cried out with a feeble voice, "Pray, doctor, how went bank-stock to-day at 'Change?" This melancholy object made me too serious for diverting myself further this way: but as I was going home, I saw a light in a garret, and entering into it, heard a voice crying, "And, hand, stand, band, fanned, tanned." I concluded him by this, and the furniture of his room, to be a lunatic; but upon listening a little longer, perceived it was a poet, writing an heroic upon the ensuing peace.

It was now towards morning, an hour when spirits, witches, and conjurers are obliged to retire to their own apartments, and feeling the influence of it, I was hastening home, when I saw a man had got half way into a neighbour's house. I immediately called to him, and turning my ring, appeared in my proper person. There is something magisterial in the aspect of the Bickerstaffs, which made him run away in confusion.

As I took a turn or two in my own lodging, I was thinking, that, old as I was, I need not go to bed alone, but that it was in my power to marry the finest lady in this kingdom, if I would wed her with this ring. For what a figure would she that should have it make at a visit, with so perfect a knowledge as this would give her of all the scandal in the town? But instead of endeavouring to dispose of myself and it in matrimony, I resolved to lend it to my loving friend the author of the "Atalantis,"¹⁶¹ to furnish a new Secret History of Secret Memoirs.

No. 244. [Steele.
From Saturday, Oct. 28, to Tuesday, Oct. 31, 1710

 
Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
Qui sapere et fari possit quæ sentiat? —
 

Hor., I Ep. iv. 8.

Will's Coffee-house, Oct. 30

It is no easy matter when people are advancing in anything, to prevent their going too fast for want of patience. This happens in nothing more frequently than in the prosecution of studies. Hence it is, that we meet crowds who attempt to be eloquent before they can speak. They affect the flowers of rhetoric before they understand the parts of speech. In the ordinary conversation of this town, there are so many who can, as they call it, talk well, that there is not one in twenty that talks to be understood. This proceeds from an ambition to excel, or, as the term is, to shine, in company. The matter is not to make themselves understood, but admired. They come together with a certain emulation, rather than benevolence. When you fall among such companions, the safe way is to give yourself up, and let the orators declaim for your esteem, and trouble yourself no further. It is said that a poet must be born so; but I think it may be much better said of an orator, especially when we talk of our town poets and orators; but the town poets are full of rules and laws, the town orators go through thick and thin, and are, forsooth, persons of such eminent natural parts and knowledge of the world, that they despise all men as inexperienced scholastics who wait for an occasion before they speak, or who speak no more than is necessary. They had half persuaded me to go to the tavern the other night, but that a gentleman whispered me, "Prithee, Isaac, go with us; there is Tom Varnish will be there, and he is a fellow that talks as well as any man in England."

I must confess, when a man expresses himself well upon any occasion, and his falling into an account of any subject arises from a desire to oblige the company, or from fulness of the circumstance itself, so that his speaking of it at large is occasioned only by the openness of a companion; I say, in such a case as this, it is not only pardonable, but agreeable, when a man takes the discourse to himself; but when you see a fellow watch for opportunities for being copious, it is excessively troublesome. A man that stammers, if he has understanding, is to be attended with patience and good-nature; but he that speaks more than he need, has no right to such an indulgence. The man who has a defect in his speech takes pains to come to you, while a man of a weak capacity with fluency of speech triumphs in outrunning you. The stammerer strives to be fit for your company; the loquacious man endeavours to show you, you are not fit for his.

With thoughts of this kind do I always enter into that man's company who is recommended as a person that talks well; but if I were to choose the people with whom I would spend my hours of conversation, they should be certainly such as laboured no further than to make themselves readily and clearly apprehended, and would have patience and curiosity to understand me. To have good sense, and ability to express it, are the most essential and necessary qualities in companions. When thoughts rise in us fit to utter, among familiar friends there needs but very little care in clothing them.

Urbanus is, I take it, a man one might live with whole years, and enjoy all the freedom and improvement imaginable, and yet be insensible of a contradiction to you in all the mistakes you can be guilty of. His great good-will to his friends has produced in him such a general deference in his discourse, that if he differs from you in his sense of anything, he introduces his own thoughts by some agreeable circumlocution, or he has often observed such and such a circumstance that made him of another opinion. Again, where another would be apt to say, "This I am confident of; I may pretend to judge of this matter as well as anybody;" Urbanus says, "I am verily persuaded; I believe one may conclude." In a word, there is no man more clear in his thoughts and expressions than he is, or speaks with greater diffidence. You shall hardly find one man of any consideration, but you shall observe one of less consequence form himself after him. This happens to Urbanus; but the man who steals from him almost every sentiment he utters in a whole week, disguises the theft, by carrying it with quite a different air. Umbratilis knows Urbanus's doubtful way of speaking proceeds from good-nature and good-breeding, and not from uncertainty in his opinions. Umbratilis therefore has no more to do but repeat the thoughts of Urbanus in a positive manner, and appear to the undiscerning a wiser man than the person from whom he borrows: but those who know him, can see the servant in his master's habit; and the more he struts, the less do his clothes appear his own.

In conversation, the medium is neither to affect silence or eloquence; not to value our approbation, and to endeavour to excel us who are of your company, are equal injuries. The great enemies therefore to good company, and those who transgress most against the laws of equality (which is the life of it), are, the clown, the wit, and the pedant. A clown, when he has sense, is conscious of his want of education, and with an awkward bluntness hopes to keep himself in countenance, by overthrowing the use of all polite behaviour. He takes advantage of the restraint good-breeding lays upon others not to offend him to trespass against them, and is under the man's own shelter while he intrudes upon him. The fellows of this class are very frequent in the repetition of the words "rough" and "manly." When these people happen to be by their fortunes of the rank of gentlemen, they defend their other absurdities by an impertinent courage; and to help out the defect of their behaviour, add their being dangerous to their being disagreeable. This gentleman (though he displeases, professes to do so, and knowing that, dares still go on to do so) is not so painful a companion as he who will please you against your will, and resolves to be a wit.

This man upon all occasions, and whoever he falls in company with, talks in the same circle, and in the same round of chat which he has learned at one of the tables of this coffee-house. As poetry is in itself an elevation above ordinary and common sentiments, so there is no fop is so very near a madman in indifferent company as a poetical one. He is not apprehensive that the generality of the world are intent upon the business of their own fortune and profession, and have as little capacity as curiosity to enter into matters of ornament or speculation. I remember at a full table in the city, one of these ubiquitary wits was entertaining the company with a soliloquy (for so I call it when a man talks to those who do not understand him) concerning wit and humour. An honest gentleman who sat next to me, and was worth half a plum, stared at him, and observing there was some sense, as he thought, mixed with his impertinence, whispered me, "Take my word for it, this fellow is more knave than fool." This was all my good friend's applause of the wittiest man of talk that I was ever present at, which wanted nothing to make it excellent but that there was no occasion for it.

The pedant is so obvious to ridicule, that it would be to be one to offer to explain him. He is a gentleman so well known, that there is none but those of his own class who do not laugh at and avoid him. Pedantry proceeds from much reading and little understanding. A pedant among men of learning and sense, is like an ignorant servant giving an account of a polite conversation. You may find he has brought with him more than could have entered into his head without being there, but still that he is not a bit wiser than if he had not been there at all.

No. 245. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Oct. 31, to Thursday, Nov. 2, 1710

From my own Apartment, Nov. 1

The lady hereafter mentioned having come to me in very great haste, and paid me much above the usual fee as a cunning man to find her stolen goods, and also having approved my late discourse of advertisements,¹⁶² obliged me to draw up this, and insert it in the body of my paper:

Advertisement

Whereas Bridget Howd'ee,¹⁶³ late servant to the Lady Farthingale, a short, thick, lively, hard-favoured wench, of about twenty-nine years of age, her eyes small and bleared, her nose very broad at bottom, and turning up at the end, her mouth wide, and lips of an unusual thickness, two teeth out before, the rest black and uneven, the tip of her left ear being of a mouse-colour, her voice loud and shrill, quick of speech, and something of a Welsh accent; withdrew herself on Wednesday last from her ladyship's dwelling-house, and, with the help of her consorts, carried off the following goods of her said lady – viz., a thick wadded calico wrapper, a musk-coloured velvet mantle lined with squirrel-skins, eight night-shifts, four pair of silk stockings curiously darned, six pair of laced shoes, new and old, with the heels of half two inches higher than their fellows; a quilted petticoat of the largest size, and one of canvas with whalebone hoops; three pair of stays, bolstered below the left shoulder; two pair of hips of the newest fashion, six roundabout aprons with pockets, and four striped muslin night-rails very little frayed; a silver pot for coffee or chocolate, the lid much bruised; a broad-brimmed flat silver plate for sugar with Rhenish wine, a silver ladle for plum-porridge; a silver cheese-toaster with three tongues, an ebony handle, and silvering at the end; a silver posnet¹⁶⁴ to butter eggs; one caudle and two cordial-water cups, two cocoa cups, and an ostrich's egg, with rims and feet of silver; a marrow spoon, with a scoop at the other end; a silver orange-strainer, eight sweetmeat spoons made with forks at the end, an agate-handle knife and fork in a sheath, a silver tongue-scraper, a silver tobacco-box, with a tulip graved on the top; and a Bible bound in shagreen, with gilt leaves and clasps, never opened but once. Also a small cabinet, with six drawers inlaid with red tortoise-shell, and brass gilt ornaments at the four corners, in which were two leather forehead cloths, three pair of oiled dogskin gloves,¹⁶⁵ seven cakes of superfine Spanish wool, half-a-dozen of Portugal dishes, and a quire of paper from thence; two pair of brand-new plumpers, four black-lead combs, three pair of fashionable eyebrows,¹⁶⁶ two sets of ivory teeth, little the worse for wearing, and one pair of box for common use; Adam and Eve in bugle-work, without fig-leaves, upon canvas, curiously wrought with her ladyship's own hand; several filigrane curiosities; a crochet of 122 diamonds, set strong and deep in silver, with a rump jewel after the same fashion; bracelets of braided hair, pomander, and seed-pearl; a large old purple velvet purse, embroidered, and shutting with a spring, containing two pictures in miniature, the features visible; a broad thick gold ring with a hand in hand graved upon it, and within this posy, "While life does last, I'll hold thee fast;" another set round with small rubies and sparks, six wanting; another of Turkey stone¹⁶⁷ cracked through the middle; an Elizabeth and four Jacobus's, one guinea the first of the coin, an angel with a hole bored through, a broken half of a Spanish piece of gold, a crown piece with the breeches,¹⁶⁸ an old nine-pence bent both ways by Lilly,¹⁶⁹ the almanac maker, for luck at langteraloo,¹⁷⁰ and twelve of the shells called blackamoor's teeth; one small amber box with apoplectic balsam, and one silver gilt of a larger size for cashu¹⁷¹ and caraway comfits, to be taken at long sermons, the lid enamelled, representing a Cupid fishing for hearts, with a piece of gold on his hook; over his head this rhyme, "Only with gold you me shall hold." In the lower drawer was a large new gold repeating watch, made by a Frenchman; a gold chain, and all the proper appurtenances hung upon steel swivels, to wit, lockets with the hair of dead and living lovers, seals with arms, emblems and devices cut in cornelian, agate, and onyx, with Cupids, hearts, darts, altars, flames, rocks, pick-axes, roses, thorns, and sun-flowers; as also variety of ingenious French mottoes; together with gold etuis for quills, scissors, needles, thimbles, and a sponge dipped in Hungary water, left but the night before by a young lady going upon a frolic incog. There was also a bundle of letters, dated between the years 1670 and 1682, most of them signed Philander, the rest Strephon, Amyntas, Corydon, and Adonis; together with a collection of receipts to make pastes for the hands, pomatums, lip-salves, white-pots,¹⁷² beautifying creams, water of talc,¹⁷³ and frog spawn water; decoctions for clearing the complexion, and an approved medicine to procure abortion.

Whoever can discover the aforesaid goods, so that they may be had again, shall have fifty guineas for the whole, or proportionable for any part. N.B.– Her ladyship is pleased to promise ten pounds for the packet of letters over and above, or five for Philander's only, being her first love. My lady bestows those of Strephon to the finder, being so written, that they may serve to any woman who reads them.

Postscript

As I am patron of persons who have no other friend to apply to, I cannot suppress the following complaint:

"Sir,

"I am a blackamoor boy, and have, by my lady's order, been christened by the chaplain. The good man has gone further with me, and told me a great deal of good news; as, that I am as good as my lady herself, as I am a Christian, and many other things: but, for all this, the parrot who came over with me from our country is as much esteemed by her as I am. Besides this, the shock-dog has a collar that cost almost as much as mine.¹⁷⁴ I desire also to know, whether now I am a Christian, I am obliged to dress like a Turk and wear a turban. I am,

"Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,

"Pompey."

No. 246. [Steele.
From Thursday, Nov. 2, to Saturday, Nov. 4, 1710

 
-Vitiis nemo sine nascitur, optimus ille est
Qui minimis urgetur. —
 

Hor., 1 Sat. iii. 68.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 3

When one considers the turn which conversation takes in almost every set of acquaintance, club or assembly, in this town or kingdom, one cannot but observe, that in spite of what I am every day saying, and all the moral writers since the beginning of the world have said, the subject of discourse is generally upon one another's faults. This in a great measure proceeds from self-conceit, which were to be endured in one or other individual person; but the folly has spread itself almost over all the species; and one cannot only say, Tom, Jack, or Will, but in general, that man is a coxcomb. From this source it is that any excellence is faintly received, any imperfection unmercifully exposed. But if things were put in a true light, and we would take time to consider that man in his very nature is an imperfect being, our sense of this matter would be immediately altered, and the word "imperfection" would not carry an unkinder idea than the word "humanity." It is a pleasant story, that we, forsooth, who are the only imperfect creatures in the universe, are the only beings that will not allow of imperfection. Somebody has taken notice, that we stand in the middle of existences, and are by this one circumstance the most unhappy of all others. The brutes are guided by instinct, and know no sorrow; the angels have knowledge, and they are happy; but men are governed by opinion, which is I know not what mixture of instinct and knowledge, and are neither indolent nor happy. It is very observable, that critics are a people between the learned and the ignorant, and by that situation enjoy the tranquillity of neither. As critics stand among men, so do men in general between brutes and angels. Thus every man as he is a critic and a coxcomb, till improved by reason and speculation, is ever forgetting himself, and laying open the faults of others.

At the same time that I am talking of the cruelty of urging people's faults with severity, I cannot but bewail some which men are guilty of for want of admonition. These are such as they can easily mend, and nobody tells them of; for which reason I shall make use of the penny-post (as I have with success to several young ladies about turning their eyes, and holding up their heads) to certain gentlemen whom I remark habitually guilty of what they may reform in a moment. There is a fat fellow whom I have long remarked wearing his breast open in the midst of winter, out of an affectation of youth. I have therefore sent him just now the following letter in my physical capacity:

"Sir,

"From the twentieth instant to the first of May next, both days inclusive, I beg of you to button your waistcoat from your collar to your waistband. I am,

"Your most humble Servant,

"Isaac Bickerstaff, Philomath."¹⁷⁵

There is a very handsome well-shaped youth that frequents the coffee-houses about Charing Cross, and ties a very pretty ribbon with a cross of jewels at his breast.¹⁷⁶ This being something new, and a thing in which the gentleman may offend the Heralds' Office, I have addressed myself to him as I am censor:

"Dear Countryman,

"Was that ensign of honour which you wear, given you by a prince or a lady that you have served? If you bear it as an absent lover, please to hang it on a black ribbon; if as a rewarded soldier, you may have my licence to continue the red.

"Your faithful Servant,

"Bickerstaff, Censor."

These little intimations do great service, and are very useful, not only to the persons themselves, but to inform others how to conduct themselves towards them.

Instead of this honest private method, or a friendly one face to face, of acquainting people with things in their power to explain or amend, the usual way among people is to take no notice of things you can help, and nevertheless expose you for those you cannot.

Plumbeus and Levis are constantly in each other's company: they would, if they took proper methods, be very agreeable companions; but they so extravagantly aim at what they are unfit for, and each of them rallies the other so much in the wrong place, that instead of doing each other the offices of friends, they do but instruct the rest of the world to laugh at them with more knowledge and skill. Plumbeus is of a saturnine and sullen complexion; Levis, of a mercurial and airy disposition. Both these gentlemen have but very slow parts, but would make a very good figure, did they pursue what they ought. If Plumbeus would take to business, he would in a few years know the forms of orders so well, as to direct and dictate with so much ease, as to be thought a solid, able, and at the same time a sure man of despatch. Levis, with a little reading and coming more into company, would soon be able to write a song, or lead up a country-dance. Instead of these proper pursuits, in obedience to their respective geniuses, Plumbeus endeavours to be the man of pleasure, and Levis the man of business. This appears in their speech, and in their dress: Plumbeus is ever egregiously fine, and talking something like wit; Levis is ever extremely grave, and with a silly face repeating maxims. These two pardon each other for affecting what each is incapable of, the one to be wise, and the other gay; but are extremely critical in their judgments of each other in their way towards what they pretend to. Plumbeus acknowledges Levis a man of a great reach, because it is what Plumbeus never cared for being thought himself; and Levis allows Plumbeus to be an agreeable rake for the same reason. Now were these dear friends to be free with each other as they ought to be, they would change characters, and be both as commendable, instead of being as ridiculous, as their capacities will admit of.

Were it not too grave, all that I would urge on this subject is, that men are bewildered when they consider themselves in any other view than that of strangers, who are in a place where it is no great matter whether they can, or unreasonable to expect they should, have everything about them as well as at their own home. This way of thinking is, perhaps, the only one that can put this being into a proper posture for the ease of society. It is certain, this would reduce all faults into those which proceed from malice or dishonesty: it would quite change our manner of beholding one another, and nothing that was not below a man's nature would be below his character. The arts of this life would be proper advances towards the next; and a very good man would be a very fine gentleman. As it now is, human life is inverted, and we have not learned half the knowledge of this world before we are dropping into another. Thus, instead of the raptures and contemplations which naturally attend a well-spent life from the approach of eternity, even we old fellows are afraid of the ridicule of those who are born since us, and ashamed not to understand, as well as peevish to resign, the mode, the fashion, the ladies, the fiddles, the balls, and what not. Dick Reptile, who does not want humour, is very pleasant at our club when he sees an old fellow touchy at being laughed at for anything that is not in the mode, and bawls in his ear, "Prithee don't mind him; tell him thou art mortal."

No. 247. [Steele.
By Jenny Distaff, Half-Sister to Mr. Bickerstaff.
From Saturday, Nov. 4, to Tuesday, Nov. 7, 1710

 
Ædepol, næ nos sumus … æque omnes invisæ viris,
Propter paucas; quæ omnes faciunt dignæ ut videamur malo.
 

Ter., Hecyra, act ii. sc. 3.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 6

My brother, having written the above piece of Latin, desired me to take care of the rest of the ensuing paper. Towards this he bid me answer the following letter, and said, nothing I could write properly on the subject of it would be disagreeable to the motto. It is the cause of my sex, and I therefore enter upon it with great alacrity. The epistle is literally thus:

Edinburgh, Oct. 23.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I presume to lay before you an affair of mine, and begs you'le be very sinceir in giving me your judgment and advice in this matter, which is as followes:

"A very agreeable young gentleman, who is endowed with all the good quallities that can make a man compleat, has this long time maid love to me in the most passionat manner that was posable. He has left nothing unsaid to make me belive his affections real; and in his letters expressed himself so hansomly, and so tenderly, that I had all the reason imaginable to belive him sinceir. In short, he positively has promised me he would marry me: but I find all he said nothing; for when the question was put to him, he wouldn't; but still would continue my humble servant, and would go on at the ould rate, repeating the assurences of his fidelity (and at the same time has none in him). He now writs to me in the same endearing style he ust to do, would have me spake to no man but himself. His estate is in his oune hand, his father being dead. My fortune at my oune disposal (mine being also dead), and to the full answers his estate. Pray, sir, be ingeinous, and tell me cordially, if you don't think I shall do myself an injurey if I keep company or a corospondance any longer with this gentleman. I hope you'le faver an honest North Briton (as I am) with your advice in this amoure; for I am resolved just to folow your directions. Sir, you'le do me a sensable pleasure, and very great honour, if you'le pleas to insirt this poor scrole, with your answer to it, in your Tatler. Pray fail not to give me your answer; for on it depends the happiness of

"Disconsolat Almeira."

"Madam,

"I have frequently read over your letter, and am of opinion, that as lamentable as it is, it is the most common of any evil that attends our sex. I am very much troubled for the tenderness you express towards your lover, but rejoice at the same time that you can so far surmount your inclination for him as to resolve to dismiss him when you have my brother's opinion for it. His sense of the matter he desired me to communicate to you. O Almeira! the common failing of our sex is to value the merit of our lovers rather from the grace of their address than the sincerity of their hearts. 'He has expressed himself so handsomely!' Can you say that after you have reason to doubt his truth? It is a very melancholy thing, that in this circumstance of love (which is the most important of all others in female life) we women, who are, they say, always weak, are still weakest. The true way of valuing a man, is to consider his reputation among the men: for want of this necessary rule towards our conduct, when it is too late we find ourselves married to the outcasts of that sex; and it is generally from being disagreeable among men, that fellows endeavour to make themselves pleasing to us. The little accomplishments of coming into a room with a good air, and telling while they are with us what we cannot hear among ourselves, usually make up the whole of a woman's man's merit. But if we, when we began to reflect upon our lovers, in the first place considered what figures they make in the camp, at the bar, on the 'Change, in their country, or at court, we should behold them in quite another view than at present.

"Were we to behave ourselves according to this rule, we should not have the just imputation of favouring the silliest of mortals, to the great scandal of the wisest, who value our favour as it advances their pleasure, not their reputation. In a word, madam, if you would judge aright in love, you must look upon it as in a case of friendship. Were this gentleman treating with you for anything but yourself, when you had consented to his offer, if he fell off, you would call him a cheat and an impostor. There is therefore nothing left for you to do, but to despise him and yourself for doing with regret.

"I am,

"Madam, &c."

I have heard it often argued in conversation, that this evil practice is owing to the perverted taste of the wits in the last generation. A libertine on the throne could very easily make the language and the fashion turn his own way. Hence it is, that woman is treated as a mistress, and not a wife. It is from the writings of those times, and the traditional accounts of the debauches of their men of pleasure, that the coxcombs nowadays take upon them, forsooth, to be false swains and perjured lovers. Methinks I feel all the woman rise in me, when I reflect upon the nauseous rogues that pretend to deceive us. Wretches, that can never have it in their power to overreach anything living but their mistresses! In the name of goodness, if we are designed by nature as suitable companions to the other sex, why are we not treated accordingly? If we have merit, as some allow, why is it not as base in men to injure us as one another? If we are the insignificants that others call us, where is the triumph in deceiving us? But when I look at the bottom of this disaster, and recollect the many of my acquaintance whom I have known in the same condition with the Northern lass that occasions this discourse, I must own I have ever found the perfidiousness of men has been generally owing to ourselves, and we have contributed to our own deceit. The truth is, we do not conduct ourselves as we are courted, but as we are inclined. When we let our imaginations take this unbridled swing, it is not he that acts best is most lovely, but he that is most lovely acts best. When our humble servants make their addresses, we do not keep ourselves enough disengaged to be judges of their merit; and we seldom give our judgment of our lover, till we have lost our judgment for him.

While Clarinda was passionately attended and addressed to by Strephon, who is a man of sense and knowledge in the world, and Cassio, who has a plentiful fortune and an excellent understanding, she fell in love with Damon at a ball: from that moment she that was before the most reasonable creature of all my acquaintance, cannot hear Strephon speak, but it is something "so out of the way of ladies' conversation;" and Cassio has never since opened his mouth before us, but she whispers me, "How seldom do riches and sense go together!" The issue of all this is, that for the love of Damon, who has neither experience, understanding, or wealth, she despises those advantages in the other two which she finds wanting in her lover; or else thinks he has them for no reason but because he is her lover. This and many other instances may be given in this town; but I hope thus much may suffice to prevent the growth of such evils at Edinburgh.

No. 248. [Steele.
By Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.
From Tuesday, Nov. 7, to Thursday, Nov. 9, 1710

 
– Media sese tulit obvia silva,
Virginis os habitumque gerens —
 

Virg., Æn. i. 314.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 8

It may perhaps appear ridiculous; but I must confess, this last summer as I was riding in Enfield Chase, I met a young lady whom I could hardly get out of my head, and for aught I know my heart, ever since.¹⁷⁷ She was mounted on a pad, with a very well-fancied furniture. She sat her horse with a very graceful air; and when I saluted her with my hat, she bowed to me so obligingly, that whether it was her civility or beauty that touched me so much, I know not, but I am sure I shall never forget her. She dwells in my imagination in a figure so much to her advantage, that if I were to draw a picture of youth, health, beauty, or modesty, I should represent any or all of them in the person of that young woman.

I do not find that there are any descriptions in the ancient poets so beautiful as those they draw of nymphs in their pastoral dresses and exercises. Virgil gives Venus the habit of a Spartan huntress when she is to put Æneas in his way, and relieve his cares with the most agreeable object imaginable.¹⁷⁸ Diana and her train are always described as inhabitants of the woods, and followers of the chase. To be well diverted, is the safest guard to innocence; and, methinks, it should be one of the first things to be regarded among people of condition to find out proper amusements for young ladies. I cannot but think this of riding might easily be revived among them, when they consider how much it must contribute to their beauty. This would lay up the best portion they could bring into a family, a good stock of health to transmit to their posterity. Such a charming bloom as this gives the countenance, is very much preferable to the real or affected feebleness or softness which appear in the faces of our modern beauties.

The comedy called "The Ladies' Cure,"¹⁷⁹ represents the affectation of wan looks and languid glances to a very entertaining extravagance. There is, as the lady in the play complains, something so robust in perfect health, that it is with her a point of breeding and delicacy to appear in public with a sickly air. But the natural gaiety and spirit which shine in the complexion of such as form to themselves a sort of diverting industry by choosing recreations that are exercises, surpass all the false ornaments and graces that can be put on by applying the whole dispensary of a toilet. A healthy body and a cheerful mind give charms as irresistible as inimitable. The beauteous Dyctinna, who came to town last week, has, from the constant prospect in a delicious country, and the moderate exercise and journeys in the visits she made round it, contracted a certain life in her countenance which will in vain employ both the painters and poets to represent. The becoming negligence in her dress, the severe sweetness of her looks, and a certain innocent boldness in all her behaviour, are the effect of the active recreations I am talking of.

But instead of such or any other as innocent and pleasing method of passing away their time with alacrity, we have many in town who spend their hours in an indolent state of body and mind, without either recreations or reflections. I am apt to believe, there are some parents imagine their daughters will be accomplished enough, if nothing interrupts their growth or their shape. According to this method of education, I could name you twenty families, where all the girls hear of in this life is, that it is time to rise and to come to dinner; as if they were so insignificant as to be wholly provided for when they are fed and clothed.

It is with great indignation that I see such crowds of the female world lost to human society, and condemned to a laziness which makes life pass away with less relish than in the hardest labour. Palestris, in her drawing-room, is supported by spirits to keep off the returns of spleen and melancholy, before she can get over half the day for want of something to do, while the wench in the kitchen sings and scours from morning to night.

The next disagreeable thing to a lazy lady is a very busy one. A man of business in good company, who gives an account of his abilities and despatches, is hardly more insupportable than her they call a notable woman and a manager. Lady Goodday, where I visited the other day at a very polite circle, entertained a great lady with a recipe for a poultice, and gave us to understand, that she had done extraordinary cures since she was last in town. It seems a countryman had wounded himself with his scythe as he was mowing; and we were obliged to hear of her charity, her medicine, and her humility, in the harshest tone and coarsest language imaginable.

What I would request in all this prattle is, that our females would either let us have their persons or their minds in such perfection as nature designed them.

The way to this is, that those who are in the quality of gentlewomen should propose to themselves some suitable method of passing away their time. This would furnish them with reflections and sentiments proper for the companions of reasonable men, and prevent the unnatural marriages which happen every day between the most accomplished women and the veriest oafs, the worthiest men and the most insignificant females. Were the general turn of women's education of another kind than it is at present, we should want one another for more reasons than we do as the world now goes. The common design of parents is to get their girls off as well as they can, and make no conscience of putting into our hands a bargain for our whole life which will make our hearts ache every day of it.

I shall therefore take this matter into serious consideration, and will propose, for the better improvement of the fair sex, a female library.¹⁸⁰ This collection of books shall consist of such authors as do not corrupt while they divert, but shall tend more immediately to improve them, as they are women. They shall be such as shall not hurt a feature by the austerity of their reflections, nor cause one impertinent glance by the wantonness of them. They shall all tend to advance the value of their innocence as virgins, improve their understanding as wives, and regulate their tenderness as parents. It has been very often said in these Lucubrations, that the ideas which most frequently pass through our imaginations, leave traces of themselves in our countenances. There shall be a strict regard had to this in my female library, which shall be furnished with nothing that shall give supplies to ostentation or impertinence; but the whole shall be so digested for the use of my students, that they shall not go out of character in their inquiries, but their knowledge appear only a cultivated innocence.

No. 249. [Addison.
From Thursday, Nov. 9, to Saturday, Nov. 11, 1710

 
Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum,
Tendimus —
 

Virg., Æn. i. 204.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 10

I was last night visited by a friend¹⁸¹ of mine who has an inexhaustible fund of discourse, and never fails to entertain his company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether new and uncommon. Whether it were in complaisance to my way of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox, that it required much greater talents to fill up and become a retired life than a life of business. Upon this occasion he rallied very agreeably the busy men of the age, who only valued themselves for being in motion, and passing through a series of trifling and insignificant actions. In the heat of his discourse, seeing a piece of money lying on my table, "I defy," says he, "any of these active persons to produce half the adventures that this twelvepenny-piece has been engaged in, were it possible for him to give us an account of his life."

My friend's talk made so odd an impression upon my mind, that soon after I was a-bed I fell insensibly into a most unaccountable reverie, that had neither moral nor design in it, and cannot be so properly called a dream as a delirium.

Methought the shilling that lay upon the table reared itself upon its edge, and turning the face towards me, opened its mouth, and in a soft silver sound gave me the following account of his life and adventures:

"I was born," says he, "on the side of a mountain, near a little village of Peru, and made a voyage to England in an ingot, under the convoy of Sir Francis Drake. I was, soon after my arrival, taken out of my Indian habit, refined, naturalised, and put into the British mode, with the face of Queen Elizabeth on one side, and the arms of the country on the other. Being thus equipped, I found in me a wonderful inclination to ramble, and visit all the parts of the new world into which I was brought. The people very much favoured my natural disposition, and shifted me so fast from hand to hand, that before I was five years old, I had travelled into almost every corner of the nation. But in the beginning of my sixth year, to my unspeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a miserable old fellow, who clapped me into an iron chest, where I found five hundred more of my own quality who lay under the same confinement. The only relief we had, was to be taken out and counted over in the fresh air every morning and evening. After an imprisonment of several years, we heard somebody knocking at our chest, and breaking it open with a hammer. This we found was the old man's heir, who, as his father lay a-dying, was so good as to come to our release: he separated us that very day. What was the fate of my companions, I know not: as for myself, I was sent to the apothecary's shop for a pint of sack. The apothecary gave me to a herb-woman, the herb-woman to a butcher, the butcher to a brewer, and the brewer to his wife, who made a present of me to a Nonconformist preacher. After this manner I made my way merrily through the world; for, as I told you before, we shillings love nothing so much as travelling. I sometimes fetched in a shoulder of mutton, sometimes a play-book, and often had the satisfaction to treat a Templar at a twelvepenny ordinary, or carry him with three friends to Westminster Hall.

"In the midst of this pleasant progress which I made from place to place, I was arrested by a superstitious old woman, who shut me up in a greasy purse, in pursuance of a foolish saying, that while she kept a Queen Elizabeth's shilling about her, she should never be without money. I continued here a close prisoner for many months, till at last I was exchanged for eight-and-forty farthings.

"I thus rambled from pocket to pocket till the beginning of the Civil Wars, when, to my shame be it spoken, I was employed in raising soldiers against the King; for being of a very tempting breadth, a sergeant made use of me to inveigle country fellows, and list them in the service of the Parliament.

"As soon as he had made one man sure, his way was to oblige him to take a shilling of a more homely figure, and then practise the same trick upon another. Thus I continued doing great mischief to the Crown, till my officer chancing one morning to walk abroad earlier than ordinary, sacrificed me to his pleasures, and made use of me to seduce a milkmaid. This wench bent me, and gave me to her sweetheart, applying more properly than she intended the usual form of, 'To my love and from my love.' This ungenerous gallant marrying her within few days after, pawned me for a dram of brandy, and drinking me out next day, I was beaten flat with a hammer, and again set a-running.

"After many adventures, which it would be tedious to relate, I was sent to a young spendthrift, in company with the will of his deceased father. The young fellow, who I found was very extravagant, gave great demonstrations of joy at the receiving the will; but opening it, he found himself disinherited and cut off from the possession of a fair estate, by virtue of my being made a present to him. This put him into such a passion, that after having taken me in his hand, and cursed me, he squirred¹⁸² me away from him as far as he could fling me. I chanced to light in an unfrequented place under a dead wall, where I lay undiscovered and useless during the usurpation of Oliver Cromwell.

"About a year after the King's return, a poor cavalier that was walking there about dinner-time fortunately cast his eye upon me, and, to the great joy of us both, carried me to a cook's-shop, where he dined upon me, and drank the King's health. When I came again into the world, I found that I had been happier in my retirement than I thought, having probably by that means escaped wearing a monstrous pair of breeches.¹⁸³

"Being now of great credit and antiquity, I was rather looked upon as a medal than an ordinary coin; for which reason a gamester laid hold of me, and converted me to a counter, having got together some dozens of us for that use. We led a melancholy life in his possession, being busy at those hours wherein current coin is at rest, and partaking the fate of our master, being in a few moments valued at a crown, a pound, or a sixpence, according to the situation in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length the good luck to see my master break, by which means I was again sent abroad under my primitive denomination of a shilling.

"I shall pass over many other accidents of less moment, and hasten to that fatal catastrophe when I fell into the hands of an artist, who conveyed me under ground, and with an unmerciful pair of shears cut off my titles, clipped my brims, retrenched my shape, rubbed me to my inmost ring, and, in short, so spoiled and pillaged me, that he did not leave me worth a groat. You may think what a confusion I was in to see myself thus curtailed and disfigured. I should have been ashamed to have shown my head, had not all my old acquaintance been reduced to the same shameful figure, excepting some few that were punched through the belly. In the midst of this general calamity, when everybody thought our misfortune irretrievable, and our case desperate, we were thrown into the furnace together, and (as it often happens with cities rising out of a fire) appeared with greater beauty and lustre than we could ever boast of before. What has happened to me since the change of sex which you now see, I shall take some other opportunity to relate. In the meantime I shall only repeat two adventures, as being very extraordinary, and neither of them having ever happened to me above once in my life. The first was, my being in a poet's pocket, who was so taken with the brightness and novelty of my appearance, that it gave occasion to the finest burlesque poem in the British language, entitled from me, 'The Splendid Shilling.'¹⁸⁴ The second adventure, which I must not omit, happened to me in the year 1703, when I was given away in charity to a blind man; but indeed this was by a mistake, the person who gave me having heedlessly thrown me into the hat among a pennyworth of farthings."

No. 250. [Addison.
From Saturday, Nov. 11, to Tuesday, Nov. 14, 1710

 
Scis etenim justum gemina suspendere lance
Ancipitis libræ. —
 

Pers., Sat. iv. 10.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 13

I last winter erected a Court of Justice for the correcting of several enormities in dress and behaviour, which are not cognisable in any other courts of this realm. The vintner's case¹⁸⁵ which I there tried is still fresh in every man's memory. That of the petticoat¹⁸⁶ gave also a general satisfaction, not to mention the more important points of the cane and perspective;¹⁸⁷ in which, if I did not give judgments and decrees according to the strictest rules of equity and justice, I can safely say, I acted according to the best of my understanding. But as for the proceedings of that court, I shall refer my reader to an account of them, written by my secretary, which is now in the press, and will shortly be published under the title of "Lillie's¹⁸⁸ Reports."

As I last year presided over a Court of Justice, it is my intention this year to set myself at the head of a Court of Honour. There is no court of this nature anywhere at present, except in France, where, according to the best of my intelligence, it consists of such only as are marshals of that kingdom. I am likewise informed, that there is not one of that honourable board at present who has not been driven out of the field by the Duke of Marlborough; but whether this be only an accidental or a necessary qualification, I must confess I am not able to determine.

As for the Court of Honour of which I am here speaking, I intend to sit myself in it as president, with several men of honour on my right hand, and women of virtue on my left, as my assistants. The first place of the bench I have given to an old Tangerine captain with a wooden leg. The second is a gentleman of a long twisted periwig without a curl in it, a muff with very little hair upon it, and a threadbare coat with new buttons, being a person of great worth, and second brother to a man of quality. The third is a gentleman-usher, extremely well read in romances, and grandson to one of the greatest wits in Germany, who was some time master of the ceremonies to the Duke of Wolfembuttel.

As for those who sit farther on my right hand, as it is usual in public courts, they are such as will fill up the number of faces upon the bench, and serve rather for ornament than use.¹⁸⁹

The chief upon my left hand are, an old maiden lady, that preserves some of the best blood of England in her veins.

A Welsh woman of a little stature, but high spirit.

An old prude that has censured every marriage for these thirty years, and is lately wedded to a young rake.

Having thus furnished my bench, I shall establish correspondencies with the Horse Guards, and the veterans of Chelsea College; the former to furnish me with twelve men of honour as often as I shall have occasion for a grand jury, and the latter with as many good men and true for a petty jury.

As for the women of virtue, it will not be difficult for me to find them about midnight at crimp and basset.

Having given this public notice of my court, I must further add, that I intend to open it on this day sevennight, being Monday the twentieth instant; and do hereby invite all such as have suffered injuries and affronts that are not to be redressed by the common laws of this land, whether they be short bows, cold salutations, supercilious looks, unreturned smiles, distant behaviour, or forced familiarity; as also all such as have been aggrieved by any ambiguous expression, accidental jostle, or unkind repartee; likewise all such as have been defrauded of their right to the wall, tricked out of the upper end of the table, or have been suffered to place themselves in their own wrong on the back seat of the coach: these, and all of these, I do, as I above said, invite to bring in their several cases and complaints, in which they shall be relieved with all imaginable expedition.

I am very sensible, that the office I have now taken upon me will engage me in the disquisition of many weighty points that daily perplex the youth of the British nation, and therefore I have already discussed several of them for my future use; as, How far a man may brandish his cane in the telling a story, without insulting his hearer? What degree of contradiction amounts to the lie? How a man should resent another's staring and cocking a hat in his face? If asking pardon is an atonement for treading upon one's toes? Whether a man may put up [with] a box on the ear received from a stranger in the dark? Or, Whether a man of honour may take a blow off his wife? With several other subtleties of the like nature.

For my direction in the duties of my office, I have furnished myself with a certain astrological pair of scales which I have contrived for this purpose. In one of them I lay the injuries, in the other the reparations. The first are represented by little weights made of a metal resembling iron, and the other in gold. These are not only lighter than the weights made use of in avoirdupois, but also than such as are used in troy weight. The heaviest of those that represent the injuries amount but to a scruple; and decrease by so many subdivisions, that there are several imperceptible weights which cannot be seen without the help of a very fine microscope. I might acquaint my reader, that these scales were made under the influence of the sun when he was in Libra, and describe many signatures on the weights both of injury and reparation: but as this would look rather to proceed from an ostentation of my own art than any care for the public, I shall pass it over in silence.

The letter of the 7th instant, inquired for by another of the 11th, came to hand.

No. 251. [Steele.
From Tuesday, Nov. 14, to Thursday, Nov. 16, 1710

 
Quisnam igitur liber? Sapiens, sibi qui imperiosus,
Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula, terrent:
Responsare cupidinibus, contemnere honores
Fortis, et in se ipso totus, teres atque rotundus,
Externi ne quid valeat per leve morari;
In quem manca ruit semper fortuna. —
 

Hor., 2 Sat. vii. 83.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 15

It is necessary to an easy and happy life, to possess our minds in such a manner as to be always well satisfied with our own reflections. The way to this state is to measure our actions by our own opinion, and not by that of the rest of the world. The sense of other men ought to prevail over us in things of less consideration, but not in concerns where truth and honour are engaged. When we look into the bottom of things, what at first appears a paradox is a plain truth; and those possessions which, for want of being duly weighed, seem to proceed from a sort of romantic philosophy, and ignorance of the world, after a little reflection are so reasonable, that it is direct madness to walk by any other rules. Thus to contradict our desires, and to conquer the impulses of our ambition, if they do not fall in with what we in our inward sentiments approve, is so much our interest, and so absolutely necessary to our real happiness, that to contemn all the wealth and power in the world, where they stand in competition with a man's honour, is rather good sense than greatness of mind.

Did we consider that the mind of a man is the man himself, we should think it the most unnatural sort of self-murder to sacrifice the sentiment of the soul to gratify the appetites of the body. Bless us! Is it possible, that when the necessities of life are supplied, a man would flatter to be rich, or circumvent to be powerful? When we meet a poor wretch urged with hunger and cold asking an alms, we are apt to think this a state we could rather starve than submit to: but yet how much more despicable is his condition who is above necessity, and yet shall resign his reason and his integrity to purchase superfluities? These are both abject and common beggars; but sure it is less despicable to beg a supply to a man's hunger than his vanity. But custom and general prepossessions have so far prevailed over an unthinking world, that those necessitous creatures who cannot relish life without applause, attendance, and equipage, are so far from making a contemptible figure, that distressed virtue is less esteemed than successful vice. But if a man's appeal in cases that regarded his honour were made to his own soul, there would be a basis and standing rule for our conduct, and we should always endeavour rather to be than appear honourable. Mr. Collier, in his essay on Fortitude,¹⁹⁰ has treated this subject with great wit and magnanimity. "What," says he, "can be more honourable than to have courage enough to execute the commands of reason and conscience; to maintain the dignity of our nature, and the station assigned us? To be proof against poverty, pain, and death itself? I mean so far as not to do anything that is scandalous or sinful to avoid them? To stand adversity under all shapes with decency and resolution? To do this, is to be great above title and fortune. This argues the soul of a heavenly extraction, and is worthy the offspring of the Deity."

What a generous ambition has this man pointed to us? When men have settled in themselves a conviction by such noble precepts, that there is nothing honourable that is not accompanied with innocence; nothing mean but what has guilt in it; I say, when they have attained thus much, though poverty, pain, and death may still retain their terrors, yet riches, pleasures, and honours will easily lose their charms, if they stand between us and our integrity.

What is here said with allusion to fortune and fame, may as justly be applied to wit and beauty; for these latter are as adventitious as the other, and as little concern the essence of the soul. They are all laudable in the man who possesses them only for the just application of them. A bright imagination, while it is subservient to an honest and noble soul, is a faculty which makes a man justly admired by mankind, and furnishes him with reflections upon his own actions, which add delicates to the feast of a good conscience: but when wit descends to wait upon sensual pleasures, or promote the base purposes of ambition, it is then to be contemned in proportion to its excellence. If a man will not resolve to place the foundation of his happiness in his own mind, life is a bewildered and unhappy state, incapable of rest or tranquillity: for to such a one the general applause of valour, wit, nay of honesty itself, can give him but a very feeble comfort, since it is capable of being interrupted by any one who wants either understanding or good-nature to see or acknowledge such excellences. This rule is so necessary, that one may very safely say, it is impossible to know any true relish of our being without it. Look about you in common life among the ordinary race of mankind, and you will find merit in every kind is allowed only to those who are in particular districts or sets of company: but since men can have little pleasure in these faculties which denominate them persons of distinction, let them give up such an empty pursuit, and think nothing essential to happiness but what is in their own power, the capacity of reflecting with pleasure on their own actions, however they are interpreted.

It is so evident a truth, that it is only in our own bosoms we are to search for anything to make us happy, that it is, methinks, a disgrace to our nature to talk of the taking our measures from thence only as a matter of fortitude. When all is well there, the vicissitudes and distinctions of life are the mere scenes of a drama, and he will never act his part well who has his thoughts more fixed upon the applause of the audience than the design of his part.

The life of a man who acts with a steady integrity, without valuing the interpretation of his actions, has but one uniform regular path to move in, where he cannot meet opposition, or fear ambuscade. On the other side, the least deviation from the rules of honour introduces a train of numberless evils, and involves him in inexplicable mazes. He that has entered into guilt has bid adieu to rest, and every criminal has his share of the misery expressed so emphatically in the tragedian:¹⁹¹

Macbeth shall sleep no more! ¹⁹²

It was with detestation of any other grandeur but the calm command of his own passion, that the excellent Mr. Cowley cries out with so much justice:

 
If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat
With any thought so mean as to be great,
Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove
The humble blessings of that life I love. ¹⁹³
 

No. 252. [Steele.
From Thursday, Nov. 16 to Saturday, Nov. 18, 1710

 
Narratur et prisci Catonis
Sæpe mero caluisse virtus.
 

Hor., 3 Od. xxi. 11.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 17

The following letter, and several others to the same purpose, accuse me of a rigour of which I am far from being guilty, to wit, the disallowing the cheerful use of wine.

"From my Country-house,Oct. 25.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Your discourse against drinking, in Tuesday's Tatler,¹⁹⁴ I like well enough in the main; but in my humble opinion, you are become too rigid where you say to this effect: 'Were there only this single consideration, that we are the less masters of ourselves if we drink the least proportion beyond the exigence of thirst.' I hope no one drinks wine to allay this appetite. This seems to be designed for a loftier indulgence of Nature; for it were hard to suppose, that the Author of Nature, who imposed upon her her necessities and pains, does not allow her her pleasures, and we may reckon among the latter the moderate use of the grape: and though I am as much against excess, or whatever approaches it, as yourself, yet I conceive one may safely go further than the bounds you there prescribe, not only without forfeiting the title of being one's own master, but also to possess it in a much greater degree. If a man's expressing himself upon any subject with more life and vivacity, more variety of ideas, more copiously, more fluently, and more to the purpose, argues it, he thinks clearer, speaks more ready, and with greater choice of comprehensive and significant terms. I have the good fortune now to be intimate with a gentleman remarkable for this temper, who has an inexhaustible source of wit to entertain the curious, the grave, the humorous, and the frolic. He can transform himself into different shapes, and adapt himself to every company; yet in a coffee-house, or in the ordinary course of affairs, appears rather dull than sprightly. You can seldom get him to the tavern, but when once he is arrived to his pint, and begins to look about and like his company, you admire a thousand things in him, which before lay buried. Then you discover the brightness of his mind and the strength of his judgment, accompanied with the most graceful mirth. In a word, by this enlivening aid, he is whatever is polite, instructive, and diverting. What makes him still more agreeable is, that he tells a story, serious or comical, with as much delicacy of humour as Cervantes himself. And for all this, at other times, even after a long knowledge of him, you shall scarce discern in this incomparable person a whit more than what might be expected from one of a common capacity. Doubtless there are men of great parts that are guilty of downright bashfulness, that by a strange hesitation and reluctance to speak, murder the finest and most elegant thoughts, and render the most lively conceptions flat and heavy.

"In this case, a certain quantity of my white or red cordial, which you will, is an easy, but an infallible remedy. It awakens the judgment, quickens memory, ripens understanding, disperses melancholy, cheers the heart; in a word, restores the whole man to himself and his friends without the least pain or indisposition to the patient. To be taken only in the evening in a reasonable quantity before going to bed. Note.– My bottles are sealed with three fleurs-de-lis and a bunch of grapes. Beware of counterfeits. I am,

"Your most humble Servant, &c."

Whatever has been said against the use of wine, upon the supposition that it enfeebles the mind, and renders it unfit for the duties of life, bears forcibly to the advantage of that delicious juice, in cases where it only heightens conversation, and brings to light agreeable talents, which otherwise would have lain concealed under the oppression of an unjust modesty. I must acknowledge I have seen many of the temper mentioned by this correspondent, and own, wine may very allowably be used in a degree above the supply of mere necessity by such as labour under melancholy, or are tongue-tied by modesty. It is certainly a very agreeable change, when we see a glass raise a lifeless conversation into all the pleasures of wit and good-humour. But when Caska adds to his natural impudence the fluster of a bottle, that which fools called fire when he was sober, all men abhor as outrage when he is drunk. Thus he that in the morning was only saucy, is in the evening tumultuous. It makes one sick to hear one of these fellows say, they love a friend and a bottle. Noisy mirth has something too rustic in it to be considered without terror by men of politeness: but while the discourse improves in a well-chosen company, from the addition of spirits which flow from moderate cups, it must be acknowledged, that leisure time cannot be more agreeably, or perhaps more usefully employed than at such meetings: but there is a certain prudence in this and all other circumstances which makes right or wrong in the conduct of ordinary life. Sir Geoffrey Wildacre has nothing so much at heart as that his son should know the world betimes: for this end he introduces him among the sots of his own age, where the boy learns to laugh at his father from the familiarity with which he sees him treated by his equals. This the old fellow calls living well with his heir, and teaching him to be too much his friend to be impatient for his estate. But for the more exact regulation of society in this and other matters, I shall publish tables of the characters and relations among men, and by them instruct the town in making sets and companies for a bottle. This humour of Sir Geoffrey shall be taken notice of in the first place; for there is, methinks, a sort of incest in drunkenness, and sons are not to behold fathers stripped of all reverence.

It is shocking in nature for the young to see those whom they should have an awe for in circumstances of contempt. I shall therefore utterly forbid, that those in whom nature should admonish to avoid too gross familiarities, shall be received in parties of pleasure where there is the least danger of excess. I should run through the whole doctrine of drinking, but that my thoughts are at present too much employed in the modelling my Court of Honour; and altering the seats, benches, bar, and canopy from that of the court wherein I last winter sat upon causes of less moment. By the way, I shall take an opportunity to examine, what method is to be taken to make joiners and other artificers get out of a house they have once entered, not forgetting to tie them under proper regulations. It is for want of such rules, that I have a day or two longer than I expected been tormented and deafened with hammers, insomuch that I neither can pursue this discourse, or answer the following and many other letters of the highest importance.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"We are man and wife, and have a boy and a girl: the lad seventeen, the maiden sixteen. We are quarrelling about some parts of their education. I, Ralph, cannot bear that I must pay for the girl's learning on the spinnet, when I know she has no ear. I, Bridget, have not patience to have my son whipped because he cannot make verses, when I know he is a blockhead. Pray, sir, inform us, is it absolutely necessary that all who wear breeches must be taught to rhyme, all in petticoats to touch an instrument? Please to interpose in this and the like cases, to end much solid distress which arises from trifling causes, as it is common in wedlock, and you will very much oblige us and ours.

"Ralph }

} Yokefellow."

"Bridget }

No. 253. [Addison and Steele. ¹⁹⁵
From Saturday, Nov. 18, to Tuesday, Nov. 21, 1710

 
-Pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum quem
Conspexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant.
 

Virg., Æn. i. 151.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 20

Extract of the Journal of the Court of Honour, 1710.¹⁹⁶

Die lunae vicesimo Novembris, hora nona ante-meridiana

The court being sat, an oath prepared by the censor was administered to the assistants on his right hand, who were all sworn upon their honour. The women on his left hand took the same oath upon their reputation. Twelve gentlemen of the Horse Guards were empanelled, having unanimously chosen Mr. Alexander Truncheon, who is their right-hand man in the troop, for their foreman in the jury. Mr. Truncheon immediately drew his sword, and holding it with the point towards his own body, presented it to the censor. Mr. Bickerstaff received it, and after having surveyed the breadth of the blade, and sharpness of the point, with more than ordinary attention, returned it to the foreman in a very graceful manner. The rest of the jury, upon the delivery of the sword to their foreman, drew all of them together as one man, and saluted the bench with such an air, as signified the most resigned submission to those who commanded them, and the greatest magnanimity to execute what they should command.

Mr. Bickerstaff, after having received the compliments on his right hand, cast his eye upon the left, where the whole female jury paid their respects by a low courtesy, and by laying their hands upon their mouths. Their forewoman was a professed Platonist,¹⁹⁷ that had spent much of her time in exhorting the sex to set a just value upon their persons, and to make the men know themselves.

There followed a profound silence, when at length, after some recollection, the censor, who continued hitherto uncovered, put on his hat with great dignity; and after having composed the brims of it in a manner suitable to the gravity of his character, he gave the following charge, which was received with silence and attention, that being the only applause which he admits of, or is ever given in his presence:

"The nature of my office, and the solemnity of this occasion, requiring that I should open my first session with a speech, I shall cast what I have to say under two principal heads.

"Under the first, I shall endeavour to show the necessity and usefulness of this new-erected court; and under the second, I shall give a word of advice and instruction to every constituent part of it.

"As for the first, it is well observed by Phædrus, a heathen poet:

 
Nisi utile est quod facimus, frustra est gloria. ¹⁹⁸
 

Which is the same, ladies, as if I should say, It would be of no reputation for me to be president of a court which is of no benefit to the public. Now the advantages that may arise to the weal-public from this institution will more plainly appear, if we consider what it suffers for the want of it. Are not our streets daily filled with wild pieces of justice and random penalties? Are not crimes undetermined, and reparations disproportioned? How often have we seen the lie punished by death, and the liar himself deciding his own cause? nay, not only acting the judge, but the executioner? Have we not known a box on the ear more severely accounted for than manslaughter? In these extra-judicial proceedings of mankind, an unmannerly jest is frequently as capital as a premeditated murder.

"But the most pernicious circumstance in this case is, that the man who suffers the injury must put himself upon the same foot of danger with him that gave it, before he can have his just revenge; so that the punishment is altogether accidental, and may fall as well upon the innocent as the guilty.

"I shall only mention a case which happens frequently among the more polite nations of the world, and which I the rather mention, because both sexes are concerned in it, and which therefore you gentlemen and you ladies of the jury will the rather take notice of; I mean that great and known case of cuckoldom. Supposing the person who has suffered insults in his dearer and better half; supposing, I say, this person should resent the injuries done to his tender wife, what is the reparation he may expect? Why, to be used worse than his poor lady, run through the body, and left breathless upon the bed of honour. What then will you on my right hand say must the man do that is affronted? Must our sides be elbowed, our shins broken? Must the wall, or perhaps our mistress, be taken from us? May a man knit his forehead into a frown, toss up his arm, or pish at what we say, and must the villain live after it? Is there no redress for injured honour? Yes, gentlemen, that is the design of the judicature we have here established.

"A Court of Conscience, we very well know, was first instituted for the determining of several points of property that were too little and trivial for the cognisance of higher courts of justice. In the same manner, our Court of Honour is appointed for the examination of several niceties and punctilios that do not pass for wrongs in the eye of our common laws. But notwithstanding no legislators of any nation have taken into consideration these little circumstances, they are such as often lead to crimes big enough for their inspection, though they come before them too late for their redress.

"Besides, I appeal to you, ladies [here Mr. Bickerstaff turned to his left hand], if these are not the little stings and thorns in life that make it more uneasy than its most substantial evils? Confess ingenuously, did you never lose a morning's devotions because you could not offer them up from the highest place of the pew? Have you not been in pain, even at a ball, because another has been taken out to dance before you? Do you love any of your friends so much as those that are below you? Or have you any favourites that walk on your right hand? You have answered me in your looks, I ask no more.

"I come now to the second part of my discourse, which obliges me to address myself in particular to the respective members of the court, in which I shall be very brief.

"As for you, gentlemen and ladies, my assistants and grand juries, I have made choice of you on my right hand, because I know you very jealous of your honour; and you on my left, because I know you very much concerned for the reputation of others; for which reason I expect great exactness and impartiality in your verdicts and judgments.

"I must in the next place address myself to you, gentlemen of the council: you all know, that I have not chosen you for your knowledge in the litigious parts of the law, but because you have all of you formerly fought duels, of which I have reason to think you have repented, as being now settled in the peaceable state of benchers. My advice to you is, only that in your pleadings you are short and expressive: to which end you are to banish out of your discourses all synonymous terms, and unnecessary multiplications of verbs and nouns. I do moreover forbid you the use of the words 'also' and 'likewise'; and must further declare, that if I catch any one among you, upon any pretence whatsoever, using the particle 'or,' I shall incessantly order him to be stripped of his gown, and thrown over the bar."

"This is a true copy. – Charles Lillie."

N.B.– The sequel of the proceedings of this day will be published on Tuesday next.¹⁹⁹

No. 254. [Addison and Steele. ²⁰⁰

Splendidè mendax. —

Hor., 3 Od. xi. 35.

From Tuesday, Nov. 21, to Thursday, Nov. 23, 1710

From my own Apartment, Nov. 22

There are no books which I more delight in than in travels, especially those that describe remote countries, and give the writer an opportunity of showing his parts without incurring any danger of being examined or contradicted. Among all the authors of this kind, our renowned countryman Sir John Mandeville²⁰¹ has distinguished himself, by the copiousness of his invention, and greatness of his genius. The second to Sir John I take to have been Ferdinand Mendez Pinto,²⁰² a person of infinite adventure and unbounded imagination. One reads the voyages of these two great wits with as much astonishment as the travels of Ulysses in Homer, or of the Red-Cross Knight in Spenser. All is enchanted ground and fairy-land.

I have got into my hands by great chance several manuscripts of these two eminent authors, which are filled with greater wonders than any of those they have communicated to the public; and indeed, were they not so well attested, would appear altogether improbable. I am apt to think, the ingenious authors did not publish them with the rest of their works, lest they should pass for fictions and fables: a caution not unnecessary, when the reputation of their veracity was not yet established in the world. But as this reason has now no further weight, I shall make the public a present of these curious pieces at such times as I shall find myself unprovided with other subjects.

The present paper I intend to fill with an extract of Sir John's journal, in which that learned and worthy knight gives an account of the freezing and thawing of several short speeches which he made in the territories of Nova Zembla.²⁰³ I need not inform my reader, that the author of "Hudibras" alludes to this strange quality in that cold climate, when, speaking of abstracted notions clothed in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile:

Like words congealed in Northern air. ²⁰⁴

Not to keep my reader any longer in suspense, the relation put into modern language is as follows:

"We were separated by a storm in the latitude of 73, insomuch that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and a French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, in order to refit our vessels, and store ourselves with provisions. The crew of each vessel made themselves a cabin of turf and wood, at some distance from each other, to fence themselves against the inclemencies of the weather, which was severe beyond imagination. We soon observed, that in talking to one another we lost several of our words, and could not hear one another at above two yards' distance, and that too when we sat very near the fire. After much perplexity, I found that our words froze in the air before they could reach the ears of the person to whom they were spoken. I was soon confirmed in this conjecture, when, upon the increase of the cold, the whole company grew dumb, or rather deaf; for every man was sensible, as we afterwards found, that he spoke as well as ever; but the sounds no sooner took air than they were condensed and lost. It was now a miserable spectacle to see us nodding and gaping at one another, every man talking, and no man heard. One might observe a seaman that could hail a ship at a league distance, beckoning with his hands, straining his lungs, and tearing his throat, but all in vain.

– Nec vox, nec verba, sequuntur. ²⁰⁵

"We continued here three weeks in this dismal plight. At length, upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to thaw. Our cabin was immediately filled with a dry clattering sound, which I afterwards found to be the crackling of consonants that broke above our heads, and were often mixed with a gentle hissing, which I imputed to the letter S, that occurs so frequently in the English tongue. I soon after felt a breeze of whispers rushing by my ear; for those being of a soft and gentle substance, immediately liquefied in the warm wind that blew across our cabin. These were soon followed by syllables and short words, and at length by entire sentences, that melted sooner or later, as they were more or less congealed; so that we now heard everything that had been spoken during the whole three weeks that we had been silent, if I may use that expression. It was now very early in the morning, and yet, to my surprise, I heard somebody say, 'Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the ship's crew to go to bed.' This I knew to be the pilot's voice, and upon recollecting myself, I concluded that he had spoken these words to me some days before, though I could not hear them before the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole crew was amazed, to hear every man talking, and see no man opening his mouth. In the midst of this great surprise we were all in, we heard a volley of oaths and curses, lasting for a long while, and uttered in a hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to the boatswain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had taken his opportunity of cursing and swearing at me when he thought I could not hear him; for I had several times given him the strappado on that account, as I did not fail to repeat it for these his pious soliloquies when I got him on shipboard.

"I must not omit the names of several beauties in Wapping, which were heard every now and then, in the midst of a long sigh that accompanied them; as, 'Dear Kate!' 'Pretty Mrs. Peggy!' 'When shall I see my Sue again?' This betrayed several amours which had been concealed till that time, and furnished us with a great deal of mirth in our return to England.

"When this confusion of voices was pretty well over, though I was afraid to offer at speaking, as fearing I should not be heard, I proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, which lay about a mile farther up into the country. My crew were extremely rejoiced to find they had again recovered their hearing, though every man uttered his voice with the same apprehensions that I had done.

– Et timide verba intermissa retentat. ²⁰⁶

"At about half a mile's distance from our cabin, we heard the groanings of a bear, which at first startled us; but upon inquiry we were informed by some of our company, that he was dead, and now lay in salt, having been killed upon that very spot about a fortnight before, in the time of the frost. Not far from the same place we were likewise entertained with some posthumous snarls and barkings of a fox.

"We at length arrived at the little Dutch settlement, and upon entering the room, found it filled with sighs that smelt of brandy, and several other unsavoury sounds that were altogether inarticulate. My valet, who was an Irishman, fell into so great a rage at what he heard, that he drew his sword; but not knowing where to lay the blame, he put it up again. We were stunned with these confused noises, but did not hear a single word till about half-an-hour after; which I ascribed to the harsh and obdurate sounds of that language, which wanted more time than ours to melt and become audible.

"After having here met with a very hearty welcome, we went to the French cabin, who, to make amends for their three weeks' silence, were talking and disputing with greater rapidity and confusion than ever I heard in an assembly even of that nation. Their language as I found, upon the first giving of the weather, fell asunder and dissolved. I was here convinced of an error into which I had before fallen; for I fancied, that for the freezing of the sound, it was necessary for it to be wrapped up, and, as it were, preserved in breath; but I found my mistake, when I heard the sound of a kit playing a minuet over our heads. I asked the occasion of it; upon which one of the company told me, that it would play there above a week longer if the thaw continued; 'for,' says he, 'finding ourselves bereft of speech, we prevailed upon one of the company, who had this musical instrument about him, to play to us from morning to night; all which time we employed in dancing, in order to dissipate our chagrin, et tuer le temps.'"

Here Sir John gives very good philosophical reasons why the kit could be heard during the frost; but as they are something prolix, I pass them over in silence, and shall only observe, that the honourable author seems, by his quotations, to have been well versed in the ancient poets, which perhaps raised his fancy above the ordinary pitch of historians, and very much contributed to the embellishment of his writings.